Chapter 463: The Fear Of A Pureblood
As the sun climbed over the treetops, Serah stirred beneath the cabin’s simple quilts. A slant of morning light slipped through the small window and painted a warm stripe across her face. She blinked, frowned softly, and pushed herself upright, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
"Wow... I actually slept soundly in a place I don’t even recognize," she murmured, rubbing one wrist as she took in the familiar wooden room. Her gaze drifted to the dining table where the night before’s bowls still sat in fond memory. The aftertaste of that sauce made her mouth water all over again.
A small smile tugged at her lips. "That was just one meal... but if he keeps cooking like that and I keep staying, I might be sunk," she said, half amused at herself and half warning.
She rose, padded across the floor, and opened the door. The forest greeted her: the river gurgled steadily a short distance away, and sunlight pooled through leaves to scatter bright coins across the grass. The morning felt fresher, somehow more alive than the night had—crisper and kinder.
"It’s even more beautiful than last night," Serah told the trees, closing her eyes and letting the sun warm her face.
Her reverie lasted only a heartbeat. A familiar voice cut through the birdsong.
"Didn’t know they had a nature lover in the palace," Marcus called, his tone teasing.
Serah turned. Marcus crouched on the little cabin roof, smirk in place, dressed the same as yesterday — loose tunic, leather trousers, hair tied back in that artfully messy knot. He looked absurdly at home atop the shingles.
"You camped up there all night?" she asked, crossing one arm, amusement lining her voice.
"Not exactly," he answered, shrugging with exaggerated innocence. "Like I said, I was three trees away. I only crept closer because I thought you might have passed out in your sleep or something. You know — princess-collapse scenarios."
"Oh, so you were worried," she replied, letting her tone flirt with disbelief.
Marcus tilted his head, grin widening. "Come on, you know I was. But if you want to make me actually blush, you’re going to have to try harder with the flirting."
Serah rolled her eyes at him. "Get over yourself. Anyway, I have a question."
"Ask away."
"The food last night — did you make it?"
"Guilty," Marcus said, beaming. "Did it live up to your royal palate?"
"It did. More than I dared admit. It was...better than half the meals I’ve endured back at the palace," she confessed, warmth in her voice.
Marcus took a mock bow. "I’m honored. Glad it sent you into a peaceful slumber. But wait till you try the original version."
"The original?" Serah echoed.
"My father’s recipe," Marcus said simply.
Serah’s eyes brightened. "Gues I have another reason to meet him, then."
"Save your excitement until you’ve beaten the fighting buddies," Marcus shot back, faux wounded. "Now go get ready. The longer those bloodwretch bastards live, the more I itch to gut them myself. So kindly get moving, princess."
Serah narrowed her eyes at the jab and felt a tiny, satisfied thrill at having touched a nerve. A smirk lifted one corner of her mouth.
"All right, if you say so. Just give me a minute," she said, and stepped back inside to dress.
***
Moments later, Serah stepped outside, now fully geared and ready for what lay ahead. Over her fitted black tank top, which she had neatly tucked into her leather trousers, she wore a simple yet practical array of armor pieces. Her elbows were protected with cobs, her right forearm bore a bracer while her left arm was wrapped with sturdy cloth. Her legs were guarded with knee cobs and greaves strapped firmly in place, while a pair of modest shoulder pads completed the ensemble.
At her hip hung a sheathed claymore, its hilt adorned with golden patterns that mirrored the elegant design etched into the sheath itself. The weapon looked both regal and deadly, a reflection of the princess who carried it. Her crimson hair, now tied into a high ponytail, swayed gently behind her as she walked.
After washing her face in the nearby river, she followed Marcus through the forest. He walked at an easy pace, hands shoved into his pockets as usual, whistling carelessly. His tune seemed to blend with the chirping of birds above, the sound oddly harmonious. Serah, however, found herself studying him more than the scenery. Every now and then, she realized she was smiling unconsciously, only to quickly school her expression back into composure.
"Where are we going again?" Serah finally asked after walking in silence for some time.
Marcus slowed his whistling and glanced back at her over his shoulder, his tone casual yet edged with mock seriousness. "To where the demons are. I could’ve just caged them near the cabin, but considering you’re a high-tier Eight-Star mage, the cabin might not survive the collateral damage. And I don’t want my hard-built cabin going up in flames because of your little sparring match. It’s too precious to me."
Serah gave a soft nod of understanding. "Fair enough. But how long until we get there? We’ve been walking for quite a while."
"We’re almost there, princess," Marcus replied smoothly, his voice carrying a teasing lilt. "No need to rush. With all this beauty around you, is fighting demons the only thing on your mind? Tsk tsk. And here I thought you were secretly a nature lover."
Rolling her eyes, Serah huffed lightly. "Of course I appreciate nature, but right now, the demons are what matter most. My mind’s on them, not the trees."
Marcus smirked, scoffing under his breath. "Fair. I can’t really blame you. If I were in your place, I’d probably be the same."
His words lingered with an unexpected weight, making Serah glance at him for longer than she intended, her crimson eyes lingering in thought.
Then, without warning, Marcus stopped walking. "Anyway, we’re here, princess."
Serah halted beside him, her eyes scanning the space before them. A vast clearing stretched nearly five hundred meters across, bathed in the golden glow of the midday sun. The openness of it carried an almost unnatural calm, as though it was waiting for something to disturb its stillness.
"Okay, but... where are they?" Serah asked, her brows furrowing as she looked around, searching for any sign of the Pureblood demons.
"Oh, them?" Marcus said with deliberate nonchalance as he turned toward her. "I’ll have to teleport them here. They’re not just lounging around waiting for you. I only need to know one thing—are you ready?"
Serah drew in a steadying breath and exhaled slowly, crimson eyes sharp with focus. "I’m ready."
"Alright," Marcus said, shifting his gaze toward one of the towering trees nearby. His tone was casual, yet edged with seriousness this time. "A little advice before we start. Avoid direct contact with their blood attacks if you can. I know, easier said than done, since that’s basically their whole arsenal. But if you do get cut or pierced, use your flames to burn the poison out. I trust you’re capable of that."
Serah’s eyes lingered on him for a brief pause before she finally spoke. "I’ll keep that in mind. Anything else I should be aware of?"
Marcus gave his head a small shake, scratching lazily at the back of his neck, and then dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "Nah. You’ll figure things out yourself soon enough."
The next instant, Marcus’s entire form dissolved into a haze of shifting black smoke. In less than a heartbeat, that same haze coiled and reformed high above, depositing him onto a thick branch of the very tree he had been heading for. With the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times, he reclined across the sturdy wood, arms folded behind his head as though it were his own personal bed.
Serah, keeping her crimson gaze steady on him, exhaled lightly before speaking again. "Alright, then. Can you summon the Pureblood demons now?"
From his perch, Marcus tilted his head just enough to glance her way, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "C’mon, princess. I’m not about to throw three Purebloods at you and risk turning this into a funeral. Since it’s your first time handling one alive, you’ll get to face just one. Depending on how you handle yourself, maybe later you can take on the other two at the same time if you’re feelin’ bold."
Serah met his reasoning with a calm nod, her expression tightening in concentration. "Fair enough. I’ve no issue with that. You can proceed with the summoning." Her hand went to the hilt of her claymore, drawing it in one smooth motion.
The blade caught the light of the sun instantly, a gleaming arc that shimmered as if it were already aflame. It burned bright and alive, though her magic had yet to flow through it. Even still, it was an intimidating sight, the steel alive with brilliance.
Marcus’s eyes tracked the weapon, his smile deepening as something almost like respect glimmered faintly in his gaze. But he said nothing—just snapped his fingers, then darkness stirred.
From the earth ahead of Serah, shadows began to writhe and swirl, twisting violently as if clawing their way into existence. They thickened, swelled, and solidified, the air itself humming with an ominous vibration. Then, just as suddenly, the shadows dispersed—and standing in their place was a towering figure.
A Pureblood.
It stood a full seven feet tall, its massive frame corded with muscle. Its skin was a deep crimson shade, webbed with thick black veins that pulsed faintly as though filled with burning tar. Three horns jutted from its head—two arched sharply at its sides, the third protruding wickedly forward. Its eyes were bottomless black pools with golden irises glowing like molten metal, and upon its lips curled a devilish grin that revealed rows of sharpened teeth.
Serah’s body locked for half a second. The aura of this one... it was overwhelming, far darker and heavier than the lingering stench of the slain Pureblood Marcus had left behind back in Ilis. But she inhaled sharply, shook it off, and forced her stance firm again.
’C’mon, Serah. Focus. Don’t let the pressure cage you. You’re stronger than that.’
Her claymore tightened in her grip, and the hesitation in her crimson eyes burned away into cold readiness.
The Pureblood’s grin widened, its voice thick with malice yet oddly gleeful. "Well, well. Who knew I’d stumble into such fortune the moment I crawled free of that psychotic bastard’s den?"
Its black tongue slid grotesquely over its teeth as its claws flexed. "Don’t worry, pretty little thing. I’ll make good use of your fair body."
It crouched, muscles coiling for a spring—yet froze the very next instant when a voice colder than the void itself rang out from behind.
"Don’t get ahead of yourself, wretch."
The Pureblood’s body stiffened, its eyes widening in dread. Slowly, ever so slowly, it turned its head.
Up on the branch above, Marcus lay sprawled as if nothing in the world mattered, yet those cold, onyx eyes of his glared down like death itself.
"You must be an absolute fool," Marcus said, his voice low, sharp as blades of ice, "to think I’d ever let you roam freely."
The Pureblood shuddered.
"But," Marcus went on, a thin smirk touching his lips, "I won’t kill you either. Not today. You’re lucky enough that I’m feeling generous. So here’s what’s going to happen."
He raised a single finger, gesturing toward Serah.
"You see the beautiful woman standing right in front of you? If you manage to kill her, I’ll set you free. No chase. No punishment. You’ll walk away alive. But if you fail? Then you’ll die here and now—cut to pieces by her hands, far more elegantly than I’d ever bother."
The words rolled like venom, every syllable sharp and absolute.
The Pureblood stood frozen, trembling as it shifted its gaze briefly to Serah. She hadn’t moved an inch, claymore gleaming in her hands, her crimson eyes unwavering.
’How... how am I still here?’ The demon’s thoughts clawed at themselves, riddled with panic. ’I thought I escaped, only to fall back into the grip of the devil himself. But... he gave me a chance. An opening. I can’t trust it, but... if I try to flee, he’ll end me before I take a step. The only way out... is through the witch in front of me.’
It inhaled sharply, crouching low once more, claws digging into the dirt.
Serah’s breath slowed. She matched its stare, her crimson gaze locking onto the golden glow of its eyes. Her grip tightened on the claymore’s hilt until her knuckles whitened.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then the Pureblood launched.
In a blink, it blurred forward, claws tearing through the air straight for her throat.