Imperial Capital, King’s Hall.
Upon the throne, King Dimitoli rested his chin on his hand, a few strands of his dark gold hair falling across his forehead.
The forty-two-year-old king bore the signature deep-set eyes of the Ulysses family.
But now his brow was furrowed, weariness spreading from the fine lines at the corners of his eyes.
Below the hall, a dozen messengers knelt in a row, holding parchment scrolls rushed in from all over the Central Region.
“Your Majesty, Marquis Lorenzo’s Domain has fallen. The marquis himself was killed in battle, and half of his family members have been turned into blood servants…”
“Your Majesty, the Sylvester family is begging for aid. Their Magic Protection Array can hold for at most two more days…”
“Your Majesty, four of the seven central cities have lost contact. Refugees have clogged every road leading to the Imperial Capital…”
The bad news came one after another, hammering against Dimitoli’s heart.
He raised his hand to signal the messengers to stop, his fingertips trembling slightly.
As the king of the Olay Empire, he had weathered noble rebellions and border conflicts.
But he had never faced a crisis like this—spreading silently, everywhere, as though the shadows themselves were devouring his kingdom.
“Enough.” His voice was hoarse.
The messengers fell silent and lowered their heads.
Light footsteps came from the side hall.
Tina, the High Priestess of the Temple of the Ten Saints, walked slowly into the Sacred King Hall.
Her emerald-green hair cascaded like a waterfall to her waist, the ends swaying with each step.
A pure white robe trimmed with gold outlined her tall, elegant figure, and the Emblem of the Ten Saints on her chest glowed softly in the light.
She looked no more than twenty-five or twenty-six, her features as exquisite as an elf’s.
But her green eyes held a depth of wisdom that belied her appearance.
Dark red bloodstains.
Her golden hair was slightly disheveled, and her blue eyes were full of urgency and exhaustion.
She had ridden hard all the way from the Betty Territory to the Imperial Capital, barely sleeping a wink.
“Sara!”
Dimitoli immediately sat up straight, genuine concern and joy flashing in his eyes.
He had always doted on this exceptionally talented daughter.
“You’re back! What about Sword Saint Laura? She didn’t come with you?”
“My teacher is gravely injured and is receiving treatment at the Royal Healing Institute.”
Sara strode quickly to the throne, not even bothering to bow, and said directly,
“Father, the Blood Race is far more dangerous than we imagined! We can’t wait any longer— we must send reinforcements to the Central Region immediately!”
Dimitoli’s relaxed expression tightened again:
“Sara, don’t rush. We need to plan the reinforcements carefully…”
“There’s no time for careful planning!”
Sara’s voice rose, echoing through the empty hall.
“I saw it with my own eyes in the Betty Territory—those Blood Race members aren’t ordinary Magical Beasts. They are organized, tactical, and can even use Magic!”
“Their core combat power is called the ‘Blood Pillar,’ and each one is at least Tier 7 or above!”
She quickly and clearly recounted her experience in the Betty Territory: the Blood Moon suppressing Light Magic, the Blood Pillars’ eerie regenerative abilities, Laura’s desperate battle against No.3 that ended in severe injury, and the mysterious black-robed man’s horrifying Space Magic…
When he heard that Laura was seriously injured, Dimitoli’s expression clearly changed.
Sword Saint Laura was not only the Empire’s strongest Warrior but also the royal family’s sword instructor—in a sense, she symbolized the peak of the Empire’s martial strength.
If even she had lost…
Sara caught the wavering in her father’s eyes and pressed harder:
“Right now, tens of thousands of civilians and soldiers are being turned into food for the Blood Race every day!”
“Worse than that, those attacked are being converted into new Blood Race—like a plague spreading!”
“If we keep letting this go, by the time the Blood Race arrives at the Imperial Capital, we will face an army of millions of undying monsters!”
Her words were like ice water poured over Dimitoli’s head, sending a chill through him.
He instinctively looked at Tina, his eyes pleading for help—a habit formed over many years.
Whenever he faced a tough problem, he would unconsciously seek the High Priestess’s judgment.
Tina smiled gently. The smile was warm and proper, but it made alarms ring in Sara’s heart.
“Your Highness Sara, please calm down.”
Tina’s voice was still as steady as ever.
“You’ve just returned from the front lines. It’s understandable that you’re emotional. But as a member of the royal family, you should learn to consider the bigger picture.”
She took two steps forward, her white robe rippling with the movement.
“Everything you’ve said is already known to the Temple of the Ten Saints.”
“We are already mobilizing the Temple Knights and Temple Priests, and the Four Major Magic Academies are deploying high-level Mages. But—”
She shifted her tone, her green eyes fixed on Sara.
“War is not a game, especially when facing an unknown enemy. Rushing in blindly to provide support will only cause the Empire’s core strength to be scattered and exhausted when it is not fully prepared.”
“We need to gather enough supplies and formulate tactics to exploit the Blood Race’s weaknesses. All of this takes time.”
“About a week!”
Sara said urgently.
“High Priestess, do you know what a week means on the battlefield?”
“It means at least ten towns will fall, and hundreds of thousands will die or be converted!”
“Then let me ask you, Your Highness,”
Tina countered softly.
“If we hastily send reinforcements now but lose because we are ill-prepared, leaving the Imperial Capital defenseless and open to a direct Blood Race assault—how many hundreds of thousands, or even millions, would die then?”
Sara was momentarily at a loss for words.
Tina continued, her voice even softer, but every word struck home:
“Your Highness, you have a kind heart. That is good. But ruling a kingdom cannot rely solely on kindness.”
“You must understand that sometimes, to achieve a greater good, you have to make difficult choices.”
“The sacrifice of those nobles is certainly heartbreaking. But if it can buy the Empire long-term stability and genuine centralization of the royal family, then those sacrifices… are worthwhile.”
“Father!”
Sara stopped paying attention to Tina and looked directly at Dimitoli, her eyes full of pleading.
“Please think about it—those people dying are your subjects!”
“They cry out to the royal family for help because they believe we can protect them! If we sit by and do nothing, where is the royal family’s credibility?”
“Where is the glory of the Ulysses family?”
Dimitoli avoided his daughter’s burning gaze, his fingers gripping the armrest of the throne tightly.
Suddenly, Sara thought of something. Her face gradually darkened.
She stared at her father’s evasive eyes, her voice trembling:
“Father… have you already planned to use the Blood Race to weaken those old noble families?”
The air in the hall seemed to freeze.
Dimitoli’s body stiffened. That subtle reaction was answer enough.
Sara staggered back a step, shaking her head in disbelief:
“You truly… how could you… those commoners are innocent!”
“Those soldiers are fighting for the Empire! There are many ways to weaken the nobles—why did you have to choose to pave the road with the blood of your own people?!”
“Your Highness Sara!”
Tina’s voice suddenly turned cold.
“Watch your words! Are you accusing your father, the king of the Olay Empire?”
A wall?
She took a step forward, her white figure seeming to Sara like an insurmountable high wall:
“You say there are many ways to weaken the nobles? Then please tell me, what ways?”
“The great families have been entrenched in the Empire for centuries, their networks tangled and interconnected! Pulling one thread affects the whole body! Without extraordinary means, how can their foundations be shaken?”
Sara opened her mouth but found she couldn’t make a sound.
She truly had no answer—at the academy, she had studied Magic theory, Empire history, and diplomatic etiquette, but no one had ever taught her how to reclaim power from deeply rooted nobles without triggering a civil war.
Seeing this, Tina softened her tone slightly, but her authority remained unquestionable:
“Your Highness, you must understand one fact: first and foremost, you are a member of the royal family, and only then a student at Starlight Academy.”
“Every decision you make should be based on the interests of the royal family and the long-term stability of the Empire.”
“The Blood Race has indeed caused casualties. But it is the Blood Race that caused those casualties, not His Majesty.”
“Your Majesty simply made a difficult but necessary strategic choice—preserve the core forces of the Imperial Capital and wait for the best opportunity to counterattack. What’s wrong with that?”
“But…” Sara’s voice was dry. “Those who trusted us…”
“They’ll understand.” Tina interrupted her. “When His Majesty saves the Empire from crisis, everyone will understand that today’s endurance was for tomorrow’s victory. History is written by the victors, Your Highness.”
Sara felt a suffocating helplessness. Tina’s logic was terrifyingly airtight.
Every step seemed reasonable, every conclusion led to that cold result—sacrificing some for a greater gain.
She knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t find a crack in this logical cage.
Just then, the doors of the Holy King Hall were pushed open again.
A royal messenger stumbled in almost falling, holding high a letter stamped with over a dozen different noble crests—a joint urgent letter of nobles.
“Your Majesty! Good news! A turn in the Central Front!”
The messenger’s voice trembled with excitement: “Riya Arsède, heir of the Arsède Family, has traveled to seven battlefields in the Central region over the past three days. Alone, she routed the main forces of the Blood Race from all directions and is suspected of capturing several Blood Race commanders! Hawkwood Domain, Sylvester Domain, and Flamel Domain have all been relieved!”
“What?!” Dimitoli stood abruptly from the throne.
Sara’s eyes sparkled. ‘Riya actually turned the tide by herself!’
But the next second, Tina’s calm, cold voice rang out: “Your Majesty, I’m afraid this… is not good news.”
Dimitoli and Sara both looked at her.
Tina slowly descended the steps, took the joint letter from the messenger, quickly scanned its contents, and a sharp glint flashed in her green eyes: “Riya Arsède… that genius heir of the Arsède Family. Single-handedly routed the main forces of the Blood Race? And captured multiple commanders?”
She raised her head, looking at Dimitoli: “Your Majesty, don’t you think this is too incredible? Just now, Princess Sara said that even the Sword Saint Laura could only fight to a draw with one Blood Pillar. How could a young woman under twenty fight multiple Blood Pillars alone and win?”
Dimitoli frowned. Indeed, this defied common sense.
“More importantly,” Tina’s voice lowered, yet pierced the air like an icicle, “after this battle, Riya Arsède—or rather, the Arsède Family—will gain the gratitude and support of all the nobles in the Central region. Hawkwood, Sylvester, Flamel… these old noble families we planned to weaken now all owe the Arsède Family a huge debt.”
She gently placed the letter on a nearby table.
The movement was elegant, but the sound of the parchment falling was extraordinarily clear: “Ten years ago, do you remember how much it cost us to bring the Arsède Family down from the position of ‘First Noble’? Now, this family might step over the corpses of the Blood Race to climb back to the top. And this time, they will be even stronger than when Old Arsède was alive—because they have the halo of ‘Savior’ and alliances with multiple old noble houses.”
Dimitoli’s expression darkened. The details of that “incident” ten years ago surfaced in his mind.
That was a key step in his consolidation of royal power. Now, was everything going to be reversed?
Sara stood frozen, her whole body cold. What did she hear? ‘How much it cost to bring the Arsède Family down’?
The death of Old Arsède ten years ago… wasn’t an accident? She looked at her father, and Dimitoli’s evasive gaze confirmed the worst suspicion.
Just then, another messenger burst into the hall, his face pale. The letter in his hand wasn’t even sealed with a noble crest—this was the most urgent military report.
“Your Majesty! Urgent report from the Central Frontline! The heir of the Arsède Family, Riya, has appeared on the Central Main Battlefield. Beside her… beside her are the Blood Race commanders who previously attacked various regions! The frontline commander saw it with his own eyes—those Blood Race commanders treated her with respect, suspected… suspected of being controlled by her!”
The messenger’s voice echoed through the hall, every word like thunder: “Even more shocking, during the battle, Riya Arsède displayed clear Blood Race traits—silver hair lengthening, pupils turning crimson, fangs, and blood-colored energy! A large number of soldiers and nobles have witnessed and confirmed it! Currently, Riya Arsède has fallen unconscious and is being escorted to…”
He paused, struggling to spit out the last few words: “…the Ten Sacred Halls, to undergo ‘Identification and Treatment.’”
Dead silence. Inside the King’s Hall, only the crackling of the hearth fire and the three people’s restrained breathing remained.
Sara was the first to react, almost shouting: “Impossible! How could Riya be of the Blood Race! This must be a mistake! Or the Blood Race’s Disguise Magic!”
But Dimitoli and Tina exchanged a glance—there was shock in that look, but more than that, an opportunity.
“Sara,” Dimitoli’s voice regained its royal authority, “the Ten Sacred Halls will find out the truth. We’ll go now.”
The three hurriedly left the King’s Hall, passed through the long royal corridor, and headed toward the tall, pure-white building in the center of the Imperial Capital—the Ten Sacred Halls.
Along the way, Sara’s heart grew heavier. She remembered the inhuman speed and power Riya had shown at the end of the Betty Battlefield.
‘No, it can’t be. Riya is human, the heir of the Arsède Family. The Chief Student of Liyue Academy. How could her old rival be of the Blood Race?’
Inside the Ten Sacred Halls, the light was much dimmer than outside. On the central altar, Riya lay quietly.
Her silver hair was spread across the white altar cloth. The strands that were always neatly tied back now reached her waist, glistening faintly in the candlelight.
Her eyes were closed, her face pale to the point of being almost translucent. Her simple battle suit was torn in many places, revealing bandages underneath—some stained with dark red blood.
What drew the most attention were her hands: the nails had become sharp, a faint dark red color; and the two canine teeth at the corners of her mouth were noticeably sharper than those of ordinary people, clearly visible even in her coma.
Beside the altar, several priestesses of the Ten Sacred Halls were praying in low voices, holding ritual tools that emitted a soft white light, suspended above Riya’s body.
Where the light touched, faint dark red patterns appeared and faded under Riya’s skin, as if two forces were struggling.
Tina stepped forward. An older priestess immediately bowed and reported: “Grand Priestess, the initial identification is complete. The subject possesses all physiological characteristics of the Blood Race: photosensitive constitution, blood craving response, and…” The priestess paused, her voice even lower: “The subject is actually female.”
Sara covered her mouth, stepped back, and hit a cold stone pillar.
Tina turned to face Dimitoli, her green eyes glinting in the candlelight: “Your Majesty, it seems we have an… unexpected turn of events.”
She walked slowly to the edge of the altar, looked down at the unconscious Riya, and spoke in a calm, flat voice: “The heir of the Arsède Family willingly degenerated, transformed into a member of the Blood Race, colluded with the enemy, and invited trouble into the country, causing devastation in the Empire’s Central region and the ruin of countless noble families.”
Tina raised her head, her gaze sweeping over Dimitoli and Sara: “This is treason. This is betrayal of the human race. According to the Imperial Code and the Ten Sacred Halls Doctrine, the Arsède Family shall be stripped of all titles, territories, and privileges, and its members must undergo trial. And Riya must be publicly executed.”
She smiled slightly, a ruthless, cold smile: “We now have a justifiable reason to uproot the Arsède Family—this greatest threat that was about to rise again.”
Sara felt the world spin. ‘Riya… is really of the Blood Race…’