A silver fork scraped sharply against a porcelain plate, the sound echoing through the vast, quiet dining hall of the Obsidian Manor.
Vivienne sat at the long mahogany table, the deep ocean-blue velvet drapes she had chosen weeks ago framing the high windows behind her.
The room was no longer a bleak, cold tomb; the rich blue fabrics softened the heavy obsidian pillars, though the air still carried the faint, familiar scent of old cedarwood and raw mana.
Beside her sat Caelum, his massive frame draped in his loose black silk robe, his piercing crimson eyes tracking the fluid movements of her wrists with a quiet, dangerous intensity.
Thud.
The heavy double doors of the dining hall were violently thrown open.
General Freya rushed into the room, her silver plate armor clanking sharply against the stone floorboards.
Her silver-blonde hair was disheveled, and her golden eyes burned with an unadulterated, furious light as she slammed a heavy leather scroll onto the edge of the mahogany table.
“My lady!” Freya reported, her deep voice cutting through the quiet clash of silverware.
“Our shadow sentries have just intercepted a encrypted transmission leaving the western sector. A faction of our own northern noble dissenters, led by Marquis Justin, is currently holding a secret council. They are preparing to leak the launch coordinates and the submersion schedules of our newly built shadow fleet directly to Crown Prince Julian’s spies!”
Vivienne’s fork froze in mid-air.
Her dark brown eyes instantly swirled into a deep, liquid black void—the mark of her advanced core flaring with pure, icy irritation.
She didn’t shout, and she didn’t throw her glass.
She simply laid her silver fork down on the porcelain plate with a slow, deliberate click.
“They never learn,” Vivienne whispered, her melodic voice dropping into an unhinged, freezing melody.
She stood up from the table, her midnight silk gown trailing behind her as she straightened her spine.
“Freya, prepare the horses. We are heading to the Citadel war room immediately.”
Caelum shifted his massive frame, his heavy leather boots hitting the floorboards with a thud that made the crystal chandelier above shake.
A wave of pure, suffocating heat radiated from his chest, his crimson eyes narrowing into lethal slits of pure bloodlust.
“I am coming with you, Vivienne. I will personally peel the flesh from Justin’s bones before he can touch a single ironclad.”
“No,” Vivienne countered flawlessly, her deadpan, unyielding glare locking straight into his predatory gaze.
“Stay here, Caelum. General Freya is more than enough to guard my flank. You need to remain anchored near the shadow-stones to stabilize your core for the upcoming naval crossing. I will handle our local rats myself.”
For a brief second, a sudden, terrifyingly intense wave of jealousy slammed into his chest.
He hated the mere thought of her walking out into the dark without his massive hand anchored around her waist; he despised the fact that she was choosing to rely on Freya instead of his own monstrous strength.
But looking at the diamond-hard certainty in her eyes, he forced the dark, primitive obsession aside.
He let out a low, gravelly growl, his fingers tightening around the armrest of his chair until the dark wood groaned.
“Fine. But if a single hair on your head is touched, Vivienne… I will turn that entire western province into a graveyard. Send a message raven the exact millisecond anything happens.”
“I wouldn’t dare keep you waiting, Grand Duke,” Vivienne replied smoothly, her lips curving into a slow, ruthless smile that sent a sudden prickle of heat down his spine.
Within minutes, Vivienne and Freya had mounted their black stallions, tearing through the freezing northern downpour and heading straight toward the fortress war room.
~♡~
~♡~
The grand war room inside the Northern Citadel was a cavernous chamber carved from solid frost-stone.
At the center stood a massive oak table lined with the tactical layouts and secret engineering schematics of the fifty newly constructed black ironclad warships.
Five high-ranking northern noble dissenters, dressed in extravagant, fur-trimmed velvet cloaks, stood gathered around the table.
At their front was Marquis Justin, a sharp-faced man with greedy, calculating eyes, holding a silver communication crystal pulsing with faint imperial light mana.
“The transmission must be sent before the noon bells!” Justin hissed to his accomplices, his hands trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement.
“Julian has promised us total control over the northern shadow-stone mines once the Iron Tyrant’s fleet is sunk. The Grand Duke is dying anyway, so why should we tie our houses to a sinking ship—”
BOOM.
The reinforced iron doors of the war room were violently blown off their hinges, exploding into a shower of lethal wooden and metal shrapnel that embedded itself into the surrounding stone walls.
The five noble traitors shrieked, scattering backward into the shadows as a wave of pure, suffocating abyssal darkness flooded the entire chamber.
Marching through the thick, smoking fog was Empress Vivienne.
Her midnight silk gown billowed around her leather riding boots like a shroud, and her void-like eyes radiated an absolute, terrifying imperial majesty that instantly snuffed out the candles in the room.
Behind her, General Freya stepped into the doorway, her massive twin-headed battleaxe drawn and humming with a blinding, golden dome of pressure that completely blocked the only exit.
“M-Marquis… Empress Vivienne?!” Marquis Justin stammered, his face turning an instant, ash-white shade of total panic as he frantically tried to hide the silver communication crystal behind his velvet cloak. Follow the newest chapters on NovelPing.
“What… what is the meaning of this intrusion? We were merely reviewing the regional trade registries—”
“Save your pathetic breath, Justin,” Vivienne interrupted coldly, her boots clicking sharply against the stone floor as she stepped up to the table.
“You speak of regional registries, yet your hands are clutching the private light-encryption crystal of the Imperial Vanguard’s black-ops division. You thought you could sell the submersion schedules of my armada to buy your safety from Julian?”
“It’s a lie! You have no proof!” another noble yelled, his voice cracking with desperation.
Vivienne didn’t waste a single word on an argument.
She moved with fluid, mechanical precision.
She reached out, her hand moving with a blindingly fast velocity that completely caught Justin off guard.
CRACK!
A brutal, resounding slap echoed through the vaulted war room as Vivienne’s palm struck Marquis Justin across his face.
The sheer, concentrated force of her advanced High-Tier Master core sent the grown nobleman spinning violently across the stone floor, his gold ring flying from his finger as he crashed heavily into the weapon racks, coughing up a mouthful of blood and shattered teeth.
The silver communication crystal slipped from his limp fingers, rolling across the stone until Vivienne’s leather boot stepped down on it, crushing the rare magical artifact into a pile of useless glass dust.
“You call me an outsider, Justin,” Vivienne whispered, her voice dropping into an unhinged, freezing frequency that made the very bedrock of the Citadel rattle.
She leaned down, looking at the groveling, bleeding traitor with an expression of pure, final dominance.
“You think because Caelum is managing the borders, you can treat his domain as a bargaining chip? Look around you. The vanguard belongs to me, the fleet belongs to me, and your lives are currently resting on the edge of my blade.”
Freya slammed the haft of her six-foot battleaxe against the stone floorboards with a deafening thud, her golden eyes flaring with a lethal, eager light as the five remaining nobles threw themselves to their knees, weeping and begging for their families’ lives.
The local treason had been entirely, brutally crushed in a fraction of a second.
Vivienne turned her back on the groveling rats, her dark cloak sweeping across the glass dust as she looked out the grand viewports toward the subterranean harbor where the warships sat waiting.
A/N
This week goal,
Collection =500