Chapter 1394 - 1265: Leia Crown Prince

Mid-May.

Skull Throne City, mural corridor.

The Holy Seat mural corridor, which had been silent for several years, welcomed travelers other than the Pope once more, but it was also its new master.

The marble road was stepped on by the barefoot Serafe.

Moonlight seeped through the thin blood mist, cascading onto Serafe's white robe, creating an effect akin to water ripples.

The former Holy Seat City shed its ecclesiastical sanctity, with the Gothic spire windows replaced by red-tinted sunshield glass, and the cross reversed.

After several years of renovation, Holy Seat City was renamed Skull Throne City, officially becoming Serafe's garrison in the Western Continent.

In the quiet corridor, Serafe walked barefoot on the pavement.

She did not speak, with each step silent, her pale face devoid of expression.

Behind her, Konyaz, Lakunio, and other governors and clan elders of the Royal Court stood, each with a straight back, yet instinctively maintained a three-step distance from her.

No one dared to speak casually before she did.

"This 'Martyrdom of the Saints' painting is mistaken." Serafe's voice was flat, halting before a ruined mural.

On the mural, a saint was nailed to a cross, surrounded by soldiers in plate armor, some empathetic, others mocking.

She extended a slender finger, tracing the armor's patterns, turning the stone mural to dust instantly.

"This martyrdom occurred in 158 of the Imperial Calendar, when the legion commonly used scale armor and lamellar armor, plate armor only became widespread five hundred years later."

Besides, she was present at the scene then.

She withdrew her finger, turning to the generals behind her, initially focusing on Konyaz.

The latter's neck was wrapped in bandages, exuding an uncontrollable scent of blood.

Serafe knew he was severely injured this time.

Vampires have no concept of healing; they lose blood and vitality, replenished only by blood consumption.

Often, an aroma like this occurs when blood is ingested excessively.

"Konyaz, you suffered a major defeat at Mount Morter." Serafe's fingertip stroked an ominous blood crystal, emotion untraceable, "Explain why?"

A glance at Serafe several times, Konyaz merely bowed: "I'm willing to accept punishment."

"Punishment is inevitable." Serafe tossed the blood crystal towards Konyaz, who caught it firmly, "You will receive reinforcements of thirty thousand clan troops and ten thousand new troops; should the Holy Alliance gain the upper hand again, you will leap into the Damnation Cannon yourself."

Konyaz bowed: "Your command."

No excess justification, just an unequivocal acceptance of orders.

Both parties understood unspokenly; Serafe was no fool, yet could not express it publicly before so many.

She couldn't possibly admit fault, could she?

Moreover, her judgment was absolutely correct; even if the Holy Alliance's army arrived, only twenty thousand would be present.

The northern clan troops combined with the Royal Palace Guard numbered forty thousand, and yet they were individually defeated; couldn't they rally to fight together?

Sending them one by one?

In this matter, Serafe acknowledged merely half the blame.

"Now that the conflict has reached this stage, Horn's intentions have become quite predictable." Serafe continues, her footsteps echoing in the corridor, "Arming merchant ships, assembling a Nao'an army, undoubtedly aiming to cut off the northern route, severing land links, and then harassing at sea, eventually swallowing the Royal Court army in the Eastern Continent in one go!"

"Such grand ambitions!" Haemira, similarly exuding blood scent, agreed beside her.

"Horn believes that ether and clockwork can open the northern battlefront, cutting off our retreat." Serafe stopped and turned, "Ludicrous, does he think I possess only this measure of troops? Unbeknownst to him, I have more Royal Palace Guards and clan troops on native Eastern Continent soil."

The governors and clan elders present exchanged glances, cautiously advising.

"Your Majesty, deploying a large army from native land might lead to uprising chaos."

"Indeed, those rebels, though lacking proper weapons, are scattered throughout the Western Continent. Should the rear be vacuous..."

"We've seized so much territory already; resting and resuming next year seems prudent."

"We've accomplished plenty; there's no reason for further entanglement, Your Majesty, isn't that right?"

"What I propose is what's correct." Serafe's serene gaze swept across every face, "Do you oppose?"

"Certainly not."

"Definitely not."

"We fully support whatever Her Majesty suggests!"

Nodding, Serafe spoke no further: "Issue the order: Ten thousand clan troops and thirty thousand Royal Palace Guards from native soil to reinforce the Eastern Continent, the Blood Harbor Fleet to blockade the Nao'an River, seize Flower Hill before next year!"

"Your Majesty..." a governor attempted to persuade, only halted by Konyaz's gaze.

The Priest-King had made her decision; further argument would only breed resentment. Even if her command doomed all vampires, they would obey.

Surveying the assembled governors and generals, Serafe's gaze settled ultimately on Lakunio.

Presently recuperated from severe injury, his pallor even more aged.

"Lakunio, the northern army needs a commander." Serafe's tone softened somewhat.

A maid emerged from the side corridor, carrying a crystal goblet filled with dark red liquid, exuding a rich yet pure blood scent.

"Drink it, and your injuries will heal immediately, advancing to Vampire Duke within three months." Serafe signaled the maid to present it, "I need you to command the northern army, blocking the Holy Alliance's summer counterattack."

Serafe originally hoped Lakunio would willingly drink the blood wine, yet time constrained her and this old man showed obstinacy.

The northern battlefront proved too crucial, beyond her surveillance, she couldn't feel assured!

Facing the blood wine, Lakunio felt a prickling sensation at his back, forcing a strained smile: "Your Majesty, may I consider it?"

Serafe's expression flashed discontent but she waved the maid away: "You have three days."

Silent for a moment, Lakunio suddenly spoke: "Your Majesty, before deciding, I wish to meet Prince Laslo."

Laslo, Prince Kongdai's eldest son, recently consecrated by Serafe as "Leia Crown Prince," resides in the palatial garden outside Skull Throne City.

Surprise briefly lit Serafe's eyes, then she nodded: "The attendant will escort you."

She wasn't concerned about Lakunio's intentions.

A nationless, rootless being—whatever plan devised would remain within her dominion.

Early next morning, a black carriage departed Skull Throne City, following the gravel path towards the palatial garden beyond.

This former ecclesiastical summer retreat diligently repaired, its exterior walls painted pristine lime.

The palace surrounded by dense silver-leaf forest, amidst which pale purple night fragrant flowers bloomed, the air thick with their scent and hints of cedar oil.

Alighting the carriage, past high gate walls, Lakunio entered the palace.

Upon entering the main hall where Laslo predominantly resided, he caught the intense aroma of perfume in the air, even before stepping inside.

It was the scent of women.

"Open the door." Lakunio surprised himself, his voice so cold, absent his anticipated fury.

The doors swung open, he stepped inside; immediately sighting several women clad nearly transparent, sitting below the hallway playing with water.

They laughed lightly upon seeing him, then resumed their activity.

The marble floor reflected like a mirror, landscape paintings adorned the walls, fine strokes absent any bloodshed.

Central among myriad flowers and silken robes, reclined a lavish chair.

Laslo in late spring, exposed entirely, lounged blissfully on this luxurious chair, expression serene, eyes tranquil as water.

On an adjacent table, bottles of euphoric potions arrayed.

Two maids attended nearby, one peeling berries, another fanning lightly with feathers.

Lakunio had witnessed similar scenes, yet for the first time realized, none resembled Prince Kongdai remotely.

Crown Prince Laslo with complexion pale to transparency, gaze languid, noticed Lakunio's arrival, querying lazily: "Who are you? Who let you in?"