Chapter 50: The Mountain Tree that Bleeds Skills, and A Daughter's Summon.
As Oliver sat on the Carcass Plant, he stared into the dusky distance, wondering how he was supposed to kill the remaining scorpions.
So far, in this one-night trial, he had acquired the Carcass Mail and a pouch that acted as his inventory. There had also been a significant increase in his overall strength.
He had beco strong enough that at just the age of ten, he had been capable of challenging a grown man like Garron in a fight.
Even though Garron had already Awakened his bloodline, Oliver still matched his strength.
There was no doubt that this was all a benefit of having a Deity-ranked bloodline.
Oliver was happy about this. But to say its troubles were not matched to the gift would be a lie.
No doubt, killing the remaining scorpions would further aid his quest for power.
He suddenly plucked a fruit from the tree. The mont he did, the scorpions stirred. They skittered about, shifting their positions as if to avoid getting hit.
Every ti he turned toward a group of them with the fruit, they would react—repositioning themselves, kicking up dust as they moved, turning the desert into a swirling haze of grit and confusion.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Oliver cursed under his breath. “They’ve gotten smarter.”
He scanned the area, montarily stunned. How was he supposed to attack an enemy that was evolving?
Still, he threw the fruit.
It landed with a dull thud, barely grazing one of the scorpions on its leg. Acid hissed on contact, sizzling into the hard chitin. Oliver frowned—he hadn’t made such a sloppy throw in a long ti.
But then sothing strange happened.
The mont the injured scorpion faltered, the others sward it. They didn't hesitate. Dozens of stingers plunged into its body. Within seconds, it was dead. Then, as if nothing had happened, the rest scattered.
They didn’t even feed on it.
Oliver stared, mouth slightly open. There were no words—only silence, only confusion.
He slumped back on the plant, lost in thought. Then, he pulled up his stats.
---
Stats
Speed: B
Strength: C
Aether: B
ntal Endurance: A (Unranked)
Perception: B
---
He could feel it in his veins—he was close to the Blood Warrior rank. Once all his stats hit A , he'd break through, and beco a rank one Blood warrior.
But between him and that goal stood 29 Bottomless-Bellied Desert Bloody Scorpions.
And he was out of ideas.
No matter how many he had taken down, a part of him still feared them. Just because he had gotten lucky before didn’t an he believed he was strong enough to face them head-on.
Then, a thought ca to him.
His gaze shifted toward the floating, blood-red skull. “If I can farm points from this place,” he said slowly, “is there a place I can do the sa… but for fighting skills?”
>
Oliver froze at those words.
......
anwhile...
Lady Seraphina stepped through the gilded gates of the Vontell Family Compound, her expression as impassive as porcelain. Despite the weight of the mont, her stride never broke. The sharp clack of her boots echoed like a song of returning dread.
The inner walls of the Somara Empire’s capital held only the highest echelons of nobility—the bloodlines so pure they claid kinship with King Solomon himself. Of course, who in this empire did not claim that.
But then again, every society had its hierarchy, and this one was no different.
As per law, outer wall nobles like Viscounts Hadrian and Cedric were forbidden from entry without a formal writ. Thus, Seraphina was escorted solely by her handpicked guards and a few loyal attendants.
The mont she entered, the air thickened with Aether, denser than any place she had stepped in weeks. It clung to her skin like silk soaked in power. Each breath tingled with spiritual weight.
Then again, this was expected. Even though Aether was thin in the outside world, things operated differently here.
The Immovable Sentry—That incredible relic, did more than just protect the empire against intruders.
It gathered aether and fed it to the empire. That energy only got richer, the deeper one went to the center of the empire.
The Vontell estate sprawled before Seraphina —a palace carved of obsidian and bone-white stone, built upon sacred ground where it was said the Empire once signed blood-oaths with heaven.
Blood-red banners bearing the Vontell crest hung still despite the wind. And flanking the central walkway were soldiers—not just guards, but cultivators of such refined talent that a single one could split stone with a finger or silence a beast’s roar with a glance.
Yet… as they beheld her, so trembled.
A cold sweat ford on the brows of two younger guards. Even the slave servants, dusting the wind-carved statues or pruning violet fla-lilies, moved with robotic precision. No one wanted to be noticed. Not today. Not now.
Because Seraphina had returned.
And Seraphina’s return always ant blood in the halls.
She kept her eyes forward, her robes rustling like whispers of judgnt.
After the issue with Grandmother of the Holy Church of light, she had changed clothes. Her long sleeves were lined with faint gold thread in the shapes of falcons—symbols of precision and control. Her black hair was bound tightly in an imperial knot, fixed with a single jade pin.
Of course, her attire was in her signature purple colour.
As she reached the steps to her private quarters, a voice called softly:
“Lady Sera, darling. My voracious 'little girl'.”
Her spine tensed. Slowly, she turned.
Standing at the corner of the hall was a man—tall, thin, with sharp feminine features frad by powder-white makeup. His robes were high-collared and crimson, trailing along the marble floor with precision. His brows were painted in elegant curves, and his eyes held no fear.
Only calculation.
A eunuch.
And not just any eunuch—Master Yun—no second na, as he was of common birth. He was the right hand to the Duke of Vontell, her father.
The man many whispered had shared more than loyalty with her father.
Rumors claid they were lovers. Not that it was rare for nobles to have an extra taste to their palettes. But things got dicy when it involved bloodline successions.
Many had dismissed those rumors, citing her mother’s pregnancy to birth her—which was also questionable.
Questionable enough for Grandmother to use it against her in their earlier confrontation.
Yet after her mother's mysterious death, her father never took another wife. He simply… adopted a son. A convenient son.
Seeing Yun was never a good sign.
“Master Yun,” she said, voice flat.
“Your journey from the Tyrell Kingdom was swift,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was high-pitched and silken. "Or was it the stench of your new husband's blood that gave you wings?”
She paused. Let the insult hang.
“You assu I bedded him first—you know, like you.” she replied. “However, this 'little girl' has forgotten your lessons. After all, at least you were more thorough, and killed my mother.”
Yun’s painted smile cracked, briefly, before restoring itself. “Ah. Still so sharp, like your mother’s tongue. I see you inherited more than her eyes.”
He unfurled a scroll from his sleeve and extended it with two fingers.
“The Duke requests your presence. Imdiately.”
“I’ve barely arrived,” she replied, not taking it. “I will report in the morning.”
“I’m afraid the Duke… insists,” Yun said. “You know how he hates waiting. And how he rewards... DISOBEDIENCE.”
Seraphina’s eyes sharpened, certain past mories seed to have co to life at those words. And she felt the need to itch a scar, hiding at her back.
But she fought the urge.
Her eyes lingered on the scroll. She took it without a word.
Then turned.
She did not look back.
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