The Emperor’s Angel of Death

After sensing the gaze fixed upon him, Kharon considered that feigning ignorance would be difficult to maintain. He shifted his approach and said:

“Even if the Archon were truly willing, he would have reservations. The Kabal itself has a blood feud with Vect. If Vect were to discover our secret contact with the court, even if the Archon were to betray him, Vect’s notoriously vicious nature would not spare the Kabal. Therefore, Your Highness can rest assured, Archon Abelraek would not commit such a foolish act.”

He believed his explanation was sound, but Szohrash directly exposed the flaw in it.

“But he can relay information through a third party.”

Upon saying this, a mocking chuckle echoed from beneath the cloak.

“Once this matter is concluded, Kharon, I have a task for you.”

“What is it?”

“You shall become my proxy executioner. In the ancient empire, this position was held by the Cleft Assassins. It is said that this role is still maintained in Commorragh, a tool for Archons to monitor you. You shall record everything you witness during this operation and bring Zargarn’s head back to Abelraek, telling him that if he dares to be disloyal, you will execute him.”

Kharon’s legs weakened, and he nearly collapsed. When he spoke, his voice trembled.

“Your Highness… Your Highness, such a threat might only cause the Archon…”

“Rest assured, if he dares to touch you, he will die.”

Szohrash turned and accepted a gleaming silver dagger from Duran, a thin line of fire swirling around it.

“Show him this and tell him that if he harbors any disloyalty, this dagger will be plunged into his heart, burning his soul to ashes, beyond the Bloodbrides’ ability to revive him. I am a man of my word.”

Kharon struggled to understand Szohrash’s behavior of applying extreme pressure to the Archon. It seemed like a threat, but it was essentially forcing the Archon to kneel. Knowing the Archon as he did, how could he possibly accept such an insult?

Yet, Szohrash’s attitude was so firm that he could only tremble as he reached out to take the scalding dagger.

“Yes.”

“Do not worry, I am not the kind of tyrant who uses people and then discards them. Since I have made this decision, I am certain nothing will happen to you.”

At that moment, a slightly grating beeping sound occurred – a communication alert from the bridge. Kharon bowed and immediately retreated from the compartment, arriving at the main structure of the bridge. Szohrash also observed the bridge’s activity through the bubble canopy.

Accompanied by a ripple in the air, a figure with half his face tattooed and an extremely arrogant expression appeared before Kharon.

“Hey, hey, hey, Kharon, didn’t you receive the no-navigation notice? If I hadn’t recognized your ship, you would have been blasted to smithereens already.”

The previously obsequious Kharon now wore a different face, reverting to the cunning and cruel Kabalite of the Draculas.

“Enough, Babatunde. With your pea-sized courage, you dare attack me? Attack the Iron Thorn Lord?”

“Hey, are you deaf? Didn’t you receive the no-navigation notice issued by Archon Zargarn? The Shadow Hub is now closed to all ships. Intruders will be directly eliminated.”

“Archon Abelraek sent me to meet an important client. Are you afraid of one ship, or are you deliberately antagonizing the Iron Thorn Lord? Babatunde, you Ur-Ghul-spawned forget that you still owe me two thousand slaves from the last game of cards.”

Now it was the other’s turn to be embarrassed. He touched his nose and coughed lightly, saying:

“These things should be discussed privately… but the Archon has ordered…”

“Then go and relay the message to Archon Zargarn. I believe he wouldn’t be so harsh on a major client.”

“Ugh…”

The image remained silent for a dozen seconds before a voice transmitted.

“The Archon says, fine, you can enter the port, but according to the rules, you must accept a boarding inspection—”

“Bullshit! No one dares to inspect the Iron Thorn Lord’s ship! This is a declaration of war! Are you trying to turn against us?”

“Tsk… never mind, just get into port quickly. Also… give me some time, I’ll figure out how to get you what I owe…”

“Heh, you better hurry. I won’t be staying long. I’m considering transferring the debt to professionals. Their interest rates are very high…”

“No, no, no, we’re good brothers, let’s talk it over, talk it over.”

Thus, the ship, like a Trojan horse passing through heavily guarded walls in ancient myths, easily bypassed the Shadow Hub’s seemingly perfect defense network, once again validating the irrefutable truth that “a thousand-mile dike is destroyed by an ant’s nest.”

After the ship arrived at the upper level of the spire, Szohrash inquired about the location of the Bloodbride master who supported Zargarn. Kharon told him that the Bloodbride was hiding in the most mysterious lower level of the spire, the territory given to Bloodbride Master Drekarus by the Archon, also known as the most dangerous place in the Shadow Hub. This place was protected by countless checkpoints and defensive layers of the Stitch-Spiral, and apart from the slaves created by the Bloodbrides, almost no outsiders were allowed. Those unfortunate enough to be sent here, regardless of their identity, would inevitably end up on the Bloodbrides’ experimental list.

The most frequent visitors were the escorts from the Withered Blade cult. This stemmed from a strange tradition: the Bloodbrides’ enclave was not to be entered by any Kabal members without the controller’s consent, and they often needed a large number of slaves, so the transportation work was carried out by the Wyches or other third parties.

This was the case in Commorragh, and it was the same in the Shadow Hub. This seemed to emphasize the independence of the Bloodbride coven.

Szohrash then had Kharon’s “good brother” brought in, and carefully inquired about the location of the Bloodbrides. After learning that today was the day the Bloodbrides replenished their slaves, he arranged for twenty Phoenix Guard to deal with this fellow specifically.

“What bad luck.”

Today, another batch of slaves was being escorted to this demonic lair. Although Yalin had been here before, each visit was never a good experience. In fact, delivering goods to the Bloodbrides was a "chore" in the cult, akin to a punishment.

This was the result of her losing to a competitor in a raid.

While deepening her resentment towards her competitor, Yalin tried to maintain her elegance. She was tall with obvious signs of training and even more obvious scars, but this did not diminish her charm, but rather made her more wild. She wore a Wyche mask, and twin blades were inserted into the sheaths behind her waist. Her snake-like, curled hair floated around her in the rising heat, as if she were underwater.

Led by silent corpse-slaves, the Wyches and their floating prison carts walked down a corridor composed of fused ribs. The building’s writhing sounds and its constant painful moans always echoed in the air. After walking down about a hundred meters, the group arrived at an iron staircase that was deeply hooked into the living flesh walls. A large amount of blood plasma flowed from the pierced wounds on the walls, forming thick stalactite-like clots.