The deathly silence in the cave lasted about a minute. The sickly green light of the glow stick flickered on Isolde's face, illuminating the fierce struggle and growing confusion in her eyes. On the ground, Silas's presence was so faint it was nearly undetectable, as if it might vanish completely the next second. On the wall, the faded sketch and the Thorne crest stood like silent mockery, or silent accusation, blocking her path to vengeance.
Kill, or not kill?
This simple choice now weighed tons. Every attempt to decide was shattered by the woman's gentle eyes in the sketch and that small family crest. And every impulse to turn and leave was dragged back by the images of her parents' brutal deaths and six years of刻骨 hatred.
Then, an extremely faint, almost imperceptible tremor came from deep within the cave—from Silas's direction. Not from him moving, but... from the straw beneath him, where a tiny glint of silver flashed.
Isolde jolted from her confusion. Hunter's instinct suppressed all distractions; her grey eyes scanned sharply. She stepped forward, carefully using the "Dawnbreaker's" stock to push aside the disordered straw under Silas.
A small, silver cloak pin rolled out. Old-fashioned, with what seemed to be an engraved crest, hard to see in the dim light. But that wasn't important. What mattered was that beneath the pin, revealed by the moved straw, was a flat, palm-sized object wrapped in dark oilcloth.
Her heart raced again. She crouched, using the tip of her silver dagger to carefully lift a corner of the oilcloth.
Inside was a neatly folded piece of fine white linen. The fabric was old but well-preserved, edges embroidered with delicate scrolling leaves in silver thread. But what made Isolde's pupils contract was the center of the linen—a shocking, dark brown stain of blood! The shape was irregular, splattered, clearly old, but the faint scent of iron and something cold lingered.
This wasn't fresh blood. But not the dark, near-black blood of a vampire either. It seemed more like... human blood. Old human bloodstains.
Why would a piece of cloth with old human bloodstains be hidden in Silas's temporary lair? The fabric's quality and embroidery were not ordinary. A keepsake? A trophy? Or... something else?
A cold, ominous premonition, like a snake, slowly crawled up Isolde's spine. She remembered the woodcutter Hans's neck wound, identical to her father's, remembered the pools of blood when her parents died...
No. It can't be. Cassius is the killer. But this bloody cloth... were Silas and Cassius truly unrelated? Perhaps the cloth came from one of Cassius's victims, obtained by Silas as some kind of... link? Or, a more terrifying thought...
She shook her head violently, not daring to think further. But once planted, the seed of doubt grew wildly in the fertile soil of her hatred. Maybe all of Silas's "anomalies"—not fighting back, saving children, cherishing the sketch—were part of a vast, twisted plot? An elaborate disguise to hide deeper sins? A high-level vampire, centuries old, was capable of any cunning and patience.
She reached out, using two fingers to very carefully pick up the bloodstained linen. The cloth was light, but felt heavy as lead in her hand. The moment she lifted it, another object beneath was exposed.
A small lock of hair.
Not Silas's silver moonlight hair. It was dark brown, slightly wavy, human hair. The strands were neatly bound together with a thin, faded dark blue ribbon.
Isolde's fingers began to tremble uncontrollably. Dark brown, wavy hair... Mother... Mother's hair was this color, this texture! She remembered as a child, her mother sewing by lamplight, dark brown strands slipping beside her cheek with a gentle curve...
No! Impossible! Coincidence! It had to be!
But reason screamed. Why? Why was there dark brown human hair here? Why with the bloody cloth? Why hidden near Silas?
All the clues—the动摇 from the sketch, the bloody cloth, the dark brown hair—now spun and collided wildly in her mind, finally swallowed by a darker, more狂暴 suspicion. Maybe the sketch wasn't a memento, but a display of trophies? Maybe Silas and Cassius weren't simple allies, but had a deeper, more twisted connection? Maybe Silas's interest in the Thorne line wasn't benign, but some morbid fixation, collection, even... imitation? Or, to understand and destroy more thoroughly?
The thought chilled her, then brought towering rage. If true, then all of Silas's actions, including last night's "protection" in the graveyard, were the most vile, most repulsive performance! He saved children to maintain the "guardian" disguise; he cherished the sketch to satisfy some perverse collecting urge or mockery; he endured attacks without fighting back to lull her警惕, to make her confused and doubtful as she was now!
And his near-death state was the most convincing part of the act! A sacrificial gambit! Through and through!
"Agh—!" A choked roar of pain and fury burst from Isolde's throat. She stood abruptly, the bloody linen and the lock of hair clenched white-knuckled in her fist. The last trace of confusion and动摇 in her grey eyes was utterly incinerated, leaving only cold,狂暴, nearly tangible killing intent!
She'd been deceived! Played for a fool by this cunning, hypocritical, deeply scheming monster! She'd actually hesitated over a莫名其妙的 sketch! Had almost felt pity for an accomplice (or even a more direct participant) in her parents' murder!
Unforgivable! Absolutely unforgivable!
She raised the "Dawnbreaker" again. The bolt's tip, with unprecedented finality and hatred, pointed at the unconscious Silas. This time, nothing would stop her. The sketch? Proof of the monster's sick tastes! The bloody cloth and hair? Ironclad evidence of his crimes! The false piety? It ended now!
Just as her finger was about to pull the trigger—
BOOM—!
A deep, earth-shaking roar seemed to come from the direction of Northam Town! Even through the cave and forest, the rock beneath her feet trembled faintly! Then, faint, chaotic screams and shouts, torn by the night wind, drifted into the cave.
The town! Something's happened!
Her finger froze on the trigger. The town... those ignorant, fearful yet dependent townsfolk...
Cassius? Or something else? Was Silas's重伤 connected to his allies' actions?
Her gaze darted between Silas's dying face and the cave entrance. Killing him now would be effortless. But the town... if Cassius was acting, if Silas's "guardian" disguise hid a greater阴谋, the town might be in grave danger. She had to avenge her parents, but the hunter's instinct, the duty to protect the innocent (however ignorant), tore a hole in her rage.
More importantly, Silas in this state—killing him or not might not matter. He might not last the night. But the crisis in town was happening now.
In a flash, Isolde decided. She gave Silas a look of pure hatred, as if to flay him alive. Then she turned sharply, stuffed the bloody linen and the lock of hair into her tunic, grabbed the "Dawnbreaker," and sprinted from the cave without a backward glance!
She raced back along the path towards Northam Town! The burning rage and hatred now fueled her legs with狂暴 strength. Wind roared in her ears, trees' shadows flew past. Silas's pale, still face, the faded sketch, the bloody cloth, the dark brown hair... all the images交织, burned in her mind, making her feel near explosion!
She had to get back to town. See what happened. If it was Cassius, she'd capture him herself, wring the truth from him! If not, she'd uncover what other repulsive secrets this fog-and-vampire-shrouded town hid!
As for Silas Valentian... she'd return after dealing with the town. If he still lived, she'd make him pay the ultimate price, force out all truths, then send him to hell. If he died... so be it!
Breathless, mud-splattered, she burst from the Blackwood's edge, seeing Northam's sparse lights again. The sight made her gasp.
Towards the town center, near the church square, flames shot skyward! Not the bright flames of a normal fire, but an eerie, dark red blaze mixed with billowing black smoke, staining the night sky狰狞. Chaotic cries, screams, running footsteps mingled, audible even from a distance. The air carried not just smoke, but a faint, chilling scent of blood and burning.
Something had indeed happened! And on a large scale!
Gritting her teeth, suppressing dizziness from the run and the shock-rage in her heart, Isolde加速 again, charging towards the flaming light! Her form飞掠 through the darkened streets like an avenging shadow.
She didn't notice that shortly after she left, Silas—whom she thought dying or at least immobile—at the moment she charged down the slope, trembled faintly. Long睫毛 fluttered. Lilac eyes opened a slit, showing not the haze of death, but a deep, fathomless mix of agony, weariness, and a沉重悲哀 of understanding. His lips moved soundlessly, as if speaking two words, or just sighing. Then he fell completely unconscious again. But this time, the tightly knit brows in unconsciousness seemed to hold a deeper, irresolvable pain.
And on the underside of the silver cloak pin she'd overlooked—ancient in style—a tiny mark, distinct from Cassius's usual sigil, shaped like thorns encircling a bleeding crescent moon, glinted once in the glow stick's last light before fading.
Forged evidence. Eyes blinded by rage. And a perfectly timed "disaster" to draw the hunter away.
Cassius's game was just beginning. And Isolde, armed with彻底 ignited, mortal hatred, was striding right into the next trap he had精心布置 for her, and for the "guardian" she so despised.
(End of Chapter 10)