Deia Solaryn II

I had suspected this possibility, but seeing the pieces fall into place made it no less staggering.

The Red Sun was being used to heal the Vampire Monarch.

It felt like an impossible irony. The sun, traditionally hostile to vampires—those creatures of the night who wielded blood magic alongside the shadows—was now the very thing aiding their greatest leader. But, of course, the Red Sun wasn't a true star. It wasn't a celestial body burning with nuclear fusion, bathing the world in light and heat. It was an artifact, a thing of magic, an imitation of the sun's power with properties that bent reality to its will.

And somehow, it had been subverted.

The Red Sun's energy was being channeled into the Vampire Monarch, allowing him to recover from injuries that should have been impossible to heal. Injuries to his very soul.

I frowned, my thoughts spinning. 

The process must have required a mana oath—Daedric Solaryn himself would have to channel the artifact's powers directly into the Vampire Monarch. But how were they hiding something so monumental? The Red Sun was here, firmly rooted in the Southern Sea Sun Palace, its presence as tangible as the air around us. That meant the Vampire Monarch wasn't lurking in some far-off underground city, as I had once hoped.

He was here. 

The realization made my skin crawl. The Vampire Monarch, the most terrifying of his kind, wasn't just a looming threat. He was a festering wound within these very walls, a monster being nursed back to life under the nose of everyone in the palace.

His state made it clear why he needed such extraordinary means to recover. The injuries Liam Kagu had inflicted on him weren't just physical—they were existential. At Radiant-rank, beings of that caliber were near-unkillable under normal circumstances. Destroy their bodies, and they would rebuild them. Obliterate them, and they would rise again. Their regenerative capabilities were so advanced they could heal fatal injuries dozens of times over without exhaustion.

But wounds to the soul? Those were a different matter entirely. 

Liam Kagu hadn't merely defeated the Vampire Monarch; he had shattered the core of his existence. He had torn apart the threads of his very being, leaving the creature in a vegetative state. For all intents and purposes, the Vampire Monarch should have been dead, his soul too fractured to sustain him. Liam believed as much when he struck the final blow, obliterating the vampire's body into nothingness.

But somehow, the Vampire Monarch had survived. Like a cockroach clinging to life, he had endured, barely alive but lingering, his soul too stubborn—or too malicious—to dissolve into nothingness. The novel had never explained how he managed to recover. The assumption was that time itself had healed him, that centuries of dormancy had allowed his fractured soul to stitch itself back together.

But now I knew better. 

The Red Sun wasn't just accelerating his recovery—it was the cornerstone of it. Its energy was being funneled directly into the depths of his wounded soul, patching together the frayed edges of his existence piece by piece. The artifact, meant to symbolize light and life, was being corrupted into a tool of restoration for a creature who embodied death and darkness.

The sheer audacity of it made my blood boil.

How long had this been going on? How many oaths had Daedric made to the Cult, trading his palace's lifeblood for promises of power or survival? The thought of that arrogant man bending the knee to the Red Chalice Cult, using the artifact bonded to his family to serve the vampires, sickened me.

And yet, it fit. It explained the urgency, the secrecy, the cult's interest in the Southern Sea Sun Palace. This wasn't about alliances or influence. This was about bringing a monster back from the brink.

The Vampire Monarch wasn't dead. He was here. And if the Red Chalice Cult succeeded, he wouldn't just recover.

He would rise again, like he did in the novel.

What could I do without evidence? The thought weighed heavily on me as I considered my options—or lack thereof. For now, the answer was obvious.

Nothing.

I needed proof. Proof of where the Vampire Monarch was hidden, evidence that the Red Sun was being used to heal him. Without it, all I had were suspicions, and suspicions wouldn't be enough to act against the Southern Sea Sun Palace or expose the Red Chalice Cult.

But the task ahead was daunting. The island was vast, sprawling over countless kilometers. The sheer size alone made finding the Vampire Monarch a monumental challenge. Yet, there had to be limitations to the Red Sun's powers—some tether between it and its target. They couldn't risk discovery, so there had to be a way they were keeping the Monarch hidden while still channeling the artifact's power.

I needed to uncover that.

And once I did, I had to locate the Vampire Monarch himself. Only then could I reveal the Red Chalice Cult's presence and bring their plans to light. Only then could we take action.

So much to do. I sighed inwardly, already feeling the weight of the mission pressing against my shoulders.

Lost in thought, I nearly missed her approach.

"Hello!"

The bright, almost saccharine voice pulled me from my reverie, and I instinctively stepped back, startled. Standing before me was a woman, her smile dazzling in a way that felt more dangerous than welcoming.

Goosebumps prickled along my spine as I registered her face.

Alyssara Velcroix.

Just when I thought I might have caught a break from her, the pink-haired viper appeared as if summoned by my frustration.

Of course.

'And here I was congratulating myself for not running into her for a few days,' I thought bitterly, staring at the woman who stood there, her smile as bright as a sunrise and as sharp as a dagger.

"Arthur," she said, her voice honeyed and light. "You look so serious! Don't tell me you've been missing me."

I didn't respond immediately, my mind already racing. Alyssara wasn't someone who approached without purpose. Every step she took was deliberate, every word calculated. She was chaos dressed in elegance, a storm wrapped in silk.

'And why the hell is she acting like we're best friends?' I thought, barely keeping the irritation from showing on my face.

"I don't think we're close enough for that," I said bluntly, my words sharp and deliberate. If she noticed, she didn't show it. Instead, Alyssara giggled—a sound as sweet as sugar but with the distinct aftertaste of madness.

Of course, she'd laugh. That unhinged, crazy streak of hers wasn't exactly a secret. Alyssara might have been intelligent, cunning, and dangerously perceptive, but there was an undeniable chaos to her. An unpredictability that made her as frightening as she was magnetic.

The problem was, that chaotic streak wasn't confined to her enemies. Even those she claimed to care for—or worse, obsess over—weren't safe from her whims. A fact I couldn't afford to forget for even a second.

'I should just find Lucifer and stick him in front of her,' I thought grimly. That seemed to be the only surefire way to redirect her attention, considering how the novel went. Alyssara's obsessive tendencies would latch onto him as they had in the original story, sparing me from becoming her next fixation.

It wasn't a bad idea. A little heartless, perhaps, but effective.

Except… could I really do that to Lucifer? As much as I wanted to be free of her unnerving attention, shoving Alyssara in his direction felt less like solving a problem and more like tossing a grenade to a friend and saying, "Good luck."

Having Alyssara obsess over you wasn't something I'd wish on anyone, not even my worst enemies. Well, maybe Jack Blazespout deserved it. But Lucifer? No. Even I had my limits.

The truth was, Alyssara was my least favorite character in the novel for a reason. It wasn't just her ruthless cunning or her unmatched strength. It was the sheer, unrepentant malice she carried with her. Alyssara didn't just destroy her enemies—she consumed them, body, mind, and soul. There was no redemption arc, no hidden softness. She was pure, unrelenting evil wrapped in a façade of grace and charm.

And now, here she was, smiling at me like we were sharing some kind of private joke.

The worst part? She was so powerful now that even Magnus Draykar, the Martial King himself, couldn't guarantee a clean victory against her. Alyssara wasn't just a threat—she was a force of nature. If she wanted to, she could probably kill me with a flick of her fingers.

That thought sent a chill down my spine, though I kept my face neutral. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing my discomfort.

"I wonder," she said, tilting her head slightly, her cyan-green eyes glinting with something unreadable. "What it is about you that's so… fascinating."

Her words coiled around me like a serpent, tightening and squeezing, searching for a reaction. But I gave her none.

Instead, I smiled faintly, meeting her gaze without flinching. "I think you're mistaken. I'm far less interesting than you think."

Another giggle, this one softer, almost indulgent. "Oh, Arthur. If only you knew how wrong you are." 

And there it was again—that subtle, unshakable sense of danger. Alyssara wasn't just playing a game. She was rewriting the rules as she went along, and I was standing on the board without knowing what piece I was supposed to be.

For now, though, she made no move to press closer, no immediate threat in her stance or tone.

But that didn't make her any less terrifying.