Chapter 447: A Name Carved in Blood
Franc’s jaw tightened. He lowered Kloss to the ground, laying him against a rock with more care than the situation warranted. Then he straightened, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. The steel whispered free of its sheath, catching the dim light as he raised it before him.
"It seems we won’t have a chance to escape," Franc said, his voice low and steady.
Gilbert’s head snapped toward him, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You want to fight them?! Are you insane?!"
Franc’s gaze didn’t waver. "There’s no other choice. If we run, they’ll cut us down from behind. If we surrender, they’ll kill us anyway. At least this way, we die on our feet."
Reith’s hand tightened on his own blade, his jaw set. "I’ll try to stretch my aura as far as it’ll go—buy us some time. But honestly?" A bitter laugh escaped him. "I don’t think it’ll be enough."
He closed his eyes, and a faint, silver light began to seep from his skin—thin at first, then spreading, wrapping around him like a second layer of skin. His aura pressed against the air, pushing back against the weight of the three figures before them.
Lilith’s crimson eyes gleamed with dark delight. Her threads stirred around her fingers, eager and patient.
"Oh? Fighting back?" Her smile widened, sharp and hungry. "Good. It’s always more satisfying when the prey struggles."
Franc’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding.
"Bianca! Prepare your strongest spell—something that can break through those threads. Gilbert!" His gaze snapped to the scout, cold and absolute. "If you’re scared, run. Get to the king. Tell him everything we’ve learned about the demons’ betrayal. That’s an order."
Gilbert’s jaw worked, his hands clenching at his sides. His internal voice was a storm of doubt and duty.
’Damn it... This is suicide. But if I don’t go, no one will. The king needs to know what Celine is planning.’
He met Franc’s eyes, then nodded once, sharp and final.
"I’ll do it. I won’t let your sacrifice be for nothing."
Franc’s lips twitched, the barest ghost of a smile.
"Good man."
Auroras erupted from Franc and Reith simultaneously—silver and gold, weaving together as they surged forward.
Lilith’s threads shot out to meet them, a web of razor-sharp silk that filled the air like a net of starlight. Franc’s blade swept up, the silver aura along its edge flaring as he brought it down in a brutal arc.
The blade met the threads, and for a moment, they held. Then Franc pushed harder, and the silk parted, severed by the weight of his strike.
Lilith’s smile sharpened. "Oh? You can cut my threads? How interesting."
Her fingers twitched, and more threads shot forward—dozens of them, each one aimed at a different angle, weaving a cage around Franc before he could recover.
Reith was there.
His aura flared brighter, and his blade carved a path through the threads, severing three of them before they could close around Franc. He spun, deflecting another volley, his movements fluid and precise.
"Don’t get caught, Franc! I can’t cover you forever!"
Franc grunted, his blade already sweeping up to meet the next wave.
"I’m not planning on it."
Behind them, Bianca’s hands wove through the air, a spell already gathering in her palms. Her voice rose, sharp and focused.
"Just a little longer..."
Isolde’s pale blue eyes tracked the battle with cold, dispassionate focus. The silver and gold auras clashed against Lilith’s threads, the two soldiers pushing forward with desperate, coordinated precision. But it was the emblem on their armor that caught her attention.
’Melium soldiers. They must be part of the allied forces sent to the border.’ Her gaze shifted to the treeline, where a lone figure was disappearing into the shadows.
She made no move to stop him.
Her gaze returned to Lilith, who was weaving a storm of silver silk around the two soldiers with growing enthusiasm.
’Lilith is going to kill them if I don’t stop her.’ She let out a long, slow sigh, her fingers pressing against her temple. ’Adam, wake up. Your spider is creating chaos again.’
A surge of mana rippled through the air—dense, concentrated, crackling with barely contained power. Bianca’s spell was almost ready.
’Hmm? That spell might actually hurt Lilith if it lands. I should probably be ready to step in.’
Isolde’s blood rose around the battlefield like a living tide—crimson and thick, coiling around Lilith’s threads, separating the combatants with an unyielding wall of hardened crimson. The soldiers stumbled back, their blades raised, their eyes wide as they took in the sight.
Reith’s voice cracked with disbelief. "Blood..?!"
Lilith’s threads snapped back toward her, her lips curling into a sharp pout. "Tch. Isolde, I was just about to have fun. Why are you interrupting?"
Isolde’s voice was flat, unimpressed. "You’re playing too much, Lilith. This isn’t a game."
Bianca’s hands lowered slowly, her spell faltering as she stared at Isolde. Her voice came out in a reverent whisper.
"Are you... are you a descendant of Isolde Draven...?"
Isolde’s pale blue eyes met hers, cold and steady. "No. I am the original."
Franc’s breath caught. His blade, still raised, trembled slightly in his grip. "The Vampire Queen...? That’s impossible. The Vampire Queen is supposed to be dead."
Lilith let out an exaggerated sigh, crossing her arms with a theatrical pout. "Hmph. They’re more scared of you than they are of me. That’s not fair."
Isolde’s gaze didn’t waver. "Ask them yourself."
Reith’s voice rose, sharp with denial. "That’s a lie! The Vampire Queen has white hair! You—your hair is crimson!"
Isolde raised her hand. The blood that had been pooling around her feet rose in a thin, shimmering veil, wrapping around her head like a curtain of liquid silk. When it fell, her hair was no longer crimson.
It was white. Pale as moonlight, spilling over her shoulders like frozen silver.
Her voice was quiet, steady, carrying the weight of centuries.
"Does this make you believe?"