The True Blood of Karis.

He was the only one among the minions of the night to possess the True Blood, recorded as a being close to immortality.

It wasn't just about healing wounds. There were stories of him fully restoring his body, even when his head had been severed, as if nothing had happened.

When all the races of the continent joined forces to exterminate them, Karis was too formidable to kill, and so they merely sealed him.

And now, Satanail, who had inherited Karis's True Blood after breaking the seal, possessed similar powers.

“I almost died.”

Though his main body was mostly destroyed, even a tiny fragment of flesh allowed him to regenerate.

Thud!

“Is this all I’ve got? I paid too high a price.”

Entering the Somerset estate, Satanail restored part of his body, then casually punched the wall as he normally would.

In the past, this would have cracked the wall, making the entire estate tremble. But now, only a slight fracture appeared.

Surviving was fortunate, but the cost left him unable to exert even a tenth of his original power.

“No matter. Once I get my hands on the Blue Flower, I’ll be able to resurrect even stronger than before.”

He hadn’t anticipated things reaching this point, but his precaution of spreading fragments around had served him well.

“The Blue Flower’s aura... I felt it here.”

In the middle of his fierce battle with Richard, he suddenly sensed an immense presence within the estate.

At first, he thought it was an enemy, but instinctively, he realized—it was the aura of the Blue Flower he’d been desperately seeking.

Though he didn’t have the luxury to pursue it, being locked in combat with Richard, he intentionally allowed Richard to cut off his arm.

Using that severed arm as a diversion, he slipped into the estate while everyone's attention was on his scattered fragments.

Thus, Satanail had infiltrated Somerset Manor.

He sensed the Blue Flower’s aura coming from upstairs and made a move to dash up the central staircase.

But—

Slip.

Like some slapstick buffoon, Satanail slipped on the stairs and tumbled back down to the floor.

“What on earth is wrong with these stairs?!”

As he lay sprawled on the ground, he glared at the stairs. They’d become as slippery as ice, a simple trick spell—Grease—that made surfaces slick. It was one of the most basic spells, designed to catch him off guard.

“To think you could stop me with such a pitiful trick!!!”

Sliding down the stairs filled him with shame. To be taken down by nothing but a simple spell—it was humiliating.

If he’d known about the slick surface beforehand, he could have avoided it easily. Now, he steadied himself, reminding himself that it was no great feat to leap over a mere flight of stairs.

Flash!

Swearing to tear apart the one who set up this wretched trap, Satanail leapt toward the second floor in a single bound.

Crash!

“Ugh!!!”

Once again, Satanail found himself thrown to the ground.

Stars danced before his eyes as he recovered from the unexpected impact.

‘What… just happened?’

With his head clearing, he realized what had occurred.

A magic circle had appeared on the ceiling above the stairs.

This was no mere Grease spell; it was a powerful attack spell that had struck him directly as he soared.

“Curse it… Who would set such filthy traps…?”

As much as he tried to contain it, Satanail’s anger surged. These traps were set as if someone had perfectly predicted his every move.

He couldn’t shake the rage that if he didn’t tear apart whoever prepared these infernal traps, he’d never find peace.

 

“Rupert, can’t we go out now?”

“No way. Didn’t you see the fighting earlier? What if there are remnants still lurking around?”

Rupert looked out the window at the battlefield, still wary of the chaos from earlier.

Though Ignicia—no, Zenia’s powerful magic and his brother Richard’s relentless onslaught had repelled the enemy, Rupert had also seen Satanail’s fragment escape.

Until they could confirm Satanail’s complete destruction, Rupert decided it was best to stay locked down in the manor.

“I’ve activated the defense mechanisms, so wandering around could be dangerous,” Rupert cautioned.

“That’s certainly a risk,” Earl Bradley agreed, sitting back down and sipping his tea as he recalled his eldest son Richard’s fierce battle from earlier.

‘It was terrifying.’

The Earl had intended to give Richard a severe scolding for running off without a word. But upon seeing the strength his son returned with, he hesitated.

The image of Richard slicing down that monstrous foe with his greatsword was… intimidating, to say the least.

‘But it seems Rupert’s installations in the manor are proving quite useful.’

As rumors spread about the Somerset family’s recent wealth, thieves had tried sneaking in occasionally.

To counter them, Rupert had enlisted Crun to fortify the manor like a fortress.

And upon hearing this, Crown Prince Alex, enraged that anyone would dare to target his goddaughter, sent royal mages to assist Crun in the renovations.

The fortified Somerset Manor had transformed into a labyrinth of deadly traps.

Now, the Earl, initially reluctant to tamper with the ancestral manor, was glad he’d agreed to Rupert’s plans.

‘What could go wrong? Let’s just enjoy the tea.’

And so, oblivious to Satanail’s infiltration, the Earl and Rupert continued sipping their tea leisurely in the study.

 

“Argh!!! Is this wretched place even meant for humans to live in?!”

Satanail was a mess.

His back was riddled with arrows, his feet were punctured by sharp tacks, and though he was healing, half his face was burned.

Finally, after endless struggles, he reached the second floor.

But that was only the beginning.

As he walked down the hallway, arrows shot out of nowhere, boiling oil fell from above when he touched a doorknob.

This wasn’t a mansion—it was a labyrinth straight out of hell.

Satanail, who had severely diminished power from dividing his body, could only groan as the injuries piled up.

“If I were at full strength, these shabby traps would be….”

Normally, he would have shrugged off any traps without concern, but now, each one was lethal to him in his weakened state.

Even so, he refused to give up. The aura of the Blue Flower grew closer, drawing him on.

His mangled body could be restored if he could only reach the Blue Flower.

And so,

“I swear… I’ll kill whoever set these traps!”

He vowed to repay every injury a hundredfold.

‘Just a little farther.’

Despite his harrowing journey, he finally reached the room where the aura of the Blue Flower was strongest, prepared with a final trick up his sleeve.

Transformation into a bat.

Among the night creatures, the ability to transform into a bat was one of their unique traits.

Up to this point, the mansion’s traps had all been tailored to humans.

Assuming the same applied to the room where the Blue Flower’s aura emanated, his transformation was certain to work.

Creak.

Now wary of even touching a doorknob, Satanail gingerly opened the door, bracing himself for anything.

Nothing happened.

“Who are you, mister?”

And there he stood—in Ada’s room.

Rupert had commanded Ada to stay in her room until he lifted the mansion’s lockdown, so there she was, sitting in the room.

“Grr!”

And her companion, Rasshu, upon seeing Satanail, let out a low growl.

“The Blue Flower! I was sure I sensed its aura here!”

Satanail was baffled.

The intense aura unmistakably indicated the Blue Flower, yet all he saw was a little girl and a dog.

Woof! Woof!

Rasshu barked, and Ada seemed to understand.

“What is it, Rasshu?”

“Woof!”

“He’s a bad man?”

“Woof!”

Though most couldn’t interpret animal sounds, Ada had an unusual ability to understand Rasshu’s barks.

And Rasshu’s warning was clear as day:

‘This guy’s bad news! Take him down, Ada!’

Ada adjusted her stance and glared at Satanail.

“Grr… Where are you hiding my Blue Flower?!”

With an almost mad desperation, Satanail lunged toward Ada.

Ada stood her ground, watching him steadily.