Chapter 58

Chapter 58

James’s hostility had an obvious source.

He’d been kidnapped himself as a child.

Right… he once told me they kept him underground.

Young James had been locked away for two weeks while the police failed to identify his kidnapper or uncover any motive at all.

No wonder the incident had become a trauma.

And no wonder he felt compelled to chase every lead about the girl who’d been with him in that basement for fifteen nights.

“Children aren’t really suitable as sacrificial offerings. Those kids must’ve been kept for another reason.”

James frowned.

“Another reason?”

Long ago, in ancient times, cults might have used children in blood rites—but realistically, an adult yielded far more blood.

Any modern cult attempting true demonic summoning wouldn’t waste time on such inefficiency.

“I can’t say what their goal was. But I’m certain about one thing: the memories they showed didn’t depict the children being used as sacrifices.”

What they did show was nauseating. The stench of animal blood thick in the air, altars slick with gore, entrails strewn over wet stone.

And three dead Revis—including Betty.

Wait. Revis as sacrifices? And those children…

No. Calm down, Rose. Think it through.

James watched her with narrowed eyes.

“Rose. Is there something you want to say?”

She snapped upright.

“No! I mean… maybe later. Once I have it clearer in my head.”

It was just a theory.

What if summoning a demon required massive amounts of Revis blood?

Revis were vanishingly rare. Mythos were born with magic; Logos were not. By definition, Revis were random mutations among Logos.

But… what if the Ouroboros cult had a way to create Revis from Logos?

Were the kidnappers who took James trying to…

Rose squashed the thought immediately.

James had once described the girl he was imprisoned with. She’d been Mythos—someone inherently magical.

Besides, even if it were possible to create Revis, who knows how common that knowledge is. Or whether it’s even medically feasible.

Her face fell into a sour, contemplative frown.

James continued to watch her quietly, clearly entertained by the entire show.

Not just her face—her gloved hands waved in frustration, tracing shapes in the air. She mumbled to herself, then shook her head with determination, only to slump again.

Finally, she buried her hands in her hair with a strangled groan.

“Aaaaagh!”

“Rose. You’ll ruin your hair.”

She let her messy hair fall around her face and slumped against the window, exhaling heavily.

James found it both pathetic and oddly charming. He was forced to admit he might be hopelessly far gone.

“So. Why do you think the Ouroboros cult showed you those memories in the first place?”

His question drew out a reluctant, squeezed response.

“If you think about it simply… it was to scare me. To show off how powerful they are. Classic intimidation.”

James nodded.

“That’s likely part of it.”

“Exactly! That’s just one layer. I think there’s something else!”

After all, she’d fainted outright the first time she saw those memories.

Yes, the blood and gore were horrific—but enough to black out completely?

There had to be something else buried in there.

“But it’s not like I can go ask my uncle for advice…”

Her shoulders sagged as she mumbled.

All that brave talk about avenging her parents, stopping the cult—she knew better than anyone how out of her depth she was.

Even now, she was only a “half-fledged Crow” in the Golden Crow Corps. James’s role was strictly honorary, and she herself had to pass performance reviews every three months just to keep her status.

And who even knew how deeply the Ouroboros cult had infiltrated the Bureau? Every move they made had to be cautious.

Rose’s eyes sharpened as she looked up.

“Wait. You said you asked Minister Crowley about those surveillance charms in the manor?”

James’s expression didn’t shift.

“Yes. But don’t worry—I didn’t contact him through the Royal Bureau.”

“Huh? Then how?”

He snorted softly.

“Rose. Your uncle holds another title, remember? Minister of Land and Development.”

Her eyes widened.

“You sent it through Parliament?”

“Exactly. Even if some nosy aide tried to intercept it, whose message do you think they’d dare to lose? Mine? Not likely.”

She blinked at him.

“You’re saying… they’d just assume it was business related?”

“Obviously. Everyone knows Dautryche Company’s been expanding its transport division.”

He gave a faintly amused huff, watching her process this.

“Your uncle probably has a good idea of our situation already. We’re not on our own here.”

Not on our own.

Rose repeated the words in her head.

Her shoulders slumped, relief mixing with a deep, almost painful helplessness.

Outside the window, the scenery had changed—fields of grain spreading wide under the summer sun.

The peaceful, bucolic view felt so wrong it made her chest tighten.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Slowly, Rose rose from her seat and walked to the adjoining sleeping compartment without a word.

A private plot of land on the outskirts of Romberton.

Two figures flickered near the stained-glass windows of a dilapidated chapel.

The sky blazed red with sunset, and the dying sun hurled its last, desperate rays through the cracked colored glass like a final scream.

CRACK!

Inside the chapel, now bathed in grotesque shadows the color of blood, an explosive crack echoed.

“Tch…!”

Griselda spat blood, her hand clamped against her cheek, where a network of broken capillaries had blossomed like red spiderwebs.

The metallic taste in her mouth was anything but pleasant.

Looks like I’ll be staying indoors for a while.

Calmly, she raised her head to meet the eyes of the man who had just slapped her.

Arthur Granfield.

Golden-haired, green-eyed, charming on any other day—but now, cloaked in hard shadows and barely visible through the stinging blow, his expression was unreadable.

“Look at me, Griselda. Or should I call you Grace?”

“Cut the jokes. I’m sick of hearing that alias.”

Her hand returned to her throbbing cheek on instinct. The sting confirmed what she already knew—the skin had broken.

The pain snapped her back to focus.

“Talk. What were you thinking, giving her that ring?”

“What kind of question is that? Obviously, I did it for you, Arthur.”

No sooner had the words left her lips than Arthur seized her by the collar. His voice was tight with fury.

“For me? You think you’re in a position to say that?”

“See? You’re proving my point—anything involving Rose makes you lose your damn mind.”

“Know your place. Griselda Gibson.”

There was blood in Arthur’s eyes now. He looked nothing like his usual composed self.

“You’re only getting away with this because you’re my absorber. And an old friend.”

“Oh my. Drawing a line like that… I’m wounded,” Griselda mocked, a sardonic smile curling over her already bruising lips.

“But come on. It’s something she should know. What good does it do, keeping secrets from her? It doesn’t help her. It doesn’t help you.”

Arthur’s eyes flared, fury dancing in the green like live flame, but Griselda wasn’t finished.

“You’ll be the one who pays the price, Arthur. Not telling her only hurts you in the end.”

Then, with all the slyness of a serpent, she leaned in close, her words curling into his ear.

“And let’s be honest. If you want to win back her trust, you’ll need to keep her close. I only gave you a little nudge in the right direction.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched.

“You really do have a silver tongue.”

“Tsk. So ungrateful. Here I am, your loyal absorber and dearest friend, trying to rescue your sorry love life and salvage your leadership while I’m at it.”

She gave a coy laugh, then reached out and pressed a manicured finger to his chest.

Right above his heart.

“You’re not the only one with the right to claim a soulmate. It doesn’t have to be a half-blood Revis like her, you know.”

And then she dropped the final match on his unraveling restraint.

“It’s not too late. I can help you take her—right now.”