In the corridor outside the stone door, the faint sound of footsteps was fading away.
Leila had not gone far.
She passed through the underground corridors of the Night Rose Palace, bypassed the ancestors' sleeping quarters, and turned left at the third intersection. At the end was a plain black oak door.
Ed’s private reception hall.
The firelight from the fireplace reflected on Ed’s face. He was sitting in an armchair, wiping a silver dagger with a cloth stained with old blood. Hearing the door open, his hand paused for a moment.
Leila walked in and closed the door behind her.
She raised her right hand, her index, middle, and ring fingers tracing three lines across the door panel in sequence. A triple soundproofing barrier descended, completely isolating the room from the outside world.
Ed draped the cleaning cloth over the armrest and sheathed the dagger.
“Big sis, you—”
“When was the last time you lost control?”
Leila interrupted him.
There was no preamble.
Ed’s back pressed against the chair, and his entire body froze. A log in the fireplace popped, sending sparks onto the floor tiles that quickly went out.
Silence lasted for a long time.
Ed set down the dagger, his right hand instinctively moving to his left wrist. His fingers closed around the inner side of the wrist bone.
There was a circle of very faint, dark red markings there.
It was impossible to notice without looking closely. The markings were embedded deep in the skin, their color close to dried blood, wrapping completely around the inside of the wrist.
Leila’s gaze was fixed on that circle of markings.
Her spine stiffened.
A Suppression Mark.
The oldest sealing method in the blood source magic system. It had only one purpose—to suppress uncontrollable power within the bloodline. The marker needed to inject their own blood source essence into the core meridians of the marked person, establishing chains at the source.
This technique was extremely costly. Each time it was applied, it was equivalent to sacrificing two hundred years of one's own lifespan.
And in three thousand years, there was only one member of the Blood Race who could perform such a mark—
Only one.
Ed looked up.
He read Leila’s reaction. It wasn't ordinary alertness. It was the look that appeared on the face of someone who had lived too long and suddenly touched a length of rope in the dark that shouldn't exist.
“One hundred and twelve years ago.”
Ed’s voice was dry.
“Near the West Border Frontier Army camp. I was camping overnight with Margaret’s squad, and it happened at three in the morning. By the time I came to, half a street on the east side of the camp had collapsed. There were scorch marks on the ground.”
He looked down at his hand.
“I thought it was a defect in my own bloodline. A side effect of the curse. I lose control once every few decades; it’s been like that since I was a child.”
The fire in the fireplace flickered.
“So you left her.”
Leila’s words were not a question.
Ed did not deny it. He released his wrist, and the dark red markings faded back under his skin.
“If I hadn't left then, the next time I lost control, it wouldn't have been just half a street.”
Leila stood by the door, her long silver hair hanging over her shoulders. The warm light from the fireplace didn't reach her, only the red depths of her eyes reflected a faint glow.
She did not speak her deduction aloud.
The funeral three thousand years ago, the anomaly of the inheritance stone pillar, and the Suppression Mark on Ed’s wrist that shouldn't exist—these three lines were converging in the same direction.
Leila turned and pulled the door open.
“After tonight, if you feel your blood boiling again...”
She paused for half a second.
“Do not resist. Come find me.”
The door closed. The soundproofing barriers dissipated layer by layer.
Ed sat by the fireplace, staring at his left wrist. The firelight crawled over that nearly invisible circle of dark red markings and then receded.
He had never asked who had left this mark.
And he had never thought to ask.
...
After leaving the secret chamber, Bell walked through the underground corridor alone.
Oil lamps at the corners cast dim yellow circles on the walls. His footsteps echoed evenly on the stone tiles.
A figure suddenly rushed out from the shadows.
Her entire body clung to him.
Arms tightened from both sides with such force that his ribs gave a muffled groan. Her face buried into his chest, her forehead pressing against his collarbone.
Tia.
She didn't say a word. Not a single one.
Bell could feel her shaking. The tremors were fine and dense, traveling from her shoulder blades through his arms to his fingertips.
It wasn't fear.
It was because she had held on for too long.
From the moment he was taken into Moon Phase City until now, Tia had been watching from the periphery. Every gathering, every confrontation between the ancestors—she had been watching from the shadows. She couldn't act, couldn't expose herself; she could only watch.
The torment of helplessness had weighed on her for over ten days, and at this moment, the dam finally broke.
Bell remained silent for a few seconds.
He raised his right hand and pressed it against the back of her head. His fingers slid through the silver hair behind her ear, gently cupping her head.
There were no words of comfort.
None were needed.
It took a long time for Tia to release him. She took half a step back and looked up. Her eyes were red, but she forced the corners of her mouth upward, squeezing out an unsuccessful smile.
“I knew you were okay.”
She sniffled.
“Because your heartbeat has been steady. It never changed.”
Bell looked at her.
At the outer corner of her right eye, there was a tiny silver trail.
It wasn't a tear.
In moments of extreme emotion, a Mithril body would leak minute amounts of mana-conducting fluid from the joints. Tia hadn't even noticed.
Bell reached out and wiped away the silver droplet with his thumb.
A lingering chill remained on his fingertip.
He looked at the silver drop on his finger for two seconds.
Then he withdrew his hand and said nothing.
From the other end of the corridor came the sound of boot heels clicking against the stone.
Leon was leaning against the wall waiting, arms crossed over his chest. His platinum-blond short hair gleamed with a cold luster under the oil lamp. Only when Bell and Tia approached did he straighten up.
“I’ve compiled the intelligence regarding Marquis Edward.”
Leon’s opening was blunt and efficient.
“The ancestor of the Edward family was a guard for the previous Vampire King. A biographical manuscript is hidden in the Marquis’s private study. Most chapters were altered by later generations, but one core account remains perfectly intact.”
Bell stopped walking.
“Regarding the war three thousand years ago?”
Leon nodded.
“The biography states it clearly—the previous Vampire King did not die from internal strife or old age. He was personally slain by the Star Dragon King during the War of the Rift.”
“The breath of the Star Dragon King can incinerate the soul itself.”
Leon’s right hand unconsciously pressed against the hilt of the sword at his waist.
“The original text describes it as: ‘Both body and soul were extinguished, leaving not even a fragment of a soul behind.’”
The Star Dragon King.
Those three words hammered into Bell’s mind.
Memory fragments passed to him by the first loop Bell surged up. The original Bell, who deeply loved Cecilia, had also died under the breath of the Star Dragon King.
Total annihilation.
But Cecilia had still found a way to “resurrect” him.
A being whose soul was completely incinerated by the Star Dragon King should, by all logic, be unable to even reincarnate. Yet Cecilia had done it, and she had initiated hundreds of cycles.
The previous Vampire King had also been slain by the Star Dragon King.
Yet the inheritance stone pillar showed that he “still had a master.”
The parallel between these two things locked perfectly into place within Bell’s logical chain.
He did not voice this connection.
“Where is that biography now?”
Leon tilted his head slightly.
“It’s still in Edward’s study, but I spent two nights memorizing the key passages word for word. If needed, I can write out a full transcript from memory.”
Bell glanced at Leon.
This heir to a ducal house was far more useful than he appeared on the surface.
“Keep it. I’ll ask you for it later.”
Another set of footsteps came from the end of the corridor.
Margaret walked in from outside, her cloak damp with dew. She scanned the positions and expressions of the three people present, asking for no details.
“If things are handled here, return to the academy.”
She adjusted the collar of her cloak.
“Leovet asked me to bring you back. The Royal Capital… is also unstable.”
She spoke those last few words very softly.
Bell shook his head.
“I can’t leave yet.”
Margaret didn't respond, waiting for him to continue.
“The anomaly of the inheritance stone pillar was no coincidence. And Leila’s reaction wasn't without cause.”
Bell leaned against the wall. The bandages on his left arm had mostly come loose, revealing the unblemished skin beneath.
“If the previous Vampire King truly isn't completely dead, then the scope of this matter extends far beyond Moon Phase City. A being who can survive the Star Dragon King’s annihilation for three thousand years, in whatever form he remains—”
He paused.
“—is a blade hanging over everyone’s head.”
Margaret was silent for a while.
She looked at Leon, then at Tia. The expressions of the two young people were steady; they had no intention of leaving.
Ultimately, she did not insist.
“Fine. Then stay for two more days.”
She turned to walk back, stopping after a few steps without looking back.
“Bell.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll take the heat from Leovet for you. But you owe me a favor.”
Her footsteps vanished around the corner of the corridor.
...
Late night. The side hall.
Bell and Tia sat side by side on the stone steps of the windowsill. The twin purple moons of Moon Phase City hung at the highest point of the Firmament, their pale violet glow covering the rooftops of the entire city.
Occasionally, a few werewolf guards on night watch passed through the distant streets, the clatter of their armor reaching this place as a mere blur of sound.
A rare moment of peace.
Bell leaned against the window frame, his gaze cast toward the outer silhouette of Moon Phase City. His brain was still working at high speed—the inheritance stone pillar, Leila’s defensiveness, the funeral three thousand years ago, the Star Dragon King’s breath. These fragments collided in his mind, but a key node was still missing to tie them all together.
A thought suddenly emerged from the gaps in his reflections.
“By the way.”
Bell turned his head toward Tia.
“Is there any new news from the Wood Elves? When Aunt Philan came to the Royal Magic Academy to ask for my help, she mentioned the World Tree was withering. If the Wood Elves' territory has been affected by something—”
Tia tilted her head.
The pale violet moonlight shone on her profile. Her silver hair hung by her ears, and her Mithril skin reflected a soft luster.
A look of genuine confusion appeared on her face.
“Wood Elves?”
She repeated the word.
That confusion wasn't from thinking or remembering. It was from trying to identify a syllable she had never heard before.
“What is Bell talking about?”
She blinked.
“What is a Wood Elf?”
The purple moonlight outside the window did not change. The wind did not change.
Bell’s words caught in his throat.
He turned his head and stared into Tia’s eyes.
There was no hint of a joke in those eyes. No testing. No avoidance.
Only pure, genuine bewilderment.
A cold shiver crawled up his back. The feeling climbed from the base of his spine, locking into every vertebra one by one.
He lowered his voice.
“Tia.”
“The blessing runes in your core—the ones Aunt Philan carved. Do you remember them?”
Tia looked down and opened her left palm.
The Mithril surface shimmered with a soft glow. The lines of the runes were clearly visible under the moonlight.
She looked at them for a few seconds, then raised her head.
Her tone was very certain.
“Bell, the blessing runes in my core… were carved by your mother, Lady Eleanor, with her own hands.”
She paused, tilting her head.
“Who is Aunt Philan?”
The purple moonlight shone on Bell’s face.
His expression froze at that moment.
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