The Shadow Person's demise didn't affect Emilia, the vampire, much at all. In fact, she didn't even know what had happened. But for a group of people far away in mainland Europe, this news was utterly shocking.
Staring at the black crystal before them, which had suddenly shattered into countless fragments that fell to the floor and rapidly turned to ash, a group of figures wrapped in wide cloaks had a look of inexplicable horror in their eyes.
"The Shadow Assassin is already dead? How is that possible?"
The speaker was a middle-aged man with very deep-set features. His crimson eyes and the fangs at the corners of his mouth fully revealed his identity as a vampire. Judging by his attire and grooming, which were both impeccably refined, it was clear he was a man who placed great importance on his image.
Now, however, he seemed to care about his image not at all. He stared at the group of women sitting across from him with his mouth agape in disbelief, even gesturing wildly as he shouted.
"Are you witches mistaken? My Shadow Assassin, my Samo... how could he just die like this!"
At his words, both the people around him and the witches he was accusing looked at him with pity. Shadow Assassin Samo was the most loyal subordinate and closest lover of this Vampire Grand Elder, who held three seats on the Dark Council.
Together, they had used their uncanny methods and brilliant political maneuvering to gradually grow a vampire clan into a member of the Council. They had walked this path side by side, weathering countless storms, their bond remaining unchanged for centuries. Their love and tacit understanding had earned the admiration of all who knew of it.
But now, Shadow Assassin Samo was dead. It was understandable that the Grand Elder would be so utterly devastated.
Many began to pity his plight. The sudden agony of hearing one's beloved was gone could indeed cause a person's reason to completely collapse.
"Your Excellency the Grand Elder, please accept our condolences. You know that the Soul Crystal has never been wrong." In the face of the Vampire Grand Elder's desperate cries, while some felt sympathy, others remained unmoved.
A witch's voice, cold and sharp, cut through his words. To her, the personal grief of others—no matter how profound—did not grant them the right to question her professional expertise.
As the witch spoke the truth they had all already accepted, the Vampire Grand Elder could no longer contain his agony. With a guttural roar, razor-sharp claws tore through the skin of his fingers, and his arms transformed into the leathery wings of a bat. Like a dark blur, he shot out of the castle and into the night.
"Where is he going?" someone asked, watching the maddened Grand Elder vanish into the darkness. But no one answered.
Some were unwilling to speak; others simply didn't care. Without his Shadow Assassin, the Vampire Grand Elder had lost half his power. His position was already precarious, and the rest of them saw no reason to respect a fallen leader.
"The Grand Elder seems a bit too distraught. Let him have his moment of silence," a voice suddenly rang out, setting the tone for the meeting. "Now, let us focus on how to deal with this troublesome opponent."
No one dared to object.
The speaker was the Head Witch and Grand Speaker of the Dark Council. She was the most powerful individual present, as well as the one most trusted by Her Majesty. The combination of her might and authority ensured that no one dared to challenge her.
She first glanced at the silent vampires, then swept her gaze over her own confidants. A figure cloaked in a hood spoke in an ancient, withered voice.
"Do the Blood Clan have any other tactics?"
"We are at our wits' end, Grand Speaker," a vampire replied, bowing low.
"Then, my witches," she turned to her subordinates, "do you have any ideas?"
The mysterious and strange-looking witches whispered among themselves before offering a response.
"Perhaps we could attempt to curse him, Grand Speaker."
"Very well. We shall use that. If it fails, we will consider other options." The Grand Speaker considered the proposal, found it acceptable, and nodded to her loyal witches.
Soon, a group of witches stepped forward. They drew a strange pattern on the ground—a dizzying tangle of geometric shapes that made one's head spin just to look at. Once the drawing was complete, the witches took their positions around it and began chanting an incantation in a language no one could understand.
The pattern, drawn with black cat's blood and an unknown powder, began to glow with a seductive red light as the witches chanted. As the light emerged, the witches sliced their own wrists, letting their blood drip onto the glowing lines.
The moment the blood hit the ground, it erupted into green flames. The towering fire swayed and flickered, its appearance utterly eerie.
The witches then began tearing feathers, lizards, toads, and insects from their robes, tossing them into the fire. The offerings vanished instantly upon contact—not as if they had been reduced to ash, nor as if hidden by some illusion, but as if an invisible entity lurking within the flames had silently devoured them.
As the objects vanished completely, the green flames surged violently, their cores beginning to glow with a deep, intense crimson. The fire roared higher, and the acrid stench of sulfur wafted from its depths. This signaled that the high-level curse magic had taken hold.
The pattern was a summons, a conduit to communicate with a demon. The witches' blood served as the catalyst and source of power. The miscellaneous offerings were both the witches' ritual tools and the vile incantations cast upon the cursed. When all these conditions were met, a demon would arrive to accept the contract of the curse. He would become its executor, tormenting the victim before finally reaping their soul as his payment.
The witches' ritual had reached its final stage. All that remained was the information of the cursed individual to complete the last step.
Just then, someone presented a sketch—a detailed portrait of Zhou Yi. Another person brought forward the ashes of the recently shattered black crystal.
The crystal had been the natal stone of the Shadow Assassin Samo. At the moment of his death, it had recorded the aura of the one who killed him. With both the image and the aura's resonance, the demon who accepted the contract could now find his target.
The witches placed the items into the cursed magic array. Flames immediately rose like a pair of great hands, lifting the two objects to the array's center. A low, terrifying laugh echoed from within the circle, signaling that the curse was complete and the demon had begun its hunt.
Hearing the laughter, the witches exchanged knowing smiles. All they had to do now was wait for the inevitable conclusion.
For centuries, the witches had used this method to slay countless powerful foes—priests and knights of immense strength, and even those blessed with holy names. They had unwavering confidence in their curse.
Their inscrutable, eerie power would once again intimidate the entire Council, securing them more authority and resources. Even the Grand Speaker, seated high upon her throne, harbored no doubt about this outcome.
Yet, events did not unfold as they had planned.
The minutes ticked by, but the magic circle remained unchanged. Normally, the demon's vision would have materialized above the array, showing them the agony of the cursed victim. But now, the magic circle showed nothing at all.
This filled the Grand Speaker with a sense of foreboding. As the most powerful witch present, her understanding of this curse magic was deeper than anyone else's. The prolonged silence was already a grave irregularity.
A demon bound by a contract would never breach it lightly; the Queen of Witches' will itself monitored the covenant's execution. If something had gone wrong, the fault could only lie with the cursed victim. But what could a cursed wretch possibly do?
While she was still pondering, the magic circle suddenly flickered.
A spark of fire ignited at its center. The witches, who had been waiting with growing impatience, craned their necks to see what was happening. They assumed it was a message from the demon. But the reality was far different from what they expected.
First, the ferocious form of a Demon Phantom materialized within the flames. Then, a golden fire erupted, spreading at a visible speed. Green flames surged, seemingly trying to halt the golden fire's advance, but they were utterly powerless against this obviously more miraculous blaze.
The Demon Phantom's lower body had already been completely consumed by the gold. He was roaring and wailing, letting every witch in the vicinity hear the agony in his voice. But it was all in vain. The flames rose with extraordinary speed, and in just a few breaths, they completely engulfed the demon's body, also silencing him forever.
*Is the demon dead?* Almost every witch asked this question in their mind. They had never encountered such a bizarre sight. After all, the beings summoned to carry out curses were no ordinary underlings. Even in Hell, they were top-tier powerhouses, far beyond what any so-called Exorcist could contend with.
How could such a creature die like this, and so bizarrely right before their eyes?
The flames continued to rise, and a flash of horror suddenly crossed the Grand Speaker's eyes. The strange sight before her brought to mind some secrets unknown to ordinary people, so she hurriedly shouted to her trusted witches.
"Danger! Shut down the magic circle, now!"
The witches didn't know what was happening, but out of instinct, they immediately carried out the Grand Speaker's order. But it was already too late.
The golden flame erupted instantly, soaring into the sky like a pure gold fire dragon. The swirling flames brought not only lethal heat but also an unimaginable divine power.
The witches standing by the magic circle were incinerated in an instant, leaving not even a trace of ash. And the light radiating from the flames was even more lethal to the vampires present. It was as if a massive sun had suddenly appeared before them; any vampire who dared to face the soaring dragon fire was reduced to scattering ash.
For a moment, the entire Dark Council seemed to be in another world. It was a place of unbearable heat, blinding light, and utter despair.
The Grand Speaker finally understood who they were facing. But the very thought filled her with waves of despair. For this was a god walking the mortal realm, and opposing a god was something she had never even considered.
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