Chapter 63: The Chariot Ardur
The cold air in the underground dungeons of Celeste City moved like a living thing between the stone walls, and the damp air was filled with the stench of mold and rust.
Cynthia sat weakly slumped on the cold stone floor, the magic-restraining chains forged from black death ore cutting deep into her slender wrists, leaving a circle of purple-red bruises on her pale skin. The other end of the chain was nailed dead to the wall, forcing her to present herself in the humiliating posture of having both hands raised high.
Moonlight slanted down from the skylight, outlining a silver patch of light on the damp ground.
Her flame-red hair had lost its former luster, hanging disheveled over her shoulders with several strands sticking to her sweat-dampened cheeks. Those ruby-like eyes that were always so imperious had dimmed somewhat, yet still stubbornly remained open.
“Clank—”
The chains made a crisp sound with her movement.
Cynthia tried to move her fingers, but found she couldn’t even perform the simplest magic power condensation. The properties of the black death ore were gradually eroding her strength—she could feel the surging flame power within her body becoming sluggish.
“What a poignant scene.”
A mocking male voice suddenly came from outside the cell door.
Cynthia slowly raised her eyelids and saw that familiar figure leaning against the iron bars, playing with a silver dagger. The young man had neat brown short hair, with a small ouroboros pattern tattooed below his left eye, appearing and disappearing in the dim torchlight.
“Ardur…”
Cynthia hoarsely spoke the name, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible.
“Indeed, at your service, respected Lady Saint.”
The young man performed an exaggerated nobleman’s bow, the dagger spinning nimbly between his fingers. He straightened up, his eyes flashing with a predator’s gleam.
“Tomorrow is your judgment day. I came especially to give you a… chance to choose.”
“Choose?”
Cynthia laughed coldly, pulling at her cracked lips and causing a trace of blood to seep out. Her voice suddenly rose.
“The choice to wag my tail and beg for mercy like a dog?”
“Why put it so harshly? I simply don’t like using violence to solve problems. If you’re willing to submit to me, I can guarantee your authority won’t be stripped away, and I might even… spare your mother’s life.”
Ardur shrugged nonchalantly, the cold gleam of the dagger reflecting on his smiling face.
“Bah!”
Cynthia suddenly leaned forward, spitting a mouthful of bloody saliva toward Ardur. The young man nimbly dodged to the side, and the spit hit the stone floor with a light “hiss.”
“How rude, Lady Saint.”
Ardur sighed dramatically, his fingers lightly stroking the sharp edge of the dagger.
“I thought someone with your noble education would be more… elegant.”
“Cut the fake concern.”
Cynthia panted heavily, the chains clanking with her movement as she spoke through gritted teeth.
“Saying I colluded with the Ouroboros Cult… you’re the ones truly colluding with the evil cult, aren’t you?”
Ardur suddenly burst into laughter, the sound echoing off the dungeon’s stone walls and startling a rat in the corner.
“How clever of you. That’s right, I am Ouroboros Cult Executor No. 7—”
He spread his arms wide in an exaggerated display, his eyes flashing with dangerous light.
“‘The Chariot’ Ardur.”
“Hmph, I never expected your Ouroboros Cult to be hiding in the shadows all along, even infiltrating my family.”
Cynthia snorted, her face full of unwillingness. She never could have imagined being betrayed by her own clan.
“We began infiltrating the Celeste family thirty years ago. Your aunt… oh, she should be called the acting family head now—she’s one of our most loyal allies.”
Ardur stepped forward, moonlight illuminating half his face, making the ouroboros tattoo seem to come alive and writhe across his cheek.
Cynthia’s pupils suddenly contracted as memories from three days ago flooded back like a tide…
That day’s sunlight was particularly harsh.
Cynthia pushed open the heavy doors of the Celeste family’s main keep, with steward Salina following closely behind. The great hall was unusually quiet—even the usually busy servants were nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Mother?”
Cynthia asked, her voice echoing in the empty hall.
“In the family head’s bedroom, Miss. Her condition… suddenly worsened.”
Salina kept her head down, her black bangs covering her eyes.
Cynthia’s heart suddenly sank. She quickly walked up the spiral staircase, her boots making dull sounds on the ancient stone steps.
The family portraits lining both sides of the corridor seemed to silently watch her—those cold gazes of past Celeste family heads always reminded her of her awkward identity.
Illegitimate daughter.
The Saint’s fingers unconsciously touched the crimson holy emblem at her chest. This was her only proof of worth—without awakening the “Crimson Saint” authority, she probably wouldn’t even have the right to stand in this corridor.
Two unfamiliar guards stood before the bedroom door. When they saw Cynthia, they exchanged a glance, then silently stepped aside.
“Mother…”
Cynthia pushed open the door, and when she saw the thin figure on the bed, her throat suddenly choked up.
The Celeste family head—that woman who had always been dignified in her memory—now lay on the massive four-poster bed like a withered leaf. Her face was ashen, her breathing so weak it was barely perceptible.
“How could this happen…”
Cynthia knelt beside the bed, her trembling hand grasping her mother’s ice-cold fingers. “When we corresponded last month, she was still…”
“Surprised, my dear niece?”
A familiar yet strange voice came from behind.
Cynthia spun around to see her aunt Adeline standing elegantly by the window, sunlight gilding her gray hair with gold.
“Aunt? When did you return?”
Cynthia stood up, warily studying this relative she rarely saw. Adeline had been “studying abroad” for years—the last time she’d seen her aunt was five years ago.
“Do you know, Cynthia?”
Adeline didn’t answer her question, but slowly walked to the bedside, looking down at her while speaking softly, her fingers lightly stroking Cynthia’s mother’s forehead.
“Your mother’s greatest mistake was letting an illegitimate daughter inherit the Crimson Saint’s authority.”
Cynthia felt a chill crawl up her spine. She instinctively stepped back, but bumped into a solid body. Turning around, she saw Salina had somehow gotten behind her, holding a gleaming short knife.
“Salina…?”
Cynthia looked in disbelief at this steward she’d grown up with.
“I’m sorry, Miss.”
Salina raised her head, her eyes no longer holding their former gentleness and loyalty, replaced by cold determination. The knife point pressed against Cynthia’s lower back.
“This is for the Celeste family’s future.”
A wave of helplessness washed over her. The last thing Cynthia saw was the triumphant smile on Adeline’s face, and a tear sliding down her mother’s cheek…