The night wind swept over the Weston estate, carrying a biting chill mixed with the lingering stench of smoke and blood.
Narcissa fled Oakvale in disgrace, cradling the severely injured and unconscious Kael as a handful of loyal guards escorted her out of the city. They sought temporary refuge in a hidden outpost deep within the remote mountains.
The monastery there had been abandoned for years. Amid the crumbling walls and shattered pillars, a few side rooms were still mostly intact.
Moonlight filtered through the broken window frames, casting over her twisted, pale face and sharpening its sinister angles.
“Mom… It hurts…” Kael murmured, still unconscious, his small body curling in pain. Narcissa carefully laid him on a broken bed covered with thick blankets and checked his injuries.
Although Blanche’s strike hadn’t killed Kael outright, her icy spiritual energy had infiltrated his circulatory pathways, severely damaging his fragile core. Without immediate treatment, the damage could be permanent.
“Blanche… I’ll make sure you die a miserable death,” Narcissa hissed through gritted teeth, her eyes burning with hatred.
She was a distant relative of a reclusive family. Even without the prestige of the main family, she had always been proud and arrogant.
All her life, she had never suffered such humiliation, especially not in front of her son, and certainly not at the hands of a wounded peer.
Narcissa took out a precious healing pill and fed it to Kael, then used her internal energy to stabilize his disrupted energy pathways.
She worked through the night until dawn. His breathing finally steadied, and he sank into a deep sleep, though his face remained deathly pale.
Watching her son suffer had pushed Narcissa’s killing intent to its limit. She left her room and stepped into the dilapidated courtyard outside.
Three of her long-serving family retainers, who also acted as her guards, were already there. Each of them was a late-stage First-Circle Arcanist, and their strengths were not to be dismissed. Ragnar, the sinister-looking middle-aged head guard, greeted respectfully, “Lady Narcissa.”
“Have you contacted them?” she asked hoarsely.
“I’ve already sent a message back to the main family through the secret channel,” he replied. “We reported the situation here, especially Blanche’s whereabouts and her injuries, as well as her protection of mortals.”
“And what was their response?”
“They issued a direct order,” Ragnar replied, lowering his voice.
He went on, “They stated that Blanche is a remnant of the Frost family who carries clues related to ‘that object.’ Her life is of great importance. She must be captured alive, or at the very least, ensure whatever she carries doesn’t fall into the hands of outsiders.
“They have dispatched three Shadow Guard teams and were personally led by Elder Sevran, who’s at Core-Forged level. They’re on their way and should arrive by tomorrow evening at the latest.”
“They’re sending the Shadow Guards? And Elder Sevran is leading them?” Narcissa first looked shocked, then ecstatic. “Great! Perfect timing. With him and the Shadow Guards, Blanche can’t escape even if she grows wings.”
She paced the courtyard, and the bitter hatred in her gaze hardened into a savage kind of thrill.
“Once Elder Sevran arrives, I’ll personally destroy Blanche’s cultivation. Then, I’ll throw her into the family’s water dungeons and let the frost-poison gnaw at her heart for eternity. As for that damn white fox, I’ll skin it alive and make Kael a new scarf.”
“Lady Narcissa…”
One guard hesitated before reminding her, “Mr. Greenwood seems inclined to protect Blanche. If he hadn’t intervened yesterday, we might not have escaped.
“Though Elder Sevran is powerful, Mr. Greenwood has considerable prestige among rogue cultivators and good relations with several families. If conflict arises…”
“Octavius Greenwood?” Narcissa snorted disdainfully. “He’s just an old waste who got lucky breaking through into the core formation level and wallows among rogue cultivators. How dare he meddle in the affairs of the Jornells of Amethysius?
“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll step aside. But if he dares to interfere, we’ll take him down too. With a mid-level Core-Forged expert like Elder Sevran backing us, taking down Octavius will be easy.”
Narcissa paused, a cruel smile spreading across her face.
“As for those mortals… The Weston family … They dared to laugh at my disgrace. Before Elder Sevran arrives, we’ll go give them a taste of retribution.”
Ragnar’s heart tightened. “Lady Narcissa, you mean…”
“Back to the Weston estate,” she said through clenched teeth. “Doesn’t Blanche care about those mortals’ lives? Doesn’t she love playing the saint and protecting them? Then, I’ll show her what will happen to those ants when she sticks her nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“If Mr. Greenwood finds out, things could turn ugly,” he said.
“He just happened to be there yesterday,” Narcissa said. “Would he really protect a group of insignificant mortals?”
Her eyes flashed with malice as she added, “Besides, Octavius owes my family a favor.
He won’t dare to interfere.
“Mobilize all the men immediately. I want the Weston family wiped out completely and burn the place to the ground. By the time Blanche hears about it and rushes over, there’ll be nothing left but ashes. I want her drowning in guilt, suffering in pain, and completely broken.”
The three guards exchanged glances. They knew that Narcissa was consumed by rage and vengeance. Reason wouldn’t reach her now.
They could only comply.
“Yes, Lady Narcissa.”
