The warm glow of the bedroom lamps seemed to drive away all shadows and the chill of late autumn.
Soft moonlight spilled across the knight-patterned carpet and the ornate furniture.
Across the long table, the Third Imperial Princess of the Kray Empire, Alexia, still sat there.
Her brown hair fell naturally over her shoulders, her eyes like deep, still lakes—yet already dulled, as though half-asleep.
Her cheeks, under the moonlight, looked pale and translucent.
It was the look of one who had struggled with all her might, only to be met with utter despair.
Hope had shattered completely, never to be pieced together again.
“So, in Your Highness Princess Alexia’s view, there truly isn’t the slightest sign that the Kray Empire is being eroded?”
Lan Qi asked again, as if to confirm.
“No.”Alexia’s reply was short and firm.
But to her, Lan Qi’s words sounded like a repeated form of torture.
She knew he did not mean it that way—he simply didn’t know the truth.
And yet, if he was deliberately pressing the question again, then this man’s character was unbearably cruel.
How pitiful.
She was not the kind of naïve girl who would dream of an omniscient, omnipotent hero to protect her and save her empire.
That was the stuff of fairy tales.
“……”
Huperion, at the side, dared not speak—her nerves taut, carefully watching for every shred of information.
She could see that the princess’s mouth was especially stubborn.
And under the influence of the Poet of Love, Alexia’s emotions rose and fell in stark clarity.
Huperion herself was deep in thought.
She did not want either Lan Qi or Alexia to notice her intentions.
Only she knew that her father, Duke Migaya Aransal’s disappearance, was tied to the Kray Empire.
This Alexia, as a princess, might know some crucial truths!
But Huperion would never drag Lan Qi into her personal turmoil.
So she could only listen quietly, hoping Lan Qi might, by chance, ask questions that could reveal something useful for finding Duke Migaya.
Yet—
Even though she acted as calm as ever, Lan Qi’s eyes turned toward her.
He smiled, but said nothing.
Huperion’s heart jolted in alarm!
She was certain her acting had no flaws.
Why then, under Lan Qi’s sudden gaze, did it feel as though all her hidden thoughts were already laid bare?
“Huperion, don’t worry. Since we have subjectively deemed her a possible accomplice of the Resurrection Church, it is entirely legal under southern continental law to remain cautious, even restrain her, until her identity is confirmed.”
Lan Qi’s voice was gentle.
His words allowed Huperion to exhale in relief.
So it had only been her overthinking.
“……”
Lan Qi, still smiling, turned his head aside.
To others, it looked like he was merely mocking the princess’s stubborn denial.
But in truth, Huperion did not know that he already understood far more than he let on.
Even the words he had once spoken to her—“We will rescue Migaya”—she still took as nothing but a joke.
Yet to truly find Duke Migaya, it had to be done before the Ninth Progenitor, Marquis Bernhard, broke free of his seal, killed Migaya, and seized the [Primordial Tablet – Darkness].
For the Bloodkin, [Primordial Tablet – Darkness] was irresistible—an ultimate magic card attuned to their innate affinity with the Dark.
In the age when the Bloodkin had been sealed, the [Primordial Tablet] series did not yet exist.
Thus, when they were released, none of the Bloodkin possessed one.
Even a year and a half later, during the main storyline, the Bloodkin would launch a great hunt for those who carried them.
The [Primordial Tablets] carried the trait of “dropping upon the bearer’s death.”
But for the undead Bloodkin, obtaining one meant near-permanent possession.
Since Lan Qi already knew that [Primordial Tablet – Darkness] would eventually fall into Bernhard’s hands, and that the Third, Seventh, and Eighth Progenitors—who awakened earlier—did not claim Migaya’s tablet, the implication was clear:
Migaya was likely still alive.
According to Lan Qi’s plan, once he returned from the northern continent with the [Primordial Tablet – Seal] and completed his preparations in the Shadow World, he would go with Huperion into the Bloodkin’s nest within the Kray Empire—under the guise of conducting an “ecological balance survey.”
If he could obtain an ally from the Kray Empire beforehand, all the better.
So long as Princess Alexia stood opposed to the Bloodkin, they shared a common cause.
Thus, Lan Qi decided to probe her.
“Your Highness Alexia, based on your answers just now, allow me to hazard a guess: the Kray Empire’s current crisis is not the Resurrection Church at all, but rather… a being far more terrifying than mere cultists.”
Lan Qi set down his teacup. His gaze shifted away from her, his eyes calm, yet his voice unwavering.
“…I don’t know what you’re talking about. And the Kray Empire is under no crisis whatsoever. Don’t spout nonsense!”
Alexia’s shoulders trembled. Though she argued back, even Huperion could tell it was hollow bravado.
Lan Qi’s words struck her defenses with uncanny precision.
“With the Twelve Guardian Generals protecting the nation, why should you be afraid? Or… do you no longer know which of them are still themselves—and which are already controlled?”
Lan Qi chuckled softly, as though speaking to himself.
“Every word you say now treads upon high treason. Stop, and I may overlook it.”
Alexia’s voice was low and cold, clipped as she strained to restrain her unraveling emotions.
At first, she might have been able to maintain her composure, answering with practiced poise.
But under the Poet of Love’s influence, she could no longer control herself.
Why was it that Lan Qi, again and again, struck straight at her heart, as though he could read her very thoughts?
“Has there been anyone in the royal palace recently who makes you feel… afraid?”
Lan Qi pressed on, not giving her room to breathe.
“I warn you—stop asking!”
Alexia’s voice shook. She looked like a small lion cub, fur bristling, trying to mask her fear with anger.
“At most, a year and a half remains…”
Lan Qi tapped the table lightly, as if delivering her final answer.
His voice rang with the weight of fate, like the toll of a midnight bell tower.
“The Blood Moon will shroud the entire Kray Empire. Princess… your country will fall.”
The words were short, yet they roared in Alexia’s ears like rolling thunder.
“!!”
With the crash of a teacup against the table, Alexia staggered to her feet in fright.
In the dark of night, she looked like a girl broken by a thunderclap.
She stared at Lan Qi, desperate to read something from his eyes—
But in those natural emerald irises, there was nothing she could grasp.
Even if, from her own words and reactions, Lan Qi could deduce fragments of truth—
In the eyes of the world today, no sane person would ever believe that the mighty Kray Empire could be destroyed in a mere year and a half by the Bloodkin.
“You… just what exactly do you know…?”
Her eyes brimmed with fury and helplessness.
And from their dry edges, tears once more began to flow.