Chapter 226: Vinegar Factory

They didn’t glow or radiate heat. They were just perfect, three-dimensional silhouettes of waterfowl.

Seraphina flicked her finger.

The three shadow-ducks sprang to life instantly.

One of them waddled over to Castor, hopped onto his knee, and let out a perfectly silent quack. Another waddled over to Pollux, hopped onto the bench, and stared at the edgy pre-teen with blank, dark eyes.

"Whoa," Castor breathed, gently poking the shadow-duck on his knee. His finger didn’t pass through it; it felt cold, dense, and perfectly solid. "This is... this is insane control. You didn’t even chant any spell."

Pollux stared at the shadow-duck beside him.

He looked at the perfect, precise manifestation of dark mana, and then looked at the six-year-old girl sitting on the fountain.

The last remaining shreds of his edgy arrogance evaporated, replaced by genuine respect. He realized that the tiny girl didn’t need to quote bad poetry about the abyss. She commanded it to make balloon animals.

"You are," Pollux whispered, his voice completely devoid of its fake depth, "incredibly terrifying."

Seraphina smiled, a sweet, innocent, perfectly terrifying smile.

"I know," Seraphina chirped. "Do you guys want to play tag now? The ducks are ’It’."

For the next two hours, the Vanguard knights patrolling the walls were treated to the highly amusing sight of two elite magical prodigies from the Imperial Academy running screaming through the rose bushes, desperately trying to outrun a trio of relentless, fast shadow ducks.

***

High above the gardens, standing on the balcony of the master study, Duke Kaelus and Archduke Leonidas watched the chaos unfold.

Leonidas was leaning on the marble railing, laughing so hard tears were streaming down his bearded face. "Look at them! She has Castor trapped in a hedge! The boy can summon a firestorm, but he’s terrified of a shadow-duck! She is a tactical genius, Kaelus!"

Kaelus stood beside him, a glass of dark wine in his hand. He wasn’t laughing, but a fiercely satisfied smirk was etched into his pale features.

"She is establishing the pecking order," Kaelus noted smoothly, taking a sip of wine. "She recognized their energetic volatility and immediately deployed a non-lethal, demoralizing containment strategy. Your sons are currently being broken to the saddle, Leonidas."

"And I couldn’t be prouder!" Leonidas boomed, clapping Kaelus on the shoulder.

He looked down at the gardens, his expression softening slightly. "It is good to see them play. It is good to see her play. You have done well, Kaelus. You brought a light into this dreary fortress."

Kaelus looked down at Seraphina.

She was currently sitting on the grass, laughing brightly as Castor finally surrendered to a shadow-duck.

The Archduke of the North felt that familiar, heavy ache in his chest, the ache of loving something so much it terrified him.

"She is the light," Kaelus murmured softly, his violet eyes glowing with a quiet, absolute devotion. "And I will ensure no shadow in this Capital ever touches her."

As the afternoon sun cast long, golden rays across the estate, sealing the newly formed, bizarre friendship between the Sovereign of the North and the Heirs of the Flame, the true battlefield of the Imperial Banquet loomed only two days away.

But looking at the smiling child below, Kaelus knew one thing for certain.

The Emperor was not prepared for the storm that was coming to his palace.

***

The sun dipped below the glittering, golden skyline of the Imperial Capital, casting long, bruised shadows of twilight across the manicured lawns of the Nacht Estate.

It had been an undeniably victorious afternoon for the Sovereign of the North.

Seraphina had successfully established dominance over the Valen heirs, reducing the fiery prodigy Castor to a breathless, exhausted playmate and completely dismantling the edgy, brooding defenses of Pollux.

They had spent hours running through the rose mazes, playing a magic-infused version of hide-and-seek that had left the two pre-teens sweating, covered in grass stains, and staring at the six-year-old girl with an emotion that closely resembled to religious reverence.

Seraphina was in high spirits.

Her tiny leather boots tapped happily against the polished marble floor as she led her newly acquired entourage toward the grand dining hall for supper.

Ignis, the pink ember-puppy, trotted loyally at her heels, while Castor and Pollux trailed behind her like two towering, highly trained bodyguards.

"And then," Castor was babbling excitedly, gesturing wildly with his soot-stained hands, "when you made the shadow-duck multiply into three shadow-ducks right as I tried to flank you... that was brilliant! I didn’t even sense the mana shift! You have to teach me how to mask my casting signature!"

"The void does not boast of its depth," Pollux murmured from his brother’s side, though the edgy quote was severely undermined by the fact that he was actively picking a stray twig out of his auburn hair and looking at Seraphina with wide, entirely un-brooding admiration.

"I’ll teach you guys later," Seraphina chirped, pushing open the heavy, double oak doors of the dining hall. "Right now, I am starving. I could eat a whole roasted bird."

The doors swung open.

Seraphina stepped into the dining hall, a bright, sunny smile plastered across her face, fully prepared to regale Kaelus with a highly exaggerated tale of her tactical superiority.

Her smile instantly vanished.

The atmosphere inside the chandelier-lit room was not merely tense; it was a metaphysical disaster zone.

At the far end of the sprawling mahogany table, Archduke Leonidas Valen was currently tearing into a glazed leg of mutton, his face red with exertion, his booming, uproarious laughter rattling the crystal goblets.

Duchess Lysandra sat gracefully beside him, sipping a delicate glass of wine, though her amber eyes were fixed on the opposite side of the table with an expression of weary pity.

Because on the opposite side of the table, Duke Kaelus von Nacht was actively, visibly dying.

He was not bleeding.

He had not been poisoned.

But the terrifying Reaper of the North, the most lethal warlord on the continent, looked as though his very soul was actively trying to detach itself from his physical body and float away into the ether.

Kaelus sat rigidly in his high-backed leather chair. His flawless, pale face was a mask of absolute, catatonic desolation.

His violet eyes, usually glowing with radioactive intensity, were completely dull, staring blankly, unblinkingly, at a perfectly cooked, untouched piece of prime rib on his silver plate.

He had been staring at it for so long that the meat was beginning to lose its warmth.

A thick, suffocating, visible aura of gray, miserable gloom hung over his shoulders like a weighted blanket.

The room literally smelled sour.

It was a sharp, acidic tang in the air, overpowering the scent of the roasted meats.

’The vinegar jar didn’t just explode,’ Seraphina’s mind diagnosed, completely paralyzed in the doorway. ’The entire vinegar factory has suffered a catastrophic meltdown. He is practically fermenting in his own jealousy.’

Standing immediately to Kaelus’s right, looking like a man who was actively considering throwing himself out the nearest window, was Alistair.

The beautiful Chief Administrative Aide was holding a stack of urgent military ledgers in one hand and a silver quill in the other.

He was leaning over Kaelus, desperately, practically weeping as he tried to coax a response from the petrified Archduke.

"Your Grace," Alistair pleaded, his melodic voice cracking into a pathetic, high-pitched whine.

He gently, hesitantly poked Kaelus’s armored shoulder with the feathered end of the quill.

"Your Grace, I beseech you. The Northern supply lines require authorization. The ink is literally freezing in the well. If you could just blink once to indicate comprehension... please. You have been staring at that cow for forty-five minutes. The meat is getting cold."

Kaelus did not blink.

He did not move.

He simply continued his silent, agonizing descent into the abyss of his own overprotective fatherly despair.

"It’s no use, Alistair!" Leonidas bellowed, slamming his empty goblet onto the table, wiping grease from his thick red beard. "The man is hollow! He has been hollowed out by the painful realization that he is no longer the center of the universe! Look at him! He looks like a kicked hound!"

"Leonidas, please, do not agitate him further," Lysandra sighed, though her lips twitched with a tiny, betraying smile.

"Agitate him? I’m just sitting here peacefully and performing a psychological evaluation!" Leonidas cackled, leaning across the mahogany table towards Kaelus.