Night fell like ink over the forest, and a shadow crashed through the trees in a blind rush. No one chased him, yet he flinched like a startled bird at every whisper of grass. Every twig-snap was a knife; every breath of wind, a hunter’s hand.
It had been nearly a day since Edgar fled Starfate City. Qingyu Mengyin hit him like a collapsing mountain, leaving a ruin that wouldn’t mend. Panic clung like frost on skin; he felt breath behind him, cold as iron.
“Damn it, why won’t my body heal?” His voice rasped like dry reeds. “That bitch— I… I never want to see her again!” He clutched his unhurt chest, hands shaking like leaves.
There was no wound on his chest, yet a spear seemed to pierce his left heart. Every small move was a storm of pain, a tearing that shredded his pulse. He couldn’t stop; a locked scent hounded him like a chain.
“No— I have to get out. If I reach that place, if I just reach it, hope might flicker like a match.”
“The Duskmoon Empire still keeps my loyal hands, a net I can fall into. With her at my side, I can draw on every resource like a blade to resurrect again. I need to hurry back. That woman Vinoina is likely still on my tail; I can’t stop.”
In truth, Qianya was still chatting in Starfate City, calm as moonlight. She wasn’t in a hurry; her aura had locked on like a hunter’s bell. This time, cat and mouse would trade names.
“I’m here,” he breathed, words rough as gravel. “He left a teleportation array right at this place. If I step into it, I’ll be safe.” Edgar sagged inside the array, a long sigh leaking past blood wet as crushed berries on his coat.
Red light flared. Edgar’s shape vanished from the clearing, leaving silence like an unmarked grave.
When he reappeared, a pitch-black cellar swallowed him. No light at all; the darkness was thick, a blindfold over the world.
It didn’t bother a Vampire; his eyes cut the dark like knives. Edgar scanned the shadows and found a bottle of crimson blood. His eyes lit like candles; he snatched it and drank deep.
“This taste… not bad. Even in the palace days, this was rare, a vintage as rich as sun-warmed plums. Pity— the amount is small, like a drying river.”
The cellar door creaked open, a rusty hinge in the night. An alluring woman with snow-white hair drifted in, hair like frost down her back. A tailored Lolita dress hugged her shape; a faint smile rested on her lips like moonlight.
“Huh? Why are you here, Lord Edgar?” she asked, voice sweet and sharp as sugar glass.
“It’s a long tale, messy as thorns… Crimson Goose, do you have anything for healing soul wounds? I was ambushed; I’m in a mess.”
Crimson Goose was an old pine in the Duskmoon Empire, rooted since Yuqiu wore the crown. Even now she held a princely seat, solid as a stone dais. In raw power, only the current Queen of the Blood rose higher.
When Edgar first broke his seal, she was the first to kneel and swear. She even offered herself as his blood thrall, then managed the Empire like a quiet tide. She crushed the supporters of the former Queen of the Blood.
Without her, Edgar’s talent for politics was a hollow reed; he would never have touched the throne.
“Lord Edgar, are you all right?” Crimson Goose came close and sank to both knees before him, eyes wide with worry like rain gathering on leaves.
“For now, it’s not fatal. Recovery will be messy, like a tangled net. I have to be at full strength before Qianya returns. Crimson Goose, do you have a cure for soul wounds?”
“Soul damage that deep?” She frowned, thoughts whirling like dust. “I think I might have a method to treat it. Please wait, Lord Edgar. I’ll search my storage space.”
Edgar nodded faintly and sat, breathing slow, trying to calm a body like a kicked hive.
“Ah— found it, Lord Edgar!” Crimson Goose cheered, joy bright as a bell.
“Really— give it to me, now,” he gasped, breath flaring like fire.
“Here you go,” she sang, voice sweet as poison; “I’ve already given it, silent as a kiss.”
“Where?” Edgar patted around in the dark. He felt no vial, only the quiet bite of a dagger now nestled in his chest.
“As far as I know, there’s no cure for a torn soul, Lord Edgar,” she cooed. “So to ease your pain, I decided to kill you swiftly.”
“You—!” Edgar’s fury flared like a flame; breath tripped like a broken drum. “Why didn’t the blood thrall binding react? You shouldn’t be able to hurt me!”
“Mm? Why indeed?” Crimson Goose lifted a finger to her lips, playful as a cat. “Ever think that I was never your blood thrall? Hee-hee.”
“What… did you say?” The words fell like stones.
“Lord Edgar, you’re adorably dumb. No wonder your mother sealed you for over a thousand years.” Crimson Goose laughed, shoulders shaking like ripples.
“To be fair, your low IQ made this easy. So, to thank you for your care, I prepared a painless death. Well— does it hurt at all?” she asked, words soft as falling snow.
Edgar’s hand trembled around the dagger at his heart. “I…”
“Honestly, I’ve long had enough of that woman Qianya,” she hissed, mask slipping, face knotting like twisted roots. “Why should a parachuted blonde brat get the crown I bled for? Because her blood is ‘noble’? Because she’s that woman’s kin?” She spat the words like thorns. “I am, too. I trained for years for the throne. My strength isn’t lower than hers. Why must I stand beneath her?”
Edgar coughed, breath thin as smoke.
“But soon, this empire will be mine,” she purred, joy blooming like poison flowers. “Thanks to you, Lord Edgar. You crawled out of a good coffin and handed me a gift. Don’t worry, Lord Edgar. I’ll use every drop of your blood.”
Hee-hee, laughter chiming like bells in a crypt.
“What… what are you going to do?” Edgar tried to back away, but his strength spilled out of him like water from a cracked jar.
“What does a Vampire do?” Crimson Goose tilted her head, smile crescent-sharp. “I’m starving, stomach hollow as a drum. And you stole my treasured delicacy.”
“Then… I’ll dig in,” she murmured, words bright as a knife. She licked her lips; her gaze turned feral, a predator savoring a bound stag.
“No— don’t come any closer! Aaah!”
