I woke up to the dim glow of lanterns filtering through my quarters, the faint scent of damp stone filling the air. Sitting up, I stretched, rolling my shoulders as a yawn escaped me. My muscles ached from yesterday's training, but I ignored it, shuffling out of bed.
A quick shower washed away the lingering fatigue, the cold water jolting me fully awake. Once dry, I donned my armor—a sleek black set that fit snugly against me, built for speed and precision rather than brute strength.
As I stepped out of my room, I wasn't surprised to find him waiting. The man with the scar across his face, the one who always delivered bad news.
"Ma'am," he greeted. "She's done it again. Another guard sucked dry."
I clicked my tongue, already irritated. Without a word, I gestured for him to follow and strode past the dining hall, skipping breakfast entirely. There were more pressing matters than food.
We descended into the lower levels of the fortress, the air growing thicker, fouler, with each step. By the time we reached the dungeons, the stench of rot and filth clung to everything. A new guard stood beside a rusted metal door, the keys jingling in his grip as he unlocked it.
The door groaned as it swung open, revealing the prisoner inside.
A woman sat cross-legged in the dimly lit cell, her tan skin almost glowing against the darkness. Golden jewelry adorned her wrists, ankles, and neck, a stark contrast to the filth-stained floor beneath her. But her most striking feature was her blood-red eyes, gleaming with amusement, and the wide, sharp-toothed smile she gave me.
I crossed my arms. "How many guards have you seduced and drained already?"
Her grin widened, revealing two fangs. "It's pretty easy as your subjects aren't the brightest. Just a bunch of meatheads," her grin widened even more as she continued. "However, to answer your question, I've lost count… but maybe if I had some of your blood, I'd be satisfied for quite a while."
I clicked my tongue again, muttering under my breath, "Dirty demon…" Then, louder, I said, "What will it take for you to submit to me? Killing you isn't in my best interest—you could still be a useful asset."
The vampire tilted her head, as if considering, before purring, "Let me have some of your blood. And every day, bring me three sacrifices. Only then will I do your bidding, Miss."
I narrowed my eyes. She was lying—I knew it. But the power she held was undeniable. If I could control her, she'd be an invaluable weapon.
"And how do I know you won't backstab me?" I asked. "We don't have any magical tools, nor do we have the power to create contracts."
She scoffed. "Oh, please. Your blood and three others are more than enough to keep me satisfied. The only reason you even caught me was because I was starving. Monster blood doesn't do much for me. I wouldn't last long out there without real food, so sticking to you is in my best interest."
Her reasoning made sense, yet I still grimaced. I turned to the scarred man beside me and he nodded, telling me that what she was speaking was the truth. However, something about her was too slippery, too dangerous. I pinched the bridge of my nose before shaking my head.
"This… is still too untrustworthy of a deal."
Without another word, I stepped back and slammed the door shut. The guard locked it behind me as I turned on my heel and said, "Leave. No guards will stand next ot this cell for the next five days. We're going starve her.
I then exited the dungeon, the scarred man following close behind before saying, "Ma'am. There is also another trouble at hand. A rat has been sneaking around the surface. One of the caravan's people."
"Really now?" my eyes widened with surprise. "We're leaving then. Have some people tail her back to their exact location. I have an idea."
…
After days of trekking through the forest, Tridra finally returned to camp, only to stop in her tracks at the sight before her. The camp had changed—no, transformed. What was once a modest clearing with scattered tents had grown into something much more structured.
The space had at least tripled in size, with rough wooden barricades forming a makeshift outer wall. The trees they had cut down to make room had been repurposed, their trunks stacked together to create a solid perimeter. While not impenetrable, it provided a clear boundary and a first line of defense.
Inside, the camp bustled with activity. Additional tents had been pitched in neat rows, forming distinct sections—one for supplies, another for resting quarters, and a designated area for training. Small riggidy watchtowers stood at key points along the wall, where lookouts kept an eye on the forest beyond. The scent of cooked meat and burning firewood mixed in the air, giving the place a sense of a temporary home.
Weaving through the newly expanded base, Tridra sought out Ophelia, eventually spotting her near a table covered in scattered maps and notes. Ophelia's sharp gaze lifted the moment she approached.
"I found it," Tridra announced. "Dense foliage, thick enough to slow movement to a crawl. It matches what you were looking for."
For a moment, Ophelia's expression didn't change, but then a rare flicker of satisfaction crossed her face. "Good," she said simply. Then, with the same unwavering tone, she added, "Get some rest."
Tridra hesitated just a second, noting the sheer weight of seriousness in Ophelia's voice. Whatever plan was forming in her mind, it was critical. But Tridra didn't ask questions—she had done her part.
With a small nod, she made her way to one of the tents, entering it, and unrolling her sleeping bag on the ground. As much as she wanted to stay alert, exhaustion caught up with her quickly, and before long, she drifted into much-needed sleep.
Later that night, as the firelight flickered across the faces of those gathered, Ophelia stood before them, her sharp gaze scanning each one in turn. The air was thick with anticipation, the quiet rustle of the trees and small critters the only sounds beyond the crackling flames. Then, she spoke.
"The Gloomtaur are coming," she announced, her voice carrying through the camp. Murmurs spread among the gathered knights and workers, but she didn't give them time to react before continuing. "And I made sure of it. I used Tridra as bait."
The murmurs turned into hushed whispers, a few eyes darting toward Tridra, who sat silently near the fire, arms crossed but unsurprised. Ophelia's expression remained unreadable as she explained further.
Tridra, on the other hand, felt a few emotions swirl within her.
"That dense foliage Tridra found? It's the entrance to their base." She let the weight of that truth settle before moving on. "I vaguely hinted at instructing her to travel only by the branches, but specific enough to ensure she never stood on the ground." Ophelia's tone was steady as if she had accounted for every possible outcome. "By doing so, she never technically entered their domain, nor did she trigger whatever conditions allow access. More importantly, she avoided the most dangerous aspect of their territory."
The fire crackled, and in the silence that followed, Ophelia's next words were even heavier.
"There is more you need to know. Apart from their leader, there is another among them—a man who can read minds."
That revelation sent a ripple of discomfort through the crowd. Some shifted uneasily, others glanced at one another with uncertainty. The Holy Knights tensed at the mention of such an ability.
"This is why I avoided telling you my full plan until now," she admitted. "Even though I know they are no longer watching us, I had to be absolutely certain. This is also why I have rarely left my cart in the past few days. The mind reader's ability requires visible contact, and his range is limited. By staying out of sight, I ensured he couldn't pry into my preparations."
A beat of silence followed as the weight of her words settled over the group. Then, Edwin broke it.
"How exactly do you know they have a mind reader?"
For the first time in a long while, Ophelia activated [Golden Tongue].
As the skill resonated through the air, Ophelia remained composed. Unlike when she had carefully dodged revealing the truth about her parasite—something she knew she would eventually have to explain—this moment carried a far greater risk.
If she answered Edwin's question too precisely, it could hint at the knowledge she shouldn't have, knowledge that could only be explained by knowing events that hadn't happened in this lifetime. If she wasn't careful, it could expose the truth: that she knew what was coming before it even happened.
So, as the subtle power of [Golden Tongue] wove through the air, she simply said, "Please do not worry about that. Just trust me."
The shift in the crowd was immediate. Suspicion and uncertainty melted away, replaced by quiet acceptance. Their expressions softened, their shoulders loosened. None of them questioned her further. The skill had done its work.
With that settled, Ophelia straightened, her tone sharp as she issued her final command.
"Prepare for tonight. They will be here soon—"
Then she stopped.
Her head snapped toward the western edge of the base, her gaze piercing through the darkness beyond the wooden wall. Her eyes shifted, locking onto a point high in the canopy of a tree.
For a moment, she was silent, then her voice came, low and certain.
"The scouts are already here," she murmured. "The main forces will arrive soon."
Outside the wooden walls of the base, the night had grown unnaturally still. The distant sounds of nocturnal creatures had vanished, leaving only the quiet crackling of campfires and the occasional rustling of armor and fabric as the camp prepared for what was to come.
Inside her cart, Ophelia sat on the couch, her fingers idly rolling a single stone between them. Her expression was calm, but her eyes held a sharp focus.
She muttered, "[Alchemical Genesis]."
The stone in her palm trembled before melting into a viscous liquid, shifting and flowing like putty within her grasp. It slithered through her fingers, pooling together and stretching as if it had a mind of its own.
"[Mercury Infusion]," she whispered next.
The putty shimmered, taking on a metallic sheen, reflecting the dim glow of the lantern hanging from the cart's ceiling. From what her eyes told her, mana had seeped into the substance, embedding itself deep within the liquified metal.
She had tested this process before. Just like her previous [Mana Infusion], this skill also infused the surrounding mana into whatever she used the skill on. In addition, it simply took on the characteristics of mercury, amplifying its malleability and responsiveness to magic.
She exhaled slowly before uttering the incantation once more.
"[Alchemical Genesis]."
The putty of mercury shifted again, solidifying within her palm. This time, however, it did not return to its jagged, unrefined form. Instead, it settled into a smooth, polished hexagonal shape, its surface flawless. At its center, a batch of small runes had been carefully etched into its form—details Ophelia had carved while the putty was still malleable.
Almost immediately, she watched as the mana in the air reacted to it. Wisps of energy, barely visible, were drawn toward the stone, flowing into it like rivers feeding a lake. A dim blue shimmer pulsed from within, proof that the process had succeeded.
A grin tugged at Ophelia's lips as she slipped the stone into her pocket.
"Let us begin the negotiations now."
Outside the wooden wall, hidden within the dense shadows of the forest, the Gloomtaur leader stood with her seventy underlings, all clad in dark armor and armed to the teeth with shadow weapons. Their usual confidence wavered as they stared at the fortified base before them.
The Gloomtaur leader frowned. This wasn't what she had anticipated. The scouts had reported a growing settlement, but seeing it firsthand was different. They were building something, securing their position.
A flicker of movement caught her eye. Her gaze snapped toward the camp's interior just in time to see a figure stepping out of a cart. The same silver-haired woman as before. Ophelia.
She wasn't just stepping out—she strolled forward with a grin, an expression so assured, so unnervingly confident, that the Gloomtaur leader felt an involuntary shiver run down her spine.
Her instincts screamed at her. Something was wrong.
Without taking her eyes off Ophelia, she shifted slightly and spoke. "So? What can you gather?"
Beside her, the man with a scar running across his face—their mind reader—stared ahead, sweat beading at his forehead. His breathing was uneven. Slowly, he gulped, then lowered his gaze.
"I... I can't." He swallowed hard. "I can't read her mind."
The Gloomtaur leader's jaw clenched.
"Fuck..."