He realised at last that the young magis was not enamoured with the actress; rather, he was being tormented and toyed with by her whims! This revelation prompted Arthus to abandon his enmity entirely, embracing Seraph as a confidant.
This truth, once it reached the young prince's ears, was the only thing that made Seraph nearly weep with relief.
As their intimacy grew, the highborn nobility began to seek Seraph out with conspicuous intent. This proximity allowed him to overhear a wealth of internal rumours, until, at long last, he unearthed a single, critical truth.
That truth was a revelation of blood: Eldra and Evelyn were no mere commoners. In reality, the House of Arkcrimson stood as a cadet branch of the Archflame dynasty itself; the two houses had remained the closest of kin throughout the ages. The Arkcrimson line was renowned for its formidable mageia, leading them to devote themselves to the mageia arts while remaining largely aloof from the political machinations of the court. Yet, for centuries, they'd served as a foundational pillar of the realm, unwavering in their support of the throne.
Furthermore, Lenora's own house, the Florencias, shared a similar proximity to the royal blood! Albeit a minor house and a branch of the outer lineage.
The truth was that Horolf was the younger brother of King Urthus of Arkflame! Horolf's mother had been a mere handmaiden to the previous sovereign—a common beauty never formally elevated to the rank of royal consort according to the ancient protocols. Though Horolf had been the brother closest to Urthus's heart, his mother's lowborn status ensured he was denied the title of Prince. Ultimately, he'd been cast out from the royal palace, burdened by the sting of his exclusion.
Yet, the court whispered of a deeper secret...
Driven by a king's lingering remorse, Urthus had surreptitiously supported Horolf from the shadows. He'd not only orchestrated the elevation of the Florencia house to the peerage but had also ensured Horolf's appointment as the Lord of Balyon—granting him the chance to prove his mettle in governing the city of mageia ores and blooms.
This meant, in truth, that both Evelyn and Lenora were the sisters of Arthus.
Initially, Seraph was profoundly disoriented by this intelligence. He sought Arthus out directly to demand the truth regarding the standing of the two girls.
The young prince had never been forthcoming with the labyrinthine secrets of the Arkflame throne; yet, when pressed by his closest confidant, he cast aside the protocols of the crown without a second thought.
Arthus was a man of singular candour. He was well aware of the threads connecting Seraph to the three girls; he even knew the young magis had undertaken missions for Horolf and maintained a clandestine correspondence with Lenora, his sister of the outer bloodline—a secret exchange of which even Horolf, her own father, remained ignorant.
The weight of Arthus's station usually deterred others from approaching him with any measure of sincerity. The very reason he'd been so relentless in challenging Seraph was that the young magis never once stayed his hand in combat! Even when it meant drawing the Prince's own blood, Seraph fought without restraint—and from that raw, violent honesty, an unlikely brotherhood was forged.
✧ . ✶ . ⛤ . ✶ . ✧
The Arkflame Skydock.
Seraph stood upon the sprawling flagstones of the aerodrome, awaiting the departure of the Bloody Hunting vessels amidst a dense thicket of moored airships. Sophia and Arthus stood flanking him, seeing their comrade off. A phalanx of Royal Guardians encircled the trio, maintaining a vigilant watch over the Prince.
Across the vast courtyard, tens of thousands of souls had gathered.
Some demon hunters bore greatswords.
Some demon hunters bore spears.
Some demon hunters bore shields.
Some demon hunters bore bows.
Some demon hunters bore staves.
Every one of them was a challenger, bound for the crucible of the Bloody Hunting.
The challengers for the Bloody Hunting comprised demon hunters from both within and beyond Arkflame's borders. Indeed, hunters from foreign realms flocked to the operation, drawn by the promise of bounties far more substantial and prestige far more enduring than any other kingdom could offer.
Conversely, many of Arkflame's own hunters ventured abroad to join the hunts of other realms for disparate reasons. Some sought the lesser demons of foreign lands, where the risks were diminished and the mortality rates more forgiving, while others were lured by specific, exotic rewards offered by distant crowns.
"I'd presumed you'd be partaking in the Bloody Hunting as well," Seraph remarked as they conversed, awaiting the signal to board the great vessels.
"I've yearned to join such a hunt for as long as I can recall! But forget the Bloody Hunting or the seasonal culls in the provinces—I'm not permitted to join so much as a minor demon hunt within Arkpolis itself!" Arthus declared, his voice thick with frustration.
"And for what reason?" Seraph inquired, a brow arched in curiosity.
"My father frets over the prospect of my assassination... Me?! Assassinated?!" Arthus growled, irritably ruffling his mane of flame-red hair. "They should count themselves fortunate I don't take it upon myself to assassinate them!"
"Who would seek your life? You're not Prince Barthus, are you?" Seraph noted, his suspicion piqued.
Barthus was Arthus's elder brother—the first heir to the Arkflame throne and the legitimate claimant to the crown. He was also the primary stakeholder of the Loveless Theatre.
The Prince's investment had been driven by a base desire for the flesh of its performers; at a time when Loveless was teetering on the brink of ruin, Sophia had found herself without recourse.
"That utter fool is so debauched the whole of Arkflame knows him as nothing but a glorified brothel-keeper!" Arthus snarled under his breath.
"Enough of that..." Seraph cut in swiftly. "It's for the best you're not partaking in the Bloody Hunting. If the choice were mine, I'd much prefer a holiday in these parts to gambling my life against those slavering demons."
"Why?" Arthus spoke with fiery passion. "The Bloody Hunting is the paramount stage to prove one's mettle! Every operation grants us the chance to purge the demonic horde in vast numbers. To clash steel alongside the legion forges us into something stronger! I yearn for it! Had I been permitted to join, I'd undoubtedly claim the first rank! It's infuriating that my father won't grant me leave!"
As he spoke, he struck the air like a prize-fighter.
"Do you not comprehend the peril? Even I might not return," Seraph said darkly.
Seeing the young man descend into such grim reflection, Sophia intervened.
"Why must you be so pessimistic? I've witnessed your duels; you cast Arthus into the dirt time and again, don't you? If you're to perish, then Arthus has no hope at all!" Sophia remarked, quite without filter.
Since Seraph had commenced his tracking operations within Arkpolis, he'd frequently monitored Nahreb's recovery to gather intelligence, given the boy had once been abducted by a demon.
Remarkably, Nahreb displayed profound psychological resilience; after only a few days, his condition had markedly improved. Even Seraph, who was not close to him, could discern the change; the boy had grown cheerful, abandoning the hollow silence that had previously consumed him.