Chapter 279: The Devils

The abandoned outpost castle. Western hills of the Regulas Empire.

Inside the fortress lay a grand council chamber untouched by the decay around it. At the center of the vaulted room stood an expansive, polished oval table of black ironwood, bathed in the filtered light of early morning.

Near the window stood Whisper.

She now removed her mask, revealing a striking, pale face framed by soft chestnut-brown hair. Her pink eyes were unblinking as she stared out into the dense forest below.

"Is this real?" a tall, sharp-jawed noble from the Regulas Empire asked from the far right of the table, his fingers tapping anxiously against the polished wood. "How on earth does an untouchable sanctuary like Rujgard collapse in a single week?"

"You can thank that fat fool Baron Kiliyan for the fireworks," another man replied smoothly.

He was slouched casually on the mid-left side of the table, his dark brown boots resting on the table surface with utter disregard for decorum. His brown complexion and foreign silk furs marked him as high nobility from the far northern side of Valdora.

"Our team always trails the Baron," the northern noble drawled, an easy smirk touching his lips. "When his cover blew up, they moved in to secure him before those attackers could take him. But two of the attackers ended up in that teleportation sigil."

"Even if someone entered the Rujgard," the tall Regulas noble hissed, leaning forward in disbelief, "how could they—"

"Stop. They’re coming."

Whispers turn around as she says. The chamber plunged into absolute, dead silence on the instant.

CREAK.

The heavy double doors swung open with unnerving softness.

"My, my... what a remarkably lovely morning in such a wonderful sanctuary," a smooth, richly mature voice drifted into the chamber. "I swear, the air out here possesses a thousand times more charm than that suffocating stone cage they call the imperial palace. Wouldn’t you agree, Cedric?"

Stepping through the threshold was an exquisitely dressed, middle-aged noblewoman. Her amber hair was swept into an intricate, braided updo, and her sharp blue eyes held a dangerous, serene grace. Fitted in opulent emerald velvet trimmed with silver, she moved with the practiced grace of a woman who had clawed her way to the peak of high society.

Celestine von Regulas. The favored imperial concubine, the Emperor’s public darling, and the birth mother of Crown Prince Theo.

"Do whatever suits your vanity, Lady Celestine," a youthful, thoroughly irritated voice grumbled from behind her. "I merely wish to conclude this tiresome gathering so I can return to the academy. My desk is buried under three days of coursework and I couldn’t find Alice anywhere."

Walking alongside her was a striking young nobleman whose appearance was similar to Aria’s.

He had the very same blue hair, the very same sharp aristocrat’s jawline, and the same golden eyes that looked down upon the rest of mortal kind as mere insects.

Cedric Reedings. The favoured heir to the Reedings Dukedom, and Aria’s twin brother.

Cedric didn’t bother using the open aisle. He grabbed the high back of a chair near the entrance, dragging the legs across the stone floor with a screech that deliberately grated on everyone’s nerves. He hauled it directly toward the center of the oval table, swinging himself down into the seat with cold boredom.

Celestine walked to the head of the table, taking the central throne with seamless, practiced majesty. She smoothed her emerald skirts, resting her pale, ringed hands lightly against the polished surface as her blue gaze swept across the assembled figures.

"Well then," Celestine purred, her lips curving into a sweet smile that sent a chill through the quiet room. "Seeing half our The Syndicate architects have gathered—sparing our unfortunate, recently severed lines in Rujgard and the distant silence of the Demon Continent—let us officially commence this morning’s agenda."

"Before we delve into petty provincial skirmishes," the Valdoran said, tilting his head back, "what about the Old Man? It’s been years since our grandmaster actually bothered to show his face. Is the founder still breathing, or are we answering to a corpse?"

Cedric let out a short, irritated scoff.

"The Old Man remains cooped up inside his room," Cedric replied dismissively. "Not even The Substance could reverse his loss."

Cedric leaned forward, planting both elbows on the table and clasping his fingers tightly, his tone dropping into a sharp cadence. "So explain Rujgard to me. How did our most secure distribution hub turn into a chaotic circus overnight?"

Whisper turned gracefully from the window as she walked to an empty chair, taking her seat.

"The two hounds tracking Baron Kiliyan’s smuggling ledger ambushed him right as his emergency spatial displacement array triggered," Whisper said, her voice smooth. "Those intruders simply rode his coat-tails straight through the portal into the Rujgard. And once inside, that arrogant idiot Vane threw a tantrum that ruined everything."

The tall Regulas noble frowned, his brow furrowing deep. "What did they look like?"

"A perception distortion ward was layered over both of them from the start," Whisper answered flatly, her pink eyes unblinking. "Face, mana resonance, even physical height. High-grade visual camouflage. All we know is a guy and girl. That girl can perform divine magic."

"A truly tragic loss," Celestine murmured, reaching for her cup. She took a sip of tea, her lashes fluttering. "Rujgard had stood untouchable for centuries, yet now my dear husband is already mobilizing his vanguard, riding north to plant imperial banners. No doubt Cassian will return to the capital puffing his chest, boasting to the high council that his magnificent might brought the four lords to their knees."

"Husband?" Cedric let out a mocking, low chuckle, leaning back against the leather padding with pure disdain. "What an endlessly touching show of marital devotion, Lady Celestine. We all know why you spread your legs for that puppet. Let’s dispense with the royal theater. What is our revised timeline?"

Cedric tapped his knuckles against the ironwood surface, his golden eyes narrowing. "Do we proceed with the original sequence? Dosing the test subject, Violet Lavenza, at the Carnival to trigger the public bloodbath... while quietly completing the Empress’s assassination in the background?"

Whisper tilted her head, her gaze shifting between Cedric and the concubine. "No one outside the deepest occult archives knows the true, volatile nature of the Lavenza girl’s curse. Are we entirely certain we want to unleash her publicly? Turning the capital into a slaughterhouse will expose The Substance as an existential biological terror to the entire continent."

Celestine chuckled gently, a sound that carried the quiet, suffocating chill of a grave.

"That is precisely the point, little bird," Celestine purred softly, her blue eyes gleaming with absolute, fanatical fervor.

The Syndicate had never cared for gold. Gold was a mortal triviality, a tool for merchants and petty barons.

The true grand design of The Substance was far more sublime: the violent, necessary purge of mortal mediocrity. It was an alchemical crucible meant to weed out the weak, feeble human chaff and forcibly elevate the survivors into an apex, immortal species destined to conquer the world.