Chapter 484: The New Law (1)

After completing all her necessary rounds upon her return, Serah wasted no time settling back into the rhythm of royal life. The very next morning, she was already back in full action. A year away had done more than just change her perspective—it had refined her purpose. She was no longer just the Princess Knight of Solara; she was a woman who had seen truth in the shadows and returned with knowledge that could alter how all of Amthar viewed the world beyond their walls.

And in her mind, there were two truths she needed to share—truths that weighed heavily on her conscience and would change everything once revealed.

The first was that the Blood Demons, long thought to be a single race, were actually divided into two distinct kinds: the Purebloods and the Redbloods. The second truth was even more alarming—there existed four additional Sync-class demon species that had yet to reveal themselves on Amthar’s soil. Each of these truths had the power to reshape the kingdom’s understanding of its greatest enemies.

But presenting such information was far easier imagined than done. She knew her father—the King—would demand proof. The council would demand evidence. And those who doubted her would demand an explanation of how she had come across such sensitive, world-altering knowledge.

That was where her dilemma lay—for all this knowledge came from Marcus. And revealing that truth was not, and never would be, an option.

Yet Serah was not one to be unprepared. She had spent many nights planning how she would frame her discoveries, and she had already forged a believable explanation. The truth would not be entirely false—it would simply be adjusted. She would tell them that during her time away, she had fought against a group of Purebloods and survived to tell the tale. She did, after all, bear the scars to prove her battle. And she would claim that one of these Purebloods had been temporarily captured, from whom she had extracted valuable information.

It was a risky tale, one that might raise some eyebrows. Capturing a Blood Demon was no small feat—even for someone of her caliber. But Serah knew her reputation could carry the story’s weight. As the Phoenix of Solara, one of the most formidable knights across all Amthar, her word alone commanded respect and belief. The people trusted her. The council revered her. And even her father, for all his sternness, would not easily doubt her capabilities.

Once her plan was set, Serah dressed for duty for the first time in a year. The sensation was strange—almost nostalgic. She donned her formal attire: a black military-style coat adorned with gold filigree, matching trousers, polished boots, and the flowing crimson cape bearing the emblem of Solara’s radiant sun. The fabric was heavy, regal, and familiar, a reminder of the weight her title carried. She fastened the phoenix-shaped brooch at her chest and took one last look in the mirror. Her reflection stared back—strong, composed, and ready.

Then she made her way through the palace corridors toward her father’s office, her boots echoing softly on the floor. The moment she reached for the doorknob to knock, the door opened before her.

And out stepped King Tharion himself.

“Ah,” the King said, his sharp crimson eyes finding hers almost immediately. “Just the person I was looking for.”

Serah straightened instinctively, bowing her head slightly. “Good morning, my king,” she greeted with the crisp tone of a soldier addressing her superior.

“Morning,” Tharion replied, his voice calm yet commanding as ever. Without missing a step, he began walking down the corridor. Then, with a brief motion of his hand, he signaled, “Follow me.”

Curiosity stirred within Serah, but she showed nothing on her face. Maintaining her composed expression, she fell into step behind him, her strides steady and soundless as she matched his pace—always a few steps behind, as respect demanded.

For a while, the two walked in silence through the long gilded halls, the only sounds being their footsteps and the faint rustle of the King’s long robe. Finally, Tharion broke the silence.

“King Valemir of the Crescent Kingdom has arrived,” he said in his usual deep, even tone. “He brings with him an issue of great importance—one concerning a new law he intends to propose. A law I find… rather intriguing.”

Serah glanced at her father briefly, her curiosity now fully awakened. “A new law, my king?” she asked cautiously.

“Yes,” Tharion nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. “And there’s no one I’d rather have by my side during this meeting than you.”

Serah inclined her head respectfully. “I’m honored, my king. I will serve as you command.”

Tharion said nothing more, but she caught the faintest ghost of approval in his expression before he turned his gaze forward again.

As they continued down the corridor, Serah’s mind raced quietly beneath her calm exterior. A new law… proposed by the Crescent Kingdom? That alone sent an uneasy shiver through her thoughts. The Crescent Kingdom had always been the most vocal and merciless in its hatred for dark mages—far more than even her father’s own realm. Whatever this new law was, she had no doubt it was connected to that very hatred.

She clenched her jaw slightly, her crimson eyes narrowing with quiet unease. ’If the Crescent Kingdom is here with a new decree,’ she thought grimly, ’then something dark is brewing beneath the surface. Something that could very well put Marcus—and anyone like him—at risk.’

***

Soon, King Tharion and his daughter reached the towering golden doors of the Council Room of Solara.

Inside, the air was thick with formality and tension. Seated near the far end of the great circular table, draped in crimson cloth and lined with royal sigils, sat King Valemir of the Crescent Kingdom. His very presence radiated authority and an air of chilling control. His sleek, silver-white hair, combed neatly back, glimmered faintly under the ceiling light, and his beard was perfectly trimmed to match the regality of his crown. The sharpness of his icy-blue eyes alone could command an army, and his posture was one of one who saw himself not merely as a ruler, but as a judge of worlds.

To his right sat Archmage Eliv Borges, Crescent’s primordial mage. The old man carried the look of wisdom aged by burden—long streaks of white hair cascading past his shoulders, and skin furrowed by years of channeling mystic power. His deep blue robe shimmered faintly with runic embroidery, symbols of the six elements etched across the sleeves. His cloudy gray eyes, however, gleamed with knowledge and something unreadable—like he already knew the outcome of today’s discussion.

To Valemir’s left sat Berg Thuden, Crescent’s royal advisor, a man whose plump figure and hungry gaze betrayed a life of indulgence and deceit. His belly pressed tightly against his formal tunic, his fingers clinking with golden rings, and his long curled mustache twitched each time he breathed. He looked like a man who’d trade kingdoms for power, and eat the reward himself.

Standing tall behind King Valemir was Grand Marshall Caelum Virellan, a soldier who looked carved from discipline itself. His broad shoulders were encased in a navy-blue combat uniform lined with golden trims and reinforced plates over his chest and arms. A flowing black-and-white cape hung from his shoulders, bearing the insignia of Crescent’s military might—a silver moon crossed by a blade. His salt-and-pepper hair fell slightly over his forehead, and his golden eyes gleamed like molten metal as he stood with the stillness of a seasoned warrior.

When King Tharion entered with Serah by his side, the Crescent delegation rose slightly in acknowledgment. Tharion moved with calm authority, his crimson robe sweeping lightly across the floor, and his sharp, commanding aura immediately filled the room. He made his way toward his seat—placed between Mois Ashton, Solara’s royal mage whose pale cloak shimmered faintly with mystic dust, and Donella Largh, his royal advisor, whose keen eyes missed nothing.

Serah, as per royal decorum, stood a few paces behind her father’s seat—tall, poised, and radiant in her knight’s attire. Her posture mirrored Caelum’s—firm, vigilant, a silent sentinel watching every move.

When Tharion finally took his seat, he folded his hands upon the table and spoke in a smooth, commanding tone that carried across the chamber.

“King Valemir, my dear friend,” he said, his crimson gaze steady. “It brings me great pleasure to see you once again in the lands of Solara after so long. You are most welcome to my humble kingdom.”

Valemir inclined his head slightly, his voice carrying the cool assurance of someone used to control. “Thank you, King Tharion. It is an honor to be here once again. My companions and I are most grateful for your hospitality.”

“There is no need for such formality,” Tharion replied evenly, a faint smile touching his lips. “A king must always be treated as one—especially among friends.”

Valemir’s lips curled into the ghost of a smirk. “Ever the gracious host,” he murmured with a low chuckle. Then his expression hardened as he leaned forward slightly, his fingers intertwining on the table. “But enough of pleasantries, Tharion. We both know why I am here. Let us speak plainly.”

The light atmosphere instantly shifted. The warmth that had filled the room drained away, replaced by a dense stillness that seemed to cling to the air. Even the royal guards posted at the corners tensed as if sensing the change.

King Tharion’s smile faded, and his tone turned serious. “Very well. Please proceed, King Valemir.”

Valemir’s cold eyes flicked toward Archmage Borges, giving a silent signal. The old mage lifted his frail hand slightly, muttering an incantation under his breath. The runes along his sleeves flared softly, and a portal—swirling with pale blue and violet light—opened in the air beside him.

From that portal stepped two Crescent knights, clad in dark silver armor with curved pauldrons and crested helms. Between them, shackled and trembling, was a woman. Her clothes were torn and ragged, her hair disheveled, and her body bore the unmistakable marks of neglect. Her wrists and ankles were bound in heavy iron chains that clinked as she was dragged forward. Her face, pale and sunken, lifted slightly—revealing eyes that were once bright but now hollow with despair.

At Valemir’s curt nod, the knights forced her down onto her knees before the table. The sound of her chains hitting the marble floor rang through the hall, echoing sharply in the silence.

“This,” King Valemir said, rising slightly from his chair, his voice cold as steel, “is the reason for my visit, King Tharion.” His hand gestured toward the broken woman kneeling before them. “This woman has committed one of the most vile and unforgivable acts within the Crescent Kingdom.”

He paused, letting his words sink deep into the air before continuing.

“She has defiled the sacred laws of blood and purity by consorting with a dark mage,” Valemir declared, his voice carrying the authority of judgment. “And worse still—she now bears a child within her. A cursed child. The abomination of a human and a creature of darkness.”

A faint murmur rippled through the Solaran council members. Serah’s expression darkened subtly, though she kept her composure. Her hands clenched at her sides as she looked at the trembling woman—fragile, terrified, and alone.

Valemir’s eyes gleamed with conviction as he spoke his next words.

“This woman is the living proof of why I have come to you, King Tharion. It is time we bring forth a new law—one that will ensure that such unions between light and shadow never stain our world again.”

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