At the sound of that guttural voice, Ophelia's eyes widened even further in shock. Even Blake leaned forward slightly, watching the scene with keen interest. Ophelia might not have known, but Blake was well aware that alchemy was far more than just crafting magical items—in fact, manipulating and combining various energies to create bizarre new creatures was also one of an alchemist's core abilities. And the strange thing Charlotte was using now was clearly one such creation.
"Tell me about this rune."
Charlotte flipped her hand, revealing the eerie dark symbol once more.
"What connection does it have to your family?"
The unconscious Cherton, his eyes still rolled back in his head, stood swaying for a moment as if processing the question. Then that deep, muffled voice echoed forth again.
"It is… a relic… of our family's… ancestor."
"Ancestor?"
At that word, Judy and Blake exchanged a surprised glance.
"My lady, this is indeed surprising news," Judy murmured.
"I thought we'd wiped them all out back then. It seems cockroaches really do have tenacious vitality—no matter how hard you try, you can never finish them off," Blake added with a cold snort.
"Who was your ancestor?" Charlotte pressed, her voice sharp with urgency.
"Malygos Mobius Nafiya…"
"He was that man's cousin."
Charlotte's brows furrowed deeply at the name.
"I heard he died of a fever many years ago. So that was just a lie, then?"
Cherton remained silent this time, swaying unsteadily on his feet, so unstable that Ophelia worried a strong gust of wind might blow him over entirely. But Charlotte didn't seem to need an answer. After all, that incident had happened so long ago that this pampered young lord could never possibly know the full truth behind it. The head maid paused for a moment, lost in thought, then spoke again, her tone leaving no room for refusal.
"Tell me everything you know."
"Yes, my master…"
Whatever Charlotte had done to the young lord, it had completely broken his will. Gone was the arrogant nobleman from moments ago—now he babbled obediently like a mindless fool, spilling every secret he knew without hesitation.
It turned out that the ancestor of the Mobius family had indeed been related to the necromancer who had trapped the spectral warriors all those years ago—they were cousins, and quite close at that. But those were chaotic times, with nations warring across the continent. Though the two brothers had kept in touch initially, the flames of war had eventually severed all communication between them. To escape the carnage, the ancestor of the Mobius family had led his entire clan to the Kingdom of Wester, where they had waited out the war in hiding. Over time, they had flourished and multiplied, eventually becoming one of the most powerful magic-wielding families in the realm.
Every great noble house rises to power with its share of dark secrets and underhanded tactics—and the Mobius family was no exception. Their greatest asset was this very necromantic rune, whose true name was the **Soul Binding Pact**, a spell of legendary rank. Though it required an enormous amount of time and the combined magical power of dozens of mages to activate, its power was beyond reckoning. Once it locked onto a target, the spell could not be blocked, dispelled, or avoided. The moment it was cast, the soul rune would pierce the target's body, binding their soul completely and seizing control of their mind and body. Success meant the victim would become the most loyal servant imaginable—obedient, unwavering, and utterly without free will.
This was the true purpose of the Mobius family's presence here. Their ambition was staggering: they planned to activate the spell once war broke out and use it to capture the **Gift Knights** of the Sith Empire!
It was a high-stakes gamble—but one with excellent odds of success. The Mobius family had used this spell countless times over the years to subjugate powerful warriors, but they had never managed to claim a knight of any rank. This was hardly surprising, as true knights were an extremely rare breed on the continent, and Gift Knights could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Even the so-called "fake knights" of the Holy Light Church numbered only around a hundred. According to rumors, the only Gift Knights left on the continent outside the Sith Empire were one in the Mage Association and another in the elven capital. Neither faction was one the Mobius family dared to provoke. So their sights had inevitably fallen on the Sith Empire's Gift Knights.
For the Mobius family, this plan was foolproof. First, they had the perfect excuse: the Sith Empire was the aggressor, and they were fighting in self-defense. Even if they succeeded, the Sith Empire would have no legal grounds to retaliate. Furthermore, capturing the enemy's Gift Knights would be a monumental achievement, earning them the undying gratitude of the Wester royal family. With the Gift Knights under their control, the Mobius family's influence and prestige within Wester would skyrocket, allowing them to join the ranks of the continent's top powers.
It was a win-win-win scenario.
Naturally, this plan was a closely guarded secret known only to the Mobius family's inner circle. The four high-tier mages had acted on their own when they saw the twin sisters, greedily hoping to add two such powerful young spellcasters to the family's ranks—which was why they had activated the rune without hesitation.
As for the true origin of the rune, Cherton could only provide vague answers, claiming it was a family heirloom passed down to protect their lineage.
"I see."
After listening to Cherton's full confession, Blake let out a cold laugh. The rune might have worked on anyone else—but it was completely useless against the spectral warriors. They had already been ensnared by a similar spell in the past, one far more advanced and potent than this one. The Soul Binding Pact stood no chance against them. As for the rune's true origins, Blake couldn't have cared less. All that mattered was that it was linked to the Mobius family. His requirements were simple: identify anyone connected to the rune, then send his men to wipe out their entire clan. Nothing more, nothing less.
Overcomplicating things was a surefire way to shorten one's lifespan.
"Does the royal family have any connection to this rune?"
Blake suddenly asked a question that made Ophelia's heart skip a beat. She looked up at him anxiously, while also feeling the weight of Charlotte and Judy's gazes on her. Their stares weren't hostile—but they weren't exactly friendly, either.
"No…"
Cherton hesitated for a long time before answering.
"It is the family's most closely guarded secret. We would never dare let the royal family know about it."
Ophelia let out a long, relieved breath, her shoulders slumping with relaxation. She had been genuinely worried for a moment. After all, the Mobius family was responsible for supplying court mages to the royal family—a position of enormous trust that only the most powerful noble houses were granted. In the past, she had never paid much attention to such matters, but Ophelia knew full well that the royal family cared only about power and profit. If they had known about this legendary spell, they would have happily elevated the Mobius family to unprecedented heights. Now that Cherton had denied any royal involvement, she could finally relax. Strictly speaking, she was no longer a member of the royal family—she was, for all intents and purposes, already dead. The spectral warriors would have no reason to target her. But she still held deep affection for the royal family. She would have turned a blind eye if Blake had just wanted to cause a little trouble—but the young lord's earlier words still echoed in her mind, and he hadn't been joking in the slightest. Ophelia had no doubt that if the royal family *had* been involved, Blake would have kept his promise and slaughtered every last one of them without hesitation.
What would she have done then?
But for now, the crisis had passed.
"So… what happens next?"
Ophelia asked quickly, her mind racing. The situation had already escalated far beyond control—if they didn't handle it carefully, the consequences would be catastrophic.
"The Mobius family can't be left alive."
Blake's expression remained unchanged, his voice cold and unyielding.
"We'll deal with the ones far away later—but we can't let a single one of the rats in front of us escape. Judy, Charlotte—you know what to do. Do you need me to send Messiah and Semia to help?"
"We appreciate the offer, Master," Charlotte replied, her warm smile still in place—but a flicker of ferocity flashed across her face for a split second.
"We must settle this hatred with our own hands."
"Very well. I'll go have a chat with General Celt—maybe share a cup of afternoon tea while we're at it."
Blake didn't press the issue further. He nodded at Charlotte, then turned and walked away. Charlotte and Judy watched his retreating figure in silence, bowing deeply in respect. When they lifted their heads, their expressions were filled with unshakable resolve.
"Personal Guard—attention!"
Judy drew her longsword with a sharp *shing*, holding it high above her head.
"Prepare to move out! Target: Mobius family compound! Exterminate everyone—leave no survivors!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
At Judy's command, the other spectral warriors drew their swords as well, raising them skyward. They exchanged glances, their eyes burning with suppressed killing intent. Then they slammed their blades downward, driving the points into the ground.
Ice, fire, thunder—all manner of elemental powers erupted simultaneously, accompanied by a chorus of deafening roars that shook the heavens.
One by one, enormous dragons emerged from the swirling elemental energy, their scales shimmering with the power of the elements. A wave of immense dragonic pressure swept across the land, causing the surrounding trees to sway and tremble violently in the wind.
This was Judy's true power. This was the reason they were Blake's personal vanguard—the elite shock troops of his forces.
"Move out!"
The sky was filled with the thunderous roar of dragons as they spread their wings and took flight, soaring toward the horizon, which was bathed in the crimson glow of the setting sun.
Blake paid no heed to the spectacle behind him. He had already reverted to his usual demeanor, wearing an elegant, easy smile as he walked into the fortress. The moment he stepped through the gates, he saw General Celt waiting for him, his face like a thundercloud.
"Mr. Blake—I believe you owe me an explanation," Celt said, his voice low and dangerous.
"Of course I do, General Celt."
Though Celt's expression was stern and his aura radiated authority so intense that even Ophelia felt overwhelmed, Blake remained unfazed. She hid nervously behind him, staring at the elderly general in surprise. She had never seen Celt look like this before.
"I'm going to have tea with the general. You should head back," Blake said, patting Ophelia's shoulder with a smile. She nodded silently, letting Messiah and Semia lead her away. Once the three of them were gone, Blake turned back to the general, gesturing politely for him to proceed. Celt said nothing, turning on his heel and walking toward the fortress's inner chambers.
Under Celt's lead, the two men returned to the fortress's reception room. The decor was the same as always—but the atmosphere was tense enough to cut with a knife.
"I must admit, I never imagined your forces were this powerful, Mr. Blake," Celt said, sitting down on the sofa and fixing Blake with a cold stare as he sipped his black tea calmly. "Dragon knights… you've been holding out on us."
"I just never had reason to deploy them before. I wasn't hiding anything," Blake shrugged, dropping two lumps of sugar into his teacup.
"Then what is your true purpose here, Mr. Blake?" Celt tapped his fingers on the table, no longer bothering to hide his displeasure.
"You know the answer to that as well as I do, General Celt," Blake replied, his expression unchanged. "I'm here to help defend Crimson Fortress. I'm sure you're well aware of the royal proclamation."
"Who *are* you?"
"I don't see how that's relevant."
The conversation fell into an awkward silence. Celt glared at Blake, who stared back at his teacup, studying it with the same level of focus one might reserve for a masterpiece of sculpture.
"Fine. Let's talk about something else. What exactly is going on between you and the Mobius family?"
Celt was forced to change the subject. Though he was seething with anger, he was also a pragmatist who knew how to prioritize. Blake's display of power today had completely exceeded his expectations. Of course, this didn't mean he was happy about the situation—Crimson Fortress was his domain, and having outsiders stir up trouble here was a direct insult to his authority. But fortunately, Blake had sent someone to warn him earlier, informing him that this was a private matter between nobles. This had put the old general's mind at ease—he had never cared much for the petty squabbles of the nobility. If this had been a dispute involving the military, he would never have allowed it to proceed.
But just moments ago, Celt had received word that Blake and the Mobius family had come to blows—and that people had died! This was far more serious than he had anticipated. He had known Blake was planning to settle a score with them—but killing members of one of Wester's most powerful noble houses was a completely different matter. Even if this was a private feud between nobles, he would still be held responsible if blood was spilled within the walls of Crimson Fortress.
That said, Celt still chose not to break ties with Blake. Despite the trouble he had caused, Blake's forces were a godsend in the face of the Sith Empire's impending invasion. The fortress's defenses were woefully inadequate against the Sith's Gift Knights—and with so many knights (and dragon knights!) on their side, their chances of holding the fortress had improved dramatically. The old general might have been set in his ways, but he was not a fool. The benefits Blake brought far outweighed the problems he caused—so he had no choice but to accept the situation. Still, Celt couldn't help but feel uneasy. Blake's actions had been far too reckless and ostentatious. While it was understandable for a young man with such power to be arrogant, Celt knew that recklessness was a dangerous flaw in times of war.
"Mr. Blake, I hope you understand that there are more important things at stake here," Celt said earnestly. "No matter what grievances you have with the Mobius family, we face a common enemy. Can't you put your personal vendetta aside for the sake of the kingdom?"
"I understand your point, General Celt," Blake replied, setting down his teacup and leaning back in his chair, steepling his fingers.
"But I'm afraid I can't do that."
"You can't?" Celt's expression darkened. "Why not?"
Blake didn't answer immediately. He fell silent for a long time, staring into the distance before finally speaking, his voice soft but unwavering.
"General Celt—do you have a goal or a belief that you would uphold no matter the cost? No matter the circumstances, no matter the odds?"
"What are you getting at?" Celt asked, frowning in confusion.
"Something you would place above everything else—something you would never compromise on, never back down from, never abandon."
Blake lifted his head, his eyes locking with Celt's.
"Have you ever had a conviction that strong?"
"I…" Celt opened his mouth to answer, then hesitated. He wanted to say yes—but the words died on his lips. Hold fast to his beliefs, never give up, never compromise? Those were noble ideals—but ideals often had to be sacrificed for the greater good. Over the years, as he had grown older and wiser, Celt had come to realize that he was no longer the idealistic young man he once was. His goals had remained the same—but his methods had changed drastically. How much of his original dream, his original faith, still remained after all these years?
"That is why you never became a knight, General," Blake said, his smile never fading.
"In many ways, knights are all fanatics. Some of their obsessions are noble—others are not. But you will never understand a knight's unwavering devotion to their ideals."
"Perhaps you're right…" Celt sighed deeply, looking older than his years. He understood what Blake was trying to say—but he had no words to argue with him.
"So what happens now?"
Blake spread his hands, a mysterious smile playing on his lips.
"I think… you'll find out soon enough."