NOVEL NEXT Chapter 285: Supreme
[Host Status]
[Kael Scarlet]
[Age: 21]
[Class: Soul Hunter]
[Vitality: 95]
[Strength: 108]
[Dexterity: 91]
[Intelligence: 96]
[Perception: 100]
[Resilience: 95]
[Luck: 240]
[Spirit Synchronization: Umbra (89%), Ahri (69%)]
[Beautiful Souls: Eleonor Scarlet, Elion Scarlet, Eva Sparda]
[Skills: Darkness Manipulation, Wind Manipulation, Mana Control, Enhanced Combat, Sword King Adalric's Swordsmanship, Sword Queen Eva's Swordsmanship, General Exelia's Swordsmanship, Blood Contract, Witch Queen's Akashic Records, [Void Extraction.]
[Souls to Extract: None.]
"That was a good increase, now I need to focus on more Beautiful Souls… Irelia, Amelia, and Sylphie… Yes, those three first. I can't keep pushing them away like I've been doing…" Kael said as he looked from the rooftop directly to the window, where he had a clear view of the three sleeping girls.
"Ah…" Kael sighed, not even knowing what to do next. He just wanted to get stronger and have a peaceful life, but for some reason. For some reason. His whole body said, 'Something's wrong.'
Kael remained there, motionless on the rooftop, the cold night wind sliding across his face. The moon was high, reflecting off the surface of his red pupils, which remained fixed on the three sleeping figures beyond the window. Eleonor, Amelia, Sylphie. Each of them carried something that simultaneously drew him closer and pushed him away. Affection… and weakness.
He clenched his fists, feeling the mana circulate through his body.
"Kidnapping Sylphie... Did they really think they could joke about something like that?"
Anger throbbed in his throat, but died in a suppressed sigh. He couldn't afford to lose control. Adalric's swordplay echoed in his mind like a lesson: the blade is only deadly when the heart is calm.
Kael closed his eyes and let himself sink into the silence of the night. Within him, the echoes of their synchronized souls pulsed.
Umbra, cold, dark, a whisper of darkness that nearly dragged him into the abyss.
Ahri, fiery, proud, her warmth a comfort that also demanded boldness.
"You two..." he murmured softly, lying on his back on the roof, his arm covering part of his face. "What would you do in my place?"
Umbra answered in his mind like a blade cutting through veils: Hunting. Blood must be repaid with blood. Ahri, in return, laughed provocatively. "Are you afraid? Afraid to act? Or afraid of what you'll find if you actually follow their trail?"
Kael snorted, somewhat exasperated.
"Not afraid. Just… tired."
His eyes opened, staring at the moon again. There was an unattainable peace in that silver sphere that irritated him.
"I just want… to live in peace. A normal, simple life, without chains, without hunts, without blood. But every step I take takes me deeper into this abyss."
He rose, sitting on the roof with his elbows resting on his knees. The numbers of his status echoed in his mind. Strength, dexterity, vitality, resilience. He was no longer that frail boy who lived under the shadow of the Scarlet surname. Now, he was a Soul Hunter, a bearer of techniques and memories that belonged to kings, queens, and generals. But deep down, the question remained: how far would he go?
Kael lowered his gaze toward the window. Sylphie was breathing slowly, her hair spread across the pillow, her expression calm as if she had never known fear. But he remembered well the night she was nearly ripped from his grasp. The smell of smoke. The bitter taste of blood. The arrogant laughter of the kidnappers who believed she was merely a pawn in some larger game.
He bit his lip.
"If I ignore this... They'll try again. Not just with her. Maybe with Amelia, with Ireilia... with any of them. And no matter how much I want to run, I know I couldn't forgive myself if that happened."
Kael stood slowly, feeling the steady balance beneath his feet. The night wind billowed his cloak, and for a moment he looked like the moon's shadow reflected on the rooftops.
Doubt gnawed at him, but with it grew something stronger: determination.
"Maybe it's time to hunt the hunters…" he said to himself, his tone barely audible.
Umbra vibrated in his chest in approval.
Ahri laughed, satisfied.
But Kael knew. This wasn't just about revenge or power. If he followed this path, he might discover the thread that connected all the strange events in his life. His instinct, that damned instinct, wouldn't leave him alone: there was something wrong, something bigger, something hidden in the shadows beyond the simple kidnapping attempt.
He looked once more at the window, at the heat of the scene he could never leave.
"I will protect you. Even if I have to plunge into the void to do so."
The forest was dead.
Or at least, it seemed so.
There were no birds, no wind. The air was heavy, laden with a suffocating humidity, and the treetops rose like black walls that hid even the moon. This was a place outside the world, a secluded space, created for meetings that should not exist.
Amidst the darkness, torches of blue flames burned in circles, each one attached to twisted iron stakes. The flames did not flicker, did not move, just burned unnaturally, like eyes open in the darkness.
Within this circle, hooded figures gathered. Each wore distinctive clothing, markings engraved on their cloaks, small details that betrayed different origins. They were not allies. They were competitors temporarily united by a single interest.
The voice of one of them broke the silence:
"It's impressive…" he said, his intonation thick with irony. "The vessel of the World Tree has survived for so long."
A murmur ran through the circle, like wind through dry leaves.
"Survived?" another voice replied, this time filled with contempt. "Call it luck, if you will. Or the incompetence of those who should have eliminated it when there was still time."
The answer came quickly, sharply:
"You speak as if your organization did better! The failure of the kidnapping was your responsibility."
The tone of the meeting broke. Voices began to overlap, each more aggressive than the last.
"Don't blame us! You're the ones who underestimated the girl's protector."
"Protection? He's nothing more than a boy with red eyes. A broken vessel, nothing more." "And yet, she destroyed half a dozen of you effortlessly. Who is the incompetent one, after all?"
The initial silence had faded. Now the circle seethed with accusations, each word spat like venom. The World Tree, the vessel, the Elven Princess. Symbols and secrets that should not be spoken aloud were spilled into the forest.
But there was something else. Something unspoken.
A restlessness everyone shared, but no one dared to acknowledge.
She survived.
She always survived.
Against predictions.
Against odds.
Against meticulously planned attacks.
The Elven Princess, vessel of the World Tree, remained alive.
"The balance should have been broken," murmured a hoarse voice, almost a whisper, yet clear enough to echo throughout the circle. "Her existence is a mistake. Fate had already chosen another path… and yet, she continues to breathe."
"And that bothers you?" someone retorted, his tone mocking. "She's just a piece. A tree doesn't flourish in the middle of a desert without water. If we can't break the trunk, let's burn the ground around it."
A dry laugh echoed.
"Big words for someone who couldn't even pluck a leaf."
Once again, the voices flared.
The forest seemed to absorb every word, every accusation, as if feeding on them. The blue-flamed torches burned brighter, casting distorted, unsettling shadows on the trunks.
And then it happened.
A soft, almost delicate sound.
The sound of footsteps.
They didn't come from inside the circle, but from outside. From the deep darkness of the forest. Slow, sure, each step resounding as if it echoed within the bones of everyone present.
The voices faded, one by one, until silence reigned again.
From the shadows, she emerged.
She wore no cloak, no hood. She was a tall woman, with long hair like strands of dark ink, her pale skin reflecting the light of the porcelain-blue flames. Her eyes were red, not like embers, but like congealed blood. Her presence wasn't grand… it was suffocating. As if the air had decided to bow before her.
"Enough." Her voice was calm, almost sweet. But each syllable carried an unbearable pressure. "You sound like children fighting over broken toys."
Some tried to speak, to justify, to protest.
"But, madam, we…"
He didn't finish.
A sharp crack.
His head exploded like a crushed fruit, spraying blood and gray matter across the floor, even staining the woman's face.
The silence was absolute.
Another dared to raise his voice, trembling. "That's disrespectful, we don't…"
Again, the dry sound.
Another head shattered into a thousand pieces, the body falling lifeless.
The smell of iron filled the air.
The woman ran her hand over her red-stained face and smiled.
"Better," she said, wiping her bloodied fingers on her own clothes, unhurriedly, without disgust. "Much better."
She walked to the center of the circle, uninterrupted. Each step seemed to dig the others' feet into the ground.
"You lose yourselves in details. In failures. In useless guilt. It doesn't matter."
Her eyes swept over everyone present.
They lowered their heads. None dared to support them.
"With or without the vessel of the World Tree." Her voice boomed, filling the clearing like a sentence. "With or without elven blood. With or without this princess who insists on breathing."
She raised her hand, and the blue flames bent, as if obeying her.
"The Demonic Cult is supreme."