A Trail of Blood and Madness

Cough… cough, cough…

Thick smoke billowed into her nostrils.

The crackling of flames surrounded her.

Saranya, her skin scorched by the scalding air, struggled to open her eyes.

A shattered crystal wall met her gaze.

The entire structure appeared to have been violently pulverized by an immense surge of energy.

At the fractured edges, the crystal, ravaged by the intense heat, had melted into a viscous liquid, drooping sluggishly towards the floor, creating a scene of utter devastation.

“Boom!”

A deafening crash echoed, followed by the distorted screams of people.

These screams rapidly morphed into agonizing wails, yet they lasted only a fleeting instant before being abruptly silenced by a series of gruesome tearing sounds.

A chandelier plummeted from the ceiling, shattering beside Saranya.

A shard from the fallen fixture sliced a crimson line just beneath her eye, a sharp sting that jolted her fully awake.

Enduring the excruciating pain from the wound in her abdomen, Saranya twisted her body.

She found herself trapped face-down beneath a sofa, making her virtually undetectable to anyone outside, yet equally difficult for her to escape.

‘What happened…?’

Saranya could only recall entering the small hall with her master by invitation, only to be detained by Dump and Lenia.

Fearing that Lenix, who was outside, might escape, she had pushed her master out, leaving herself trapped alone within.

After that…

‘Hmmn… Ugh…’

Her memory had fractured then, leaving an utter blankness.

Her head throbbed relentlessly, and the tear streaks on her face had yet to dry.

The gaping, penetrating wound in her abdomen was a horrifying sight, hastily bandaged, yet still oozing blood.

She was certain she had endured something profoundly grave, yet the associated memories felt deliberately veiled, leaving only fragmented scenes and impressions.

The last thing she could recall was a fleeting emerald gleam across the void.

‘Green… green skin… dryad… Lenix… Lenia is Lenix!’

Yes, she had at least remembered this crucial detail: the Lenix outside was an imposter, and her master had most likely fallen into their trap!

“That damn b*tch!!!”

In a desperate frenzy, Saranya slammed her fist against the ground.

With a surge of strength, she arched her back, forcing the sofa upwards just enough to create a narrow gap.

“Master… Master!”

Her master was gone, utterly vanished!

There were so many spellcasters outside, and Lenix, a legendary dryad, might even rival her master in power…

No, she had to get out quickly, she had to help her master!

Mustering every ounce of her strength, she strained to lift the sofa pressing down on her back, desperately reaching her arms forward, her fingers digging deep into the carpet.

“Ugh… Argh! Saranya, please! She’s still waiting for you, you… useless wretch!!! Haaaahhh—”

Amidst the raging inferno, two ice lances erupted from the ground, violently flipping the sofa off her.

Seizing the opportunity, she rolled forward to escape, but the wound on her stomach burst open, spraying blood across the floor in an instant.

Saranya cried out in pain, a chilling sensation spreading through her belly.

She quickly looked down, pressing her hand against the bleeding cavity in her abdomen.

Through the crimson gaps between her fingers, she suddenly glimpsed her own writhing intestines.

“Ahhh… Ugh…”

Tears streamed down her face as she watched the pinkish coils of flesh twitch within her abdominal cavity.

She hugged herself tightly, curling into a ball on the ground, the massive blood loss leaving her parched and shivering with cold.

‘No… I’ll be fine… it’s just a minor injury… this kind of thing…’

This kind of thing was nothing at all.

She was a paragon of the Night Lily Knights, a Legion Commander of the Empire, the Battle Flower of the Northern Marches; she was Saranya of the Kerfen family.

Despite her numerous titles and honors, she had only survived through the repeated sacrifices of her family and comrades.

When her father and brother faced the demonic plague, they must have felt even greater despair than she did now, surely?

Her knightly comrades in Vero had been ambushed, brutalized, and slaughtered by those Bloodsail brutes; their suffering then must have been a thousand, ten thousand times worse than her current pain, mustn’t it?

How many of the loyal companions who had once followed her so faithfully were still alive today?!

None.

Not a single one.

She had disappointed so many, felt undeserving of any honor, and had no right to a peaceful life.

She was too weak, a failure, a broken thing.

But her master was not.

Her master possessed ability, ideals, and a tragic past akin to her own, yet her master was far braver.

Alone, her master had carved a bloody path through countless enemies, slaughtered her foes, and trekked through blood and mire to reach this very moment.

Kaelan Novfloss, the “Black Witch,” was selfish, cruel, and wicked; in Saranya’s righteous pursuit of witch-hunting, Kaelan was the most depraved witch she had ever encountered, without exception.

Her mind was perfectly clear.

She hated Kaelan, hated her for taking everything away.

Therefore, she had no reason to call the bond between them “love.”

She suspected it was something far more twisted, more monstrous, and that very thing had become the sole wellspring of her resolve.

That girl was the only one she had left.

They absolutely could not lose each other again, not ever.

Even if Kaelan were to die, Saranya vowed she would be the one to deal the killing blow.

“So… so… wait for me…”

Saranya drew a deep breath, dragging her ruptured abdomen across the floor, leaving a winding crimson trail behind her.

She might be dying, but she didn’t care.

She shoved the protruding intestines back into her belly, then invoked an Ice Armor spell, sealing the gaping wound with a solid mass of blood-red ice.

Clinging to the wall, she dragged herself out of the hall.

The scene outside was a veritable hell.

The corridor was choked with crimson chunks of flesh, interspersed occasionally with torn remnants of robes.

With a casual sweep of her hand, she could pluck hair, eyeballs, or shattered bone fragments from the blood-soaked floor.

Looking further, countless corpses of lavishly dressed nobles lay piled high, forming mountains that stretched to the corridor’s end, fanning out into the turns on either side.

Shattered furniture and exhibits lay strewn everywhere.

A putrid mist of blood hung heavy in the air, and the walls had been stained a sickly, yet almost ‘lovely’ pink by the gore.

Even from the ceiling, viscous rivulets of blood dripped downwards.

“Ma… ster…”

Her voice was hoarse.

Supporting her tumbling body with her arms, she plunged with a sickening splash into a mixture of blood and excrement.

Footsteps.

A noble, driven mad, rounded the corner, sprinting wildly down the corridor.

Saranya quickly fumbled in the blood, retrieving a dagger she had lost, then flattened herself among the corpses, attempting to blend in.

“Help me… there’s a madman… Help, ahhhh!!!”

“St—”

“Pthk!”

Saranya hadn’t intended to kill the man; she had merely raised her dagger and reached for his trouser leg.

However, a dull, squelching sound from above abruptly cut her off.

She looked up to check on the man, only to find a mutilated torso, torn into several pieces.

A rain of blood showered down.

Saranya, trembling, brushed away the mangled flesh obscuring her vision and stared at the murderous fiend at the corridor’s end.

It was a petite figure.

‘Little Saranya… Little Saranya, I lost her… Little Saranya… my nose… if I follow the scent… I can find her, can’t I… Sniff, sniff… Ugh… How much longer until I find her… Hehehe…’

The small witch stood barefoot in the pool of blood beneath her.

Her clothes were tattered rags, and her red eyes were so unfocused they had almost lost their distinct outline.

Two streaks of bloody tears slid silently down her stark-white face.

Veins bulged on her forehead, and the corner of her mouth twitched upwards in a grotesque grin.

Her small body was smeared with gore and shredded flesh, making her appear like a demon freshly emerged from the depths of purgatory.

“Master…”

Hearing Saranya’s call, Kaelan’s slightly pointed ears twitched.

Suddenly, she dropped to all fours, frantically sniffing the ground.

Her delicate features rubbed repeatedly in the blood, and she began to crawl, inch by agonizing inch, towards Saranya’s position.

“Little Saranya… Sniff… sniff, sniff… Where are you, Little Saranya…? Sniff, sniff—”

Kaelan had gone mad.

Witnessing Kaelan’s pitiful state, Saranya felt her heart clench, twisting into a tight knot.

“Master… Master… Waaahhh…”