At that moment, a roar echoed from a distant chamber on the fourth floor.
The flowered balcony, with its view of the training yard, was surrounded by dozens of rooms. Past the elegant hall, adorned with golden-bronze frames holding bright-toned paintings contrasted against red carpets, everything here felt unlike the exhibition halls elsewhere.
The portraits depicted pale-skinned maidens, their delicate features framed by flowing hair. One in particular wore a wedding dress so radiant it seemed to outshine flesh itself. She carried two young girls in her arms.
A sliver of light slipped through a door left slightly ajar.
Inside, a pale-skinned woman in a loose robe straddled another woman of the same appearance, driven by hunger. Her fangs, burning with flame, sank into the soft body beneath her.
A faint moan escaped the lips of the submissive figure.
Wings of white burst from the thirsty woman's back, spreading wide enough to fill the chamber. Yet in an instant they stilled, her crimson eyes subdued by the roles reversed upon the bed.
The beautiful woman's robe slipped to her shoulders. She pressed her chest tight as if restraining herself, then collapsed, whispering into Retina's ear:
"Next time… I'll devour you instead."
Breath caught in heavy gasps, then ceased. Muscles tensed across a toned abdomen before blood spilled forth.
Yet what followed was a loosening calm. Her fangs vanished. Their lips met in a kiss—tender, soft, mesmerizing.
"I… I'm sorry, Retina. I can't control myself."
Retina smiled gently, stroking her hair.
"You don't need to say anything more, my strong one."
Victor pulled back from the door, the scent of blood thick in the air. He had seen something he should not have.
The princess is a dragon…
And who was she doing that with?
He forced himself to retreat. His position did not grant him the right to pry further.
Though his exploration had begun with a simple goal—to find escape routes and useful information in case of crisis—he could not afford recklessness.
The training yard stretched beneath the dim sky. A pale violet glow tinged the air. The sound of a bowstring drawn taut and steady breathing broke the silence.
Thwip!
The arrow flew, then dipped clumsily downward. His repeated attempts had become embarrassing.
Though training here was never his intention, Victor knew the value of sharpening his skills.
Still, he could not shake the scene he had just witnessed.
His thoughts drifted back to the blue-hued realm he had once entered, where power could be shaped freely. Patterns and formulas were no surprise, much like the notes of astronomers or navigators.
That branching tree he had seen… perhaps it was a miracle of blood, crafted by an emperor or an earlier ruler.
It was no wonder this land was called the Blood Empire.
And the device that produced the Blood Soldiers at the university—that too hinted at roots laid deep, knowledge embedded in parchment, and relics tied to dragons.
Perhaps one of the emperor's powers was a covenant bound by blood, extending across the entire empire.
There may be more than one such pact…
The roar and the name of the covenant he had overheard carried clarity.
It reminded Victor of something:
"To control one's own daughter."
Not unlike someone else he once knew.
He began to plan. His pursuit of supernatural power could be advanced through these ancient papers—an elegant path toward mastery.
The clearer the image, the greater the possibilities.
His breath slowed as exhaustion weighed heavy. He sank to his knees, gasping, when a man in a refined suit approached.
White-haired, aged, his stern face contrasted with the calm tone of his voice.
"A commendable effort, sir."
Victor's wary eyes flicked toward him.
How long has this man been watching me?
"I am the head butler of this castle. The princess noted you did not attend breakfast, so she ordered me to observe when you would awaken, to assist with your daily needs."
"I thought no servants entered outside mealtimes?" Victor asked coldly.
The butler's tone grew firm.
"I oversee the lower castle grounds. I am not like common servants. And it is hardly surprising that you might break protocol."
"You intend to prepare a meal for me, then?"
"If that is your wish."
Victor smiled faintly.
"I recall the princess said I must request servants from those assigned to food service. Correct?"
"Of course."
"As an envoy, am I permitted to choose my own attendant?"
"Indeed. Even temporary slaves may be chosen at your discretion—whether for pleasure, for protection, or for intellect. The decision is yours."
So he reveals himself at last… They call them servants, but in truth they are slaves. For this empire, such things are ordinary.
"Then take me to choose one."
The butler bowed and led Victor through the castle's annex, descending into chambers carved beneath the hill.
This was a place of state operations, auctions, and wealth. Statues lined the grand hall, depicting humans twisted and straining to flee some dreadful center, rising tall among labyrinthine corridors that spiraled downward.
At the hall's far end, the brick floor sank like a lift, revealing a vast, shadowed mine.
Torchlight illuminated ragged figures bound in chains, their bodies caked in dirt, staggering forward with ravenous eyes.
A broken young girl clung to a graceful woman, collapsing at Victor's feet. Mutilated men, scarred and crippled, crawled forward, tugging at their bonds to present themselves—before the wardens emerged from the darkness, beating them back.
A single snap of fingers lit the cavern. The wardens looked like savages clad in armor and heavy masks, driving the naked slaves with brutality.
The mine was a pit of madness. Women were forced upon by fellow slaves. Men were slaughtered by their own kind. Drugs, self-mutilation, frenzied rites smeared across stone walls—every horror was here.
Yet all were eventually beaten back into their pits by hundreds of wardens.
Crossing a high bridge, Victor looked down into a chasm filled with screams and wails, as if hundreds of thousands were being tortured at once.
So this is hell, made real.
At the mine's uppermost level, its brick structure resembled a dungeon. Inside a chamber sat a corpulent man overseeing the wardens' work.
Here stretched endless rows of cages, stacked ten levels high.
The butler approached him with a gesture.
"This is Reblanc Quinte, slaver of the Blood Empire. Every slave here is blood-branded, legally bound by the empire itself."
Reblanc rose and offered his hand. Victor accepted.
"Victor Weber, envoy in the dispute between the Blood Empire and the Republic of Venn."
"Ah, an honor. As the butler said, I guarantee the finest slaves."
He led Victor among the cages.
"What sort do you desire? We have many beauties. Some are poor peasant girls, yet their bodies remain plump and fertile—perfect for use as tame concubines, like pets."
He yanked open a cage, dragging out a golden-haired woman with blue eyes. Pressing a boot upon her chest, he forced her to lick his shoes until they gleamed from heel to toe.
"See? Obedience beyond compare."
Victor stared at her lifeless eyes, dark thoughts stirring.
Disgusting.
Suddenly, a man rattled his cage, desperation in his eyes.
"You! You're from the Republic of Venn, aren't you? Help me! These people are monsters—savages without humanity!"
Victor stopped before the cage.
"Why were you taken here?"
"The council betrayed me! I'm an independent journalist—I can be of use to you!"
"So you know I'm with the Revolution."
The man swallowed hard.
"Please… save me!"
Victor turned to the slaver.
"Do you have slaves meant for execution?"
"Certainly. But for such cases, you'd need to return the day after tomorrow. Though for you, any time would be acceptable."
"Then I'll take this man here… and the golden-haired woman as well. That will be all."