Conspiracy

The Blood Throne Council Chamber.

Within the massive, cavernous underground assembly hall, there was no light source save for a gargantuan, blood-red crystal suspended from the center of the vaulted ceiling.

The crystal functioned like a slowly beating heart, pulsing a ring of crimson light every few seconds that barely illuminated the obsidian round table carved from a single slab below.

Twelve high-backed, ornate stone chairs surrounded the table, though not all of them were occupied.

“Bang!”

A heavy, muffled thud echoed.

The man sitting in the third chair on the left slammed a ruby-encrusted goblet onto the table. The stem snapped, and wine as thick as plasma splashed across the obsidian surface, trickling slowly along the ancient grooves.

“Just today at noon, one of my descendants died in Solitude.”

Crown Muse’s voice was low and raspy.

Veins bulged with extreme anger across his pale face.

As a Seventh Generation Blood Duke, his authority was not to be challenged.

“That was a kin I spent countless efforts to nurture to the peak of the Tenth Generation! He was supposed to seize enough sacrifices for me in that cursed, lawless land of Solitude, yet now even his soul failed to escape!”

Crown Muse stood up, leaning his hands on the table. His crimson eyes scanned the other figures around the table, his fangs glinting coldly in the dim light.

“This is the equivalent of a slap across my face. I am going to Solitude, and I will tear that place apart. Regardless of who did it, I will drain their blood and crush their bones bit by bit!”

In the face of Crown Muse’s impotent rage, there was little reaction from the others at the table.

A withered old man sitting opposite him merely lifted his eyelids with indifference.

“Crown, control your emotions,” the old man’s shriveled lips moved slightly. “It was just a Count. Spend a few more decades and make a new one. Why cause such a stir?”

The old man’s skeletal fingers tapped gently on the table, creating an irritating rhythmic sound.

“Don’t forget, ever since the Demon Realm fell into that strange silence and we lost contact, our operational guidelines in the human world have been to be cautious and avoid trouble. Less trouble is better than more.”

“Bullshit! That’s only because it wasn't your descendant who died,” Crown roared.

“Enough, Crown.”

A lazy, magnetic female voice drifted from the far end of the long table.

The Blood Duke named Vivian leaned against her chair, her fingertips playing with a highly polished human-bone die.

Under the crimson crystal’s dim light, her revealing and opulent silk gown was particularly eye-catching.

“Your little Count likely ran into trouble he shouldn't have provoked.” Vivian tossed the die lightly onto the table, watching it roll. “My informants sent word that in the past few days, several large altars near Silvervein City have been purged.”

“A Hero went there.”

Vivian leaned forward slightly, her smile fading halfway.

“I heard that the newly appointed Hero is currently active near Silvervein City in Solitude. Your kin was most likely squashed like a bug by her in passing.”

At the mention of the word “Hero,” the temperature in the chamber seemed to drop by a dozen degrees instantly.

The fury on Crown Muse’s face froze for a moment.

But pride would not allow him to retreat.

“So what if a Hero killed him? Blood must be paid for with blood.”

“Can you even beat a Hero?” another Blood Duke mocked.

Just then.

An abrupt voice exploded throughout the chamber without warning.

“The Hero… such a disgusting thing. It would be better to just kill her.”

Crown Muse, who had been aggressive just a second ago, instantly lost all strength in his knees.

Without hesitation, without delay.

“Thud! Thud! Thud!”

All the Blood Dukes around the round table, no matter how arrogant their posture had been, now collapsed like puppets with their strings cut. They knelt in unison, pressing their foreheads firmly against the freezing obsidian floor.

It was an absolute suppression coming from the very source of their bloodline, one that could not be resisted.

A blurry black shadow had appeared at the head of the council table, seated in the previously empty chair.

It had no face, no solid outline—only a mass of deep night that seemed to swallow all light.

“Ancestor…”

Crown Muse’s body trembled violently. Extreme terror even made him forget to breathe.

“I have heard of that little mouse.”

The black shadow on the main seat slowly leaned back. The surrounding space rippled and distorted from that simple movement.

“She must not be allowed to grow further. If a Hero of any generation is not strangled in their infancy, they inevitably become a stumbling block to the Great Resurgence.”

The withered old man kneeling at the front swallowed hard. Gathering his courage, he whispered in a voice full of reverence: “But, Ancestor… after the previous Hero was killed through a trap set by us and several Lords, this current Hero is a nun who carries the inheritance of the Solar Cult. The light of the blazing sun flows naturally in her blood; she exists entirely to counter us. A frontal assault to kill her… the cost might be…”

“Utterly foolish.”

The shadow let out a cold sneer.

“Power has never been invincible.”

“You have lived for thousands of years. Do you still not understand the essence of those pathetic curses of the Destined Sanctuary?”

The Ancestor extended a finger condensed from thick darkness and traced a line in the air.

“Identity is both the power they take pride in and a noose that tightly constricts their necks. Do I really need to teach you how to exploit such a thing?”

The shadow’s aura suddenly bore down, causing the floor of the entire chamber to groan and crack under the unbearable weight.

“She must respond to the cries for help from the weak. She cannot demand any reward beyond what is conventional. She cannot turn a blind eye to evil deeds occurring before her. In this human world full of greed, lies, and betrayal, to possess such fatal weaknesses…”

The darkness at the head of the table began to dissipate.

“Go. Use a swarm of the most despicable, shameless commoners. Use countless disasters, both real and fake, to test her, to tear at her boundaries. When she is strangled by the chains of her own rules until she cannot breathe, when she has exhausted her last bit of patience and Holy Light for those worthless lives…”

“Bring her head back to the Council.”

“In the name of the Bloodline’s Glory,” the Blood Dukes pledged in unison, heads bowed.