Chapter 2: The Queen’s Gift

Ignatius was jolted awake by a sudden bump.

The moment his vision cleared, he saw his Shadow Cage.

A cage made of pure black shadows—intangible, yet stronger than tempered steel.

The cage floated silently through a long corridor.

On both sides, intricately carved stone pillars pierced the dim ceiling.

Soulfire hovered like ghostly eyes, casting everything in the hue of death.

The air was thick with oppressive energy, tightly choking the fighting spirit within him.

The cage’s speed gradually slowed.

Finally, it hovered before an enormous Obsidian Gate.

The massive gate slid open without a sound.

What lay beyond caused Ignatius’s pupils to contract sharply.

A Throne Hall so grand it defied description.

The floor was polished obsidian, mirroring the countless ethereal blue Soulfire flickering overhead.

It gave the illusion of walking between the stars and the abyss.

Hundreds of Blood Nobles stood lined on both sides of the hall.

They wore various splendid yet somber-toned gowns, their postures upright, their auras terrifying.

As Ignatius was “escorted” inside, hundreds of gazes instantly fixed on him.

It was not hatred nor disdain.

Rather, the cold indifference reserved for examining a rare specimen, utterly devoid of emotion.

Ignatius’s gaze passed over this sea of lifeless faces, landing at the deepest end of the hall.

Atop a high Skeletal Staircase sat a throne forged from shadows and white bones.

On the throne, a figure sat silently.

The Blood Queen, Ophelia.

She wore a flawlessly tailored black Queen’s Regal Gown.

Her silver-white hair was casually pinned up with a single Ebony Hairpin.

She radiated no oppressive aura, not even sparing him a glance.

Yet her presence alone seemed the origin of all rules.

It twisted the very laws of physics in the space around her.

Avira stood beside her throne.

Gone was her battlefield madness; now, her face bore the pure, uncontrollable excitement of a child.

She stretched out slender fingers, pointing directly at Ignatius in the cage.

“Mother! Look! I found him!”

Avira’s voice echoed faintly in the overly vast hall.

Ophelia’s gaze finally shifted slowly, settling on Ignatius.

Her eyes were blood-red and deep as an eternal night.

Under her stare, Ignatius felt his soul gripped by an invisible hand, pulled from his body, exposed to absolute cold.

Avira was completely oblivious to the freezing atmosphere, vividly recounting their “wonderful encounter” to the Queen.

At that time, everyone was terrified out of their minds, but he—the little mouse—dared to play dead!

“And then, just as I was about to step on him—”

“He suddenly jumped up with a ‘boom’ and elbowed me!”

“Really, Mother, such strength!”

Avira spoke while miming the action, her face twisted with a sickly nostalgia and excitement.

“That elbow was beautiful!”

“Fast and fierce, dead-on, hitting my temple just right!”

The moment she said this, the royal court erupted.

Hundreds of scrutinizing gazes instantly turned into sharp killing intent.

An attack on the royal family!

***

In the strictly hierarchical Eternal Night Empire, this was a crime so grave it could wipe a race off the continent!

“A lowly human dares to ambush the noble Princess Royal Highness?”

“This is the ultimate blasphemy against the Empire!”

“Kill him!”

“Crush his soul with the most cruel punishment!”

The nobles’ whispers swelled into a fierce undercurrent.

Avira frowned at the noise, annoyed, and shouted, “Shut up! What do you idiots know!”

She turned to the Queen, her eyes wild like a fanatic.

“Mother, it’s been five hundred years!”

“He’s the first toy in five hundred years to ever hurt me.”

“The only one to ever escape from my hands!”

“Don’t you think so?”

“His soul must be very, very special!”

Ophelia’s gaze remained locked on Ignatius.

Her sight pierced through his war-worn flesh.

Ignoring his pitiful fighting spirit, it swept past decades of fractured memories.

Finally, it settled in the deepest part of his soul.

That essence, forged through countless life-and-death battles—stubborn, solitary, and unyielding as a boulder.

A faint curve appeared at the corner of Ophelia’s lips.

At that moment, a Blood Elder dressed in a prince’s gown stepped forward from the ranks, bowed, and spoke with a loud, authoritative voice.

“Your Majesty, this beast is guilty of heinous crimes, brazenly attacking a royal family member, severely challenging the Empire’s dignity.”

“I, the Clan Chief of the Mephist Clan, earnestly beg Your Majesty to order—”

“To subject this beast to the Punishment of a Thousand Souls, to uphold the royal dignity!”

“Agreed!”

“Please, Your Majesty, issue the command!”

Several princes and elders voiced their agreement.

Avira was about to defend her “toy.”

But Ophelia on the throne merely lifted a finger.

Instantly, the noisy hall fell silent.

Even the Soulfire atop the ceiling ceased its flickering.

All the Blood Nobles, including the prince, bowed their heads deeply, no longer daring to speak.

Ophelia finally spoke.

Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion, yet it resounded clearly in the soul of every listener.

“Such an interesting soul…”

Her eyes flickered with a strange light, as if an expert had discovered an unparalleled treasure.

“…to be trapped within such a coarse, fragile body is itself a form of desecration.”

Ignatius’s heart tightened sharply.

He couldn’t grasp the deeper meaning of those words.

But a fear deeper than death began raging wildly from the depths of his spine.

The Queen’s gaze shifted to Avira beside her.

In those icy eyes, there appeared a faint hint of what could be called “tenderness.”

“Avira, my daughter, haven’t you always complained—”

“That having no Little Sister to accompany you is so boring?”

Avira’s eyes instantly brightened to their fullest.

She sensed something, her breathing growing rapid.

The Queen’s gaze returned to Ignatius.

“Today, I shall bestow this Gift upon you.”

“I will personally refine this uncut jade into my most perfect Work of Art.”

The moment her words fell, the Shadow Cage dissipated.

An invisible force gripped his body, lifting him gently, drifting him toward the throne.

Ignatius’s heart plunged into a bottomless abyss.

He finally understood.

What awaited him was an unknown horror thousands of times worse than the Punishment of a Thousand Souls.

He was no longer a prisoner of war, no longer a captive.

He was simply raw material for the Queen’s whim—

To carve into a Work of Art.

And that Work of Art

Would be Avira’s longed-for…

Little Sister.