While the lights of the Valerius Mansion sparkled with the joy of the party, the scene just a few kilometers away was the absolute opposite. Snow fell like ash over the arid hills that marked the border with the Crimson Nation.
Vargas rode in silence, followed by Kaelen. The smile he had displayed upon leaving the mansion had vanished, replaced by an expression of cold calculation. He stopped his horse at the top of a cliff known as "The Crow's Throat." Below, in a valley hidden by the shadows of the rocks, bonfires of white flames burned in a perfectly organized camp.
These were no ordinary soldiers. They were the Purifiers.
As they descended into the valley, they were surrounded by imposing and shadowy figures. The contrast was terrifying: they wore plate armor as black as the abyss, which seemed to absorb what little light the fires provided, covered by impeccable white cloaks that billowed in the freezing wind. The symbol of a sun devoured by flames shone in gold on the black chest of each warrior.
In the center of the camp, Inquisitor Malphas waited. He was a spectral figure, his polished black armor reflecting the flames while his white cloak trailed through the snow, immaculate.
— A mercenary from the Jasper Nation in my domains?
— Malphas's voice was a lethal whisper.
— I hope your life is worth the value of the information you claim to possess, Vargas. Otherwise, this valley will be your tomb.
Vargas dismounted calmly, holding the Inquisitor's gaze. He did not seem intimidated by the black blades pointed at his chest.
— Count Axel Valerius is harboring what you seek — said Vargas, getting straight to the point. — A girl. Sixteen years old. The last survivor of the Harlequir Massacre. She is the "Genius," Inquisitor. She is living as a steward, hidden under the roof of nobility.
Malphas narrowed his eyes, the energy around him becoming heavy.
— If you deliver the Seed of Harlequir to us, what do you expect to receive in return? Gold? Lands in the Crimson Nation?
Vargas let out a dry, greedy laugh. The glint in his glass eye was one of pure mercantilist cruelty.
— I don't want your lands, Inquisitor. I want Julian. The young master of the Valerius
— Vargas declared with commercial coldness.
— When you tear down that house and harvest the girl's head, the boy will be mine. Julian is of royal blood, educated and young. He is worth a fortune in the luxury market of the Jasper Nation. The Count's son is worth much more alive than dead, and I intend to sell him as the most expensive slave the golden sands have ever seen.
Malphas pondered for a moment. For the Order of Purification, the fate of the nobles was irrelevant; only the extinction of the Harlequir "Seed" held divine importance.
— So be it
— Malphas sentenced, turning to the army of white cloaks and black armor.
— The boy is your merchandise, mercenary. But the girl... the girl belongs to the fire of purification. If she resists, we will burn the mansion with everyone inside.
He raised his hand, and the clashing of weapons against black armor sounded like a funeral drum in the valley.
— Mount up! Dawn shall not see the Valerius Mansion standing. We will harvest the seed and deliver the rest to the abyss!
The mansion's courtyard still resonated with the last chords of the lutes, but for Kyo, the night's harmony had shattered the moment Vargas crossed the gate. While everyone celebrated, the Master of Arms remained leaning against a marble column, observing the hoofprints in the fresh snow with predatory eyes.
Sálvia, sensing Kyo's heavy gaze, approached him under the pretext of collecting an empty glass.
— The Master of Arms seems distant for someone who should be celebrating
— she murmured, without looking directly at him.
— Jasper horses are resilient, Sálvia, but they do not like the cold
— Kyo replied, his voice devoid of its usual cheer.
— Vargas said he was heading South, to his family. But the trail he left cuts straight North. Toward the Crow's Throat.
Kyo narrowed his eyes, his strategic mind working a mile a minute.
— I can't prove anything yet... It could just be a shortcut, or a navigational error. But my instinct tells me Vargas is playing a double game. There is a scent of betrayal in the air that even the banquet cannot hide.
Sálvia kept her expression neutral, though she knew exactly what lay to the North.
— If he does not return alone, who do you think would come with him?
— Sálvia asked, testing the Master of Arms' perception.
— I don't know. But no one goes North seeking "family help"
— Kyo turned to her, the serious and inspiring expression of a military leader taking control. — I have no proof to accuse a veteran like Vargas before the Count, but I will not be caught by surprise. I have already ordered my most loyal men to stay alert in the towers.
Kyo leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that only she could hear.
— Sálvia, I don't know who you really are or why you fight like an entity, but I know you are Julian's shadow. If Vargas has truly betrayed this house, his objective will be the boy. Julian is worth a fortune as a luxury slave in Jasper.
Sálvia gripped the rosary on her wrist, feeling the weight of responsibility. She was the only one who knew the full danger: the Order was coming to kill her, and Vargas was coming to take the boy.
— I will protect the Young Master
— Sálvia stated, her voice as firm as tempered steel.
— I know you will. That's why I didn't ask, I ordered
— Kyo said, a shrewd and dangerous smile appearing on his lips.
— If they expect to find a sleeping mansion, they will find the Flow of Water and your vigilance. Stay close to Julian. If something happens, do not wait for orders. Act.
Sálvia nodded, feeling a strange partnership forming between her and the man from the Lazuli Nation, even if he still didn't know the bloody secret she carried. The banquet was coming to an end, and the silence that followed was the precursor to the storm.
The sky over the Valerius Mansion that morning was the color of polished lead, but the interior of the residence still resonated with the absolute order Sálvia imposed. Several days had passed since Vargas's departure, and to the outside world, Sálvia was just the impeccable steward, the efficient shadow ensuring every grain of dust was removed before the sun hit the marble.
Sálvia was in the east corridor, adjusting the heavy velvet curtains, when the familiar sound of a dispute began to echo near the kitchen.
— Lilian, I already told you today's silver is the smooth-handled set!
— Ana's voice rose a pitch, accompanied by the metallic clinking of clashing forks.
— If we use the ornate set, the Count will think we're at a provincial festival!
— You have no vision, Ana!
— Lilian retorted with her habitual extravagance, waving a linen napkin like a war flag.
— The shine of the ornate pieces compensates for this hideous winter light! You want to turn the mansion into a monastery!
Sálvia appeared in the archway. She didn't need to say a word; her mere presence, straight and icy, caused both maids to fall silent and straighten their aprons instantly.
— The smooth silver for breakfast, according to winter etiquette
— Sálvia sentenced, her voice calm and cutting.
— Lilian, focus on the polishing. Ana, the table arrangements are two centimeters misaligned. Correct it now.
The two bowed and returned to work, whispering to each other about how Sálvia seemed to be everywhere at once. While the maids lost themselves in frivolous admiration for Kyo's beauty as he passed through the corridor toward the stables, Sálvia kept her ears tuned for any sound that did not belong to the house routine.
As the morning progressed, Sálvia performed her duties with mechanical precision. She prepared the Count's jasmine tea, checked the water temperature for the Countess's bath, and organized Julian's books. However, beneath her gray vest, the wooden rosary tapped against her chest with every step, and her instinct, forged in survival, whispered that something was wrong.
Kyo found her in the winter garden late that afternoon. He was wiping an imaginary smudge from his saber, his gaze fixed on the northern horizon.
— Vargas hasn't returned
— Kyo commented, his voice lacking its usual joy.
— And the trail he left... I can't get it out of my head that something has shifted in the wind, Sálvia.
— Focus on the men who remained, Master Kyo
— she replied, maintaining her servant's posture.
— Premonitions don't stop blades.
Night fell, heavy and silent. Sálvia ensured Julian was retired and that all candles were extinguished. The mansion plunged into an uneasy rest.
It was only in the dead of night that the atmosphere began to grow heavy. Sálvia, in her room, smelled it before she heard any sound. It wasn't the familiar scent of firewood from the hearth, but something chemical, acrid, that burned the nostrils. She rose in a single movement, her feet touching the cold floor without a sound.
Opening a slit in the curtain, the northern horizon was no longer dark. A constellation of orange dots appeared at the tree line, moving in perfect arcs toward the mansion. They were silent lights that streaked across the black sky like falling stars carrying ill fortune.
The initial impact was a muffled sound
—the rhythmic thump of arrows piercing the thatched and wooden roofs of the outer outbuildings. Only then did the first cry of alarm cut through the night, followed by the frantic, metallic tolling of the courtyard bell.
Sálvia left her room with supernatural calm. In the corridor, she found Julian, who had appeared at his own door with eyes clouded by sleep and shock. Through the large window at the end of the hall, the dawn mist began to reveal shapes: figures in black armor that seemed to sprout from the ground, their white cloaks billowing like specters in the gloom.
Down below, at the main gate, the figure of a man mounted on an armored horse watched the start of the fire. Beside him, a trace of familiarity: the silhouette of Vargas, pointing to the upper windows with a gesture that left no doubt about his intentions.
The time for the steward's disguise had run out. Sálvia felt her pulse quicken and absolute clarity take over her mind. As the first window of the mansion shattered under the heat of the flames, Flow Vision finally awakened in her brown eyes.
— Stay behind me, Young Master
— she said, her voice now stripped of any etiquette, as she drew her first hidden blade.
— Today's training will be real.
The acrid scent of alchemical smoke crawled through the corridors of the Valerius Mansion like an invisible serpent, devouring the jasmine scent that used to be the Countess's pride. The night, once silent, had been shattered by the metallic sound of hundreds of armors and the roar of flames licking the centuries-old tapestries. Under Inquisitor Malphas's icy command, the tide of white cloaks and black armor didn't just invade; it purged everything in its path.
The Marble Hall and the Guardian
In the heart of the mansion, the great marble hall had transformed into an antechamber of hell. Count Axel, his hands trembling but his gaze firm, stood in front of his wife, Elara. They were cornered against the grand staircase when two elite Purifiers advanced, their black blades raised to apply the Order's blind justice.
Before the steel could touch the nobility, a streak of bluish light cut through the gloom.
Kyo appeared not as a man, but as a phenomenon of nature. The unsheathing of his saber was a single, sharp, crystalline sound. He didn't block the attacks; he deflected them, spinning his body with a grace that defied gravity. The Water Flow technique manifested in its fullness: Kyo's curved blade slid across the neck of the first invader with the ease of a current flowing around a stone, while a precise side kick sent the second crashing against a marble column.
— Stay behind me!
— Kyo's voice, though firm, carried an urgency the nobles had never heard.
— Guards! Forget the rear! Form a circle of iron around Young Master Julian! Protect the future of this house with every drop of your blood!
The surviving guards, inspired by the master's presence, rushed up the stairs in a desperate effort to reinforce the upper quarters, leaving Kyo alone to hold back the tide in the hall.
The Shadow of Sadism
The sound of the surrounding combat seemed muffled when the heavy oak doors of the main entrance creaked open. From the shadows of the flames emerged a figure that stood in stark contrast to the organized fanaticism of the Purifiers.
He was tall, wrapped in black leather cured and reinforced with fragments of human bone that rattled with every step. The man wore no helm, revealing a face marked by deep scars and a pair of yellowish eyes that overflowed with a sickly pleasure for chaos. In his right hand, he dragged an immense flail; the spiked spheres left deep gouges in the precious marble.
It was Vane, the mercenary executioner whose tales of cruelty were whispered even in the darkest taverns of the Jasper Nation.
— Ah... the legendary Flow of the Lazuli Nation
— sibilated Vane, his voice sounding like the scraping of dry parchment.
— They say your sword is like the river. I can't wait to see how it behaves when I fill it with your Count's blood.
Vane swung the flail. The displacement of air was so violent it extinguished the candles in the nearby chandeliers. Kyo felt the pressure of the killing intent
—it was a brute, heavy, and sadistic force that sought to crush rather than cut.
— Count, take the Countess to the service passages! Now!
— Kyo ordered, shifting his base to a low defensive stance, his eyes fixed on the erratic movement of Vane's spheres.
— This monster seeks no redemption; he seeks only the slaughter. And I will not allow him to find it here.
The Hidden Observer
At the top of the gallery, hidden by the balustrade, Sálvia observed the scene. Her senses were sharp, catching every vibration of the metal down below. She saw Julian being surrounded by Kyo's guards, but her brown eyes remained fixed on the man with the flail.
She recognized that kind of strength. Vane was a beast of war. For a brief moment, Sálvia's hand sought the rosary on her wrist, and her heart beat in a different rhythm
—the cold cadence of one who knows that if Kyo fails, she will have to become the demon the mansion feared so much to ensure Julian's survival.
Outside, the fire arrows continued to fall.
The chaos consuming the lower floor of the Valerius Mansion soon leaked into the service corridors, where luxury gave way to panic. Amidst the crackling of wood devoured by alchemical fire, Ana's gasping breath cut through the air.
She ran through the narrow hallways, her apron stained with ash. Behind her, the metallic sound of two Purifiers was methodical. Rounding the corner to the pantry, Ana tripped. The black steel of a spear flashed and pierced her shoulder, pinning her against the wall. A sharp cry of agony escaped her lips as blood soaked her uniform.
The executioner pulled back the spear for the final blow when a silver candelabra struck his helm.
— Get away from her!
— screamed Lilian, emerging from the shadows with a meat cleaver and eyes overflowing with fury.
Lilian lunged desperately, striking the soldier's arm and forcing him back. She helped Ana up, draping her friend's arm over her neck.
— Lilian... it hurts...
— Ana sobbed.
— Don't stop, Ana! Let's get out of here!
— Lilian dragged her toward the herb courtyard.
Upon reaching the exit, hope died. From the mist, four black-armored figures emerged, blocking the path. Behind them, the initial pursuers closed the door. Cornered and with no way out, Lilian dropped the cleaver and hugged Ana tightly, hiding her friend's face in her chest so she wouldn't see the end.
The black blades descended simultaneously under the moonlight. The screams were silenced by a dry, brutal blow. The bodies of the two fell together onto the snow, which quickly stained red.