The Blood Empress Arrives
The Fortress of Death, the Army of the Dead. Beyond the outer walls of the Demon Lord’s Castle stood an ancient jet-black fortress. Gargoyle statues radiating savage ferocity and eerie, spine-chilling skull statues appeared to guard the castle and watch for intruders. Though the stone figures remained utterly motionless, their presence radiated such lethal intensity that any observer felt they might lunge forward at any moment, fangs bared. The ivy clinging to the outer walls was not living growth but carved stone ornamentation—an artistic masterpiece of unimaginable craftsmanship. Far from evoking beauty, it lent the fortress the somber air of a colossal tomb. Built from an unknown pitch-black stone, the castle looked cold and desolate even under the midday sun, as though night itself had been trapped within its walls. This was no gentle night of rest; it was a dreadful night where every manner of wraith might roam. The sight of it felt like gazing upon a vast graveyard where the dead waited with glowing blue eyes and shrieking metal screams, ready to devour any living soul. An unknown terror threatened to overwhelm reason.
Yet despite its grotesque form and oppressive atmosphere, no one could deny that the structure was a magnificent ancient castle of imposing grandeur. Though it appeared ancient enough to be mistaken for ruins, every part of it remained perfectly intact, meticulously maintained. Its architecture was so refined that it might have belonged to an emperor of some great nation—every detail, no matter how small, executed with timeless elegance. The rose motifs carved in relief along the battlements looked so lifelike that one could almost smell their sweet fragrance. The balconies and windows possessed an almost sacred grace, as though they had been taken from a goddess’s temple. The conical roofs, the outer defensive walls, and the massive gates spanning the moat were practical elements found in any fortress, yet even these were adorned with flowing wave patterns or reinforced with scale-like metal plates, displaying aristocratic refinement without the slightest hint of neglect.
Fear that stirred the instincts and majesty that commanded reverence existed simultaneously within the castle now revealed.
“Th-this is……”
“Ah! You’ve arrived!!”
Nella stood speechless before the overwhelming spectacle she had never witnessed in her life. Yet Lusteria, standing beside her, showed only delight. She had seen this castle many times before and was familiar with it; more importantly, its master was someone she could never forget and held dear. Thus she could not hide her joy.
The name of this fortress was Crimson Castle.
Creak… creak… creak…!!
Thud!!!
Heavy chains rattled as the gates swung open. A long bridge extended across the deep, wide moat bristling with vicious spike traps. When the lowered gate struck the ground, the impact was so thunderous it resembled a bolt of lightning. The surrounding earth trembled faintly, sending up thick clouds of dust like morning mist over a lake. The sound proved just how massive and heavy the jet-black metal gates truly were.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Footsteps echoed in perfect, measured rhythm. Though hidden behind the rising dust, they clearly came from within the castle. Residents of the Demon Lord’s Castle, having sensed the disturbance, gathered despite their fear. They knew instinctively—their sharpened survival instincts warned them. These footsteps belonged to an army on the march. A powerful force was advancing from inside the castle.
“Form ranks! Encirclement formation!”
Beriberi and the orc army appeared and swiftly established a surrounding formation. They encircled the gates of Crimson Castle in a perfect ring. If an army emerged through a single gate, it would have to advance in a line; surrounding them with superior numbers would force each emerging soldier to face dozens of orcs alone. Beriberi issued the optimal command the moment he arrived. The orc army executed the formation with flawless precision. The martial dignity of battlefield orcs was so formidable it nearly eclipsed the overwhelming presence of the jet-black fortress itself.
“U-uaaah…!!”
“Th-they’re undead! The dead are coming!!”
As the thick dust began to settle, the interior of the gates came into view. From the pitch-black space within, countless blue lights began to gleam ominously. An army emerged, crossing the moat via the lowered gate. They possessed neither flesh nor blood—only rattling bones. Armor filled the emptiness where bodies should have been. Though their half-plate looked old, it radiated considerable durability. Each skeleton carried a sword and shield. Even before encountering an enemy, they advanced with shields raised and blades held high in perfect defensive posture, every soldier maintaining identical formation without a single lapse. Though only bones remained, they moved as though the weight of their metal equipment was nothing. The metallic clink of sabatons rang out in precise rhythm.
They were the undead—skeletons. Pitiful remnants of bone, clinging to the last vestiges of life as everything else rotted away. An army of the dead that would devour every living being in sight.
Thud!!
“People of Hemonigent! Do not be afraid!”
In that instant, the army of the dead halted its march. At the moment their final footsteps fell, a single skeleton clad in a stylish black suit stepped forward from their ranks. His appearance clashed sharply with the terrifying army around him. Though he too was a skeleton, his demeanor was so refined and courteous that he inspired no fear—only a complete absence of threat. Furthermore, the suited skeleton addressed them in an intellectual tone.
Yet the response came in Beriberi’s firm, wary voice.
“Who are you?”
Despite the skeleton’s attempt at amicable conversation, Beriberi showed no sign of lowering his guard. If anything, he gripped his battle-axe even tighter, prepared for any surprise attack. At Beriberi’s resolute stance, the suited skeleton’s blue glow dimmed slightly. Though his bony face revealed no expression, one could sense he had adopted an even gentler posture—an instinctive display of goodwill meant to dispel hostility.
“My name is Wheeler Keniston. I serve as head butler to the exalted ruler of the dead, the Blood Empress.”
Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong!
Suddenly, majestic drumbeats resounded from the rear of the skeleton army. The sound resembled both a declaration of war and a triumphant march. The deep, powerful rhythm shook the listeners more than their own heartbeats, seizing their senses.
“Her Excellency, the Blood Empress, Cardistella moon Night, has arrived!”
In that moment, the center of the skeleton army parted, the soldiers on either side facing one another to form a clear path. Though no command had been given, the ranks split with perfect unison, as though a powerful voice had ordered it. Through the artificial corridor created by the army of the dead, a woman walked forward with regal bearing.
She passed the skeleton soldiers one by one. Her silver hair shimmered like sacred mithril, streaked with crimson strands reminiscent of fresh blood. She wore a tight black off-shoulder dress with a deeply plunging neckline and no sleeves, leaving a surprising amount of skin exposed. Eight delicate straps extended from the center of the neckline, connecting to a choker around her throat and wrapping around her shoulders. Additional straps crisscrossed between them, evoking the image of an elegantly woven spiderweb. A choker adorned with a vivid crimson ruby at its center stood out strikingly against the otherwise dark attire. Rose-vine patterns embroidered in silver thread ran along the neckline, the hem of the skirt, and the slits at the sides, adding an antique elegance.
The right side of her long, tight skirt was slit so deeply that part of her hip was visible, revealing long, smooth legs. To prevent the deep slit from opening further and exposing anything indecent, thin silver chains fastened both sides of the opening together. Her beauty evoked the image of a deep, dark night—elegance and splendor coexisting in a bewitching form that seemed to embody both the gentle rest beneath moon and stars and the unknown terror lurking within pitch-black darkness. She was beyond simple description; she could only be expressed by her exalted name: Cardistella moon Night.
Once Cardistella had passed through the ranks of the dead and reached the front, she spoke toward the Demon Lord’s Castle.
“A friend of the Demon Lord has come. Guide me to her at once.”