Chapter 183: Crimson Magic

Prince Valdris watched as the darkness continued to seep from Elise’s form, his violet-blue eyes narrowing with displeasure rather than fear.

“I didn’t expect the Lich to have the audacity to interrupt my negotiations,” he muttered, straightening his immaculate robes. “How dreadfully inconvenient.”

The old knight—Reinfort—moved swiftly, positioning himself more firmly between the prince and the possessed princess. His sword remained raised, its blade gleaming with a faint holy light that seemed to push back against the encroaching shadows.

“Your Highness, you must retreat. Take shelter behind the wards. This is too dangerous.”

More soldiers poured into the room behind him, their weapons drawn, their faces pale but determined. They formed a protective semicircle around Valdris, their eyes fixed on the transformed figure before them.

Valdris waved a dismissive hand, though he didn’t move from behind his protective wall of steel and flesh. “Relax, Reinfort. This room is saturated with the temple’s strongest blessings. The Lich cannot act here. His influence is limited to—”

The collar around Elise’s neck shattered.

It didn’t break—it exploded, fragments of enchanted metal spraying across the room like shrapnel. Several soldiers cried out as the pieces embedded in their armor, their skin. One fell, clutching his face where a shard had lodged in his eye.

Valdris’s composed mask cracked. His eyes widened, genuine shock replacing calculated calm.

“That’s… impossible.”

The aura intensified.

Darkness poured from Elise now in waves, thick and oily, filling the room with a cold that had nothing to do with temperature. The torches guttered. The magical lamps flickered and died. Only the unholy light emanating from Elise’s transformed form illuminated the scene.

Her hair, once a rich chestnut, had bleached to pure white. Her eyes—those warm, intelligent eyes—now blazed crimson, blood-red tears tracing paths down her cheeks. And above her brow, visible despite everything, a crown of shadow had formed—a twisted mockery of royalty that pulsed with malevolent light.

The Lich’s voice emerged from her lips, layered and ancient, carrying the weight of a thousand years of hatred.

“Fools.” The word dripped with contempt. “You thought to cage me with trinkets? With blessings muttered by priests who have never faced true darkness?” A horrible smile curved Elise’s lips. “I have waited centuries for a vessel like this. A body of royal blood, suffused with generations of my influence. Did you truly believe your little baubles could stop me?”

Reinfort stepped forward, his blade held steady despite the terror crawling up his spine. His voice, when it came, was the voice of a man who had faced darkness before and refused to yield.

“Deathless King. Release Princess Elise. Now.”

The Lich’s crimson eyes flickered toward him with amusement.

“Or what, old man? You’ll wave your sword at me?” A cold laugh echoed through the room. “I have walked this world for a thousand years. I have seen empires rise and fall. I have consumed the souls of knights far greater than you.” The shadow-crown pulsed. “You are nothing.”

Valdris’s voice cut through, sharp despite the terror gripping the room. “You’re trapped, Lich. This body may be yours for now, but the wards around this castle—”

“Are worthless.” The Lich flexed Elise’s hands, studying them with possessive fascination. “Can you not feel it, little prince? The way your precious blessings wither in my presence? The way your priests’ prayers fall on deaf ears?” He—it—laughed again, and the sound made grown soldiers flinch. “I am not attacking your wards. I am simply… existing. And they cannot bear the weight of my presence.”

The Lich’s attention returned to the body he now inhabited. Elise’s hands—slender, elegant, trembling with stolen life—curled into fists before relaxing. A shudder ran through the possessed form.

“Ah…” The sound was one of pure, ancient satisfaction. “After so long… to feel again. To taste breath, heartbeat, warmth.” His crimson eyes fixed on Valdris with predatory focus. “This body is exquisite. Royal blood, cursed lineage, a spirit tempered by generations of my influence. A perfect vessel.”

Reinfort’s jaw tightened. He exchanged a glance with Valdris—a silent communication between warriors who had faced impossible odds before.

“Your Highness,” Reinfort murmured, barely moving his lips. “When I give the signal, you run. Do not look back.”

Prince Valdris’s violet-blue eyes hardened as Reinfort’s whispered command registered. A cold smile curved his lips—not the charming expression he’d worn moments ago, but something sharper. More dangerous.

“You want me to retreat?” His voice carried across the chaos, cutting through the darkness like a blade. “Impossible, Reinfort. I am a prince of Solaria. I do not run from monsters.”

He stepped forward, past the protective wall of soldiers, past Reinfort’s outstretched arm. His hand extended, and light bloomed in his palm—not the gentle glow of temple blessings, but something fierce and brilliant. It coalesced, solidified, took shape.

A sword of pure light materialized in his grip.

The blade blazed with holy fire, its radiance pushing back against the encroaching shadows. Valdris raised it, pointing the tip directly at the possessed form of Princess Elise.

“Let me make something clear, abomination.” His voice rang with royal authority. “In this kingdom, creatures like you are not tolerated. We do not bow to darkness. We do not negotiate with filth.” His grip tightened on the sword’s hilt. “So I’ll say this once: leave. ”

The Lich’s crimson eyes widened slightly. Then a laugh tore from her throat, harsh and delighted.

“A prince with spine! How refreshing!” The shadow-crown pulsed, sending waves of malevolent energy cascading through the room. “Very well, little prince. Let me teach you why immortals do not fear the tantrums of children.”

The Lich raised Elise’s hand. Lightning erupted from her palm with a dozen jagged spears of electrical death that lashed out in every direction. They struck walls, ceiling, floor, shattering stone and wood with equal ease. The room shuddered, cracks spider-webbing across the ancient masonry.

Reinfort moved before the lightning finished forming.

“ATTACK! ALL UNITS, ENGAGE!”

His soldiers surged forward, swords raised, holy symbols blazing. They came at the possessed princess from every angle, their weapons seeking flesh, their faith their only shield.

Valdris was among them.

Valdris became a streak of light, his form blurring as royal artifacts amplified his movements beyond human limits.

The Lich didn’t even look at him.

A casual gesture deflected Valdris’s strike, the light-blade skidding off a barrier of hardened shadow inches from Elise’s skin. The prince’s eyes widened as his momentum carried him past, off-balance for just an instant.

“Pathetic.”

The word was accompanied by a wave of force that sent Valdris flying backward. He crashed into a support pillar, the stone cracking from the impact, and slumped to the ground gasping.

Reinfort was already there, his ancient blade intercepting the follow-up strike the Lich had aimed at the fallen prince. Steel met shadow in a shower of sparks, the old knight’s arms trembling with the effort of holding back power that should have crushed him instantly.

“Crimson magic…” Reinfort’s voice was strained, his eyes fixed on the malevolent light emanating from Elise’s form. “The royal bloodline of Melium.”

The Lich’s smile widened—horrible on Elise’s face. “Indeed. One of the many reasons I coveted this particular vessel. Her blood sings with power I have cultivated for centuries.”

He raised both hands, and crimson light erupted from Elise’s palms—something twisted. Corrupted. The same power, warped by the Lich’s ancient malice.

The explosion was devastating.

Reinfort was hurled backward, his armor scoring from the blast. Around him, his soldiers—brave men who had faced horrors without flinching—screamed as the corrupted crimson magic tore through their ranks. Some fell clutching their faces. Others simply… dissolved, their bodies unable to withstand the onslaught.

The room was in ruins.

Smoke filled the air. Stone groaned overhead, threatening to collapse. Bodies lay scattered across the floor—some still, others writhing in agony. And in the center of it all, the possessed princess stood untouched, her white hair stirring in an unfelt wind, her crimson eyes gleaming with triumph.

“Did you truly believe,” the Lich murmured, “that you could challenge me?”

Reinfort pushed himself up from the rubble, his ancient body protesting every movement. Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead, but his eyes—those weathered, experienced eyes—held no fear. Only grim resolution.

He straightened, brushing dust from his armor with a calm that seemed almost unnatural given the carnage around them.

“Your Highness…” His voice was steady, carrying across the chaos. “It seems bringing the princess here was a grave mistake. We should have left her with the monsters.”

Prince Valdris pulled himself from the cracked pillar, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand. His violet-blue eyes blazed with defiance despite his disheveled state.

“Reinfort, I’ve told you before. Do not waste time regretting choices already made. What’s done is done.” He raised his light-blade, its glow flickering but holding. “The Lich has limits. We just haven’t found his yet.”

Reinfort’s lips twitched—almost a smile, despite everything. “That’s because you’re always making mistakes, Highness. Though I suppose now is not the time to discuss it.” He rolled his shoulders, and something shifted in the air around him. A pressure, a weight, a gathering of power that made even the Lich’s crimson eyes narrow slightly.

“I will use my aura. Your Highness, activate your artifact and match my movements. Do not fall behind.”

Valdris’s expression sharpened with something like offended pride. “Do not underestimate your prince, old man. I’ll follow. Just move.”

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