My Blood Legacy: Bloodlines-Chapter 43: Serafall suspects something, but her obsession~
The carriage moved in a steady rhythm, iron-bound wheels grinding softly against the stone road as the world outside blurred into muted colors of gray sky and distant architecture, barely noticeable through the thin veil of curtains drawn halfway across the windows. Inside, the atmosphere was warm, heavy, almost suffocatingly calm, filled with the faint scent of aged wood, ink, and something metallic that lingered beneath it all. Seated comfortably against the cushioned interior, Serafall rested her elbow against the armrest, her posture relaxed to the point of indifference, fingers lightly supporting her cheek as her eyes drifted without focus.
Across from her, her secretary sat perfectly straight, a stack of documents neatly aligned on her lap, already open and marked with careful notes. Her voice was steady, professional, and entirely out of place against Serafall’s distant silence. "The recent werewolf activity has escalated beyond acceptable thresholds," she began, flipping a page with precision, her eyes scanning lines she clearly already memorized. "Several border regions have reported coordinated movements, not random packs but structured groups, indicating leadership involvement."
Serafall didn’t react.
Her gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond the carriage wall, as if the conversation simply didn’t exist.
"The northern territory has already suffered a small-scale takeover," the secretary continued, her tone tightening just slightly as she adjusted her grip on the papers. "It’s not large enough to destabilize the region yet, but it’s growing. If left unchecked, it will evolve into a significant problem within weeks." She paused briefly, perhaps expecting some kind of acknowledgment.
None came.
"Their activities are starting to interfere with central operations," she added, more directly now, as if emphasizing the importance might provoke a response. "Headquarters has already sent inquiries. They’re asking whether intervention will be immediate or delayed."
Serafall blinked once.
Slowly.
Then she shifted slightly in her seat, adjusting her position with lazy elegance before finally speaking, her voice calm and almost absent of interest.
"It doesn’t matter."
The secretary stopped mid-breath.
Serafall tilted her head just slightly, as if considering something trivial rather than a growing territorial conflict. "Send Squad Six," she continued, her tone unchanged, almost bored. "They’ll take it back. Or they won’t. Either way, it’ll resolve itself."
There was no strategy in her voice.
No concern.
Just dismissal.
The secretary held her gaze on Serafall for a second longer than usual, clearly processing the response before nodding once, making a quick note. "Understood. Squad Six will be deployed for territorial reclamation." She flipped another page, seamlessly transitioning back into her duties despite the lack of engagement. "Moving forward, you have a scheduled meeting upon arrival. The council has requested your presence regarding the restructuring proposals."
Serafall didn’t move.
Didn’t react.
Her fingers idly traced the edge of the armrest, nails tapping lightly against the polished wood in a slow, irregular rhythm.
"And following that," the secretary continued, maintaining her professional cadence, "there are several matters personally assigned by the King that require your direct attention. He emphasized urgency."
That, at least, drew a response.
A sigh.
Long.
Tired.
Serafall leaned her head back slightly, her eyes closing as if the weight of something far more exhausting than war or politics had just settled onto her shoulders. "How annoying..." she murmured softly, her voice losing even the faintest trace of authority it carried before.
Her hand lifted slowly.
Almost absentmindedly.
Her fingers found her lips.
And then—
She bit her nail.
Not gently.
Not thoughtfully.
But with a sudden, sharp pressure that broke the surface cleanly, a thin line of blood immediately forming at the edge of her fingertip. She didn’t stop. Her teeth pressed again, deeper this time, until the metallic scent in the carriage thickened just slightly.
"...I just want to go back," she muttered under her breath, barely above a whisper.
The secretary paused.
Not because she was unsure of what to say.
But because the shift in tone was unmistakable.
"To my son," Serafall continued, her voice quieter now, but far more focused than anything she had said about territories or war. "I’ve been away too long."
Her nails pressed harder against her lips, another small break in the skin forming as blood began to gather more noticeably along her fingertips.
"That little rascal..." she murmured, her eyes opening just slightly, the unfocused haze from before replaced with something sharper, something more attentive. "He’s hiding something from me."
Her fingers curled.
Tight.
The blood smeared faintly across her lips as she lowered her hand, staring at it for a brief second before ignoring it entirely.
"...and I don’t like it."
The air in the carriage changed.
Subtly. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎
But undeniably.
The secretary watched her carefully before speaking again, her tone still controlled, but now carrying a slight hesitation that hadn’t been there before. "Regarding your son..." she began, choosing her words more deliberately this time, "there is an additional development you should be aware of."
Serafall didn’t respond verbally.
But her eyes shifted.
That alone was enough.
"Currently," the secretary continued, "he has become a significantly high-priority target among multiple factions."
Silence.
"He’s being observed," she added. "Watched. Evaluated."
Serafall’s gaze sharpened further.
"And the primary reason," the secretary finished, "is because Rakshasa has formally requested a meeting with him."
For a moment—
Nothing happened.
No movement.
No sound.
No reaction.
And then—
Serafall smiled.
It started small.
Barely noticeable.
Just the slight curve of her lips.
But it didn’t stop there.
It stretched.
Wider.
Too wide.
Her fingers tightened against the armrest, the wood creaking faintly under the pressure as something dark flickered across her expression, something that twisted her features into a blend of amusement, irritation, and something far less stable.
Her eyes lost whatever softness remained.
Replaced by something sharp.
Obsessive.
Violent.
"...Rakshasa..." she repeated slowly, her voice no longer calm, no longer distant.
The name lingered in the air like a stain.
Her head tilted slightly, as if trying to process the absurdity of it, but the tension in her body told a different story entirely.
The blood on her fingers dripped once.
Soft.
Quiet.
Ignored.
Her smile twitched.
Once.
Twice.
Then it broke.
Her expression contorted, the elegance from before collapsing into something far more unhinged, her brows knitting together as a low, almost disbelieving sound escaped her throat.
"...How dare she..."
The words came out slowly.
Measured.
But filled with something raw.
Something dangerous.
Her hand rose again, this time not to her lips, but curling into a tight fist as the air around her seemed to grow heavier, the faint pressure inside the carriage shifting just enough to be felt.
"How dare that whore..." she whispered, her voice dropping into something sharp, something laced with venom. "...speak to my son?"
The carriage continued moving.
Uninterrupted.
As if nothing had changed.
But inside— Everything had.
