Chapter 252: The Stolen Sample (Part I)

Nine hundred years earlier, Serafall Valentine was a considerably simpler person.

She liked fighting, she liked winning, and above all else, she liked the feeling of realizing she was getting stronger.

There were no grand political plans behind it. The calculating General who measured resources, consequences, and body counts before moving troops did not exist yet. The Serafall of that time understood the world through a very direct kind of logic: if something was strong, she wanted to fight it; if something stood between her and what she wanted, she went through it; and if an opportunity appeared to advance even a little closer to the limit of her bloodline, everything else could wait.

That was why, when a territorial dispute between vampires and werewolves turned an entire frontier region into a battlefield, Serafall was perfectly happy.

"LEFT!" shouted a Valentine commander, trying to reorganize a formation that had already been broken several minutes earlier. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ

Serafall flew over him.

"I SAW IT!"

A mass of werewolves advanced across the plain, some still in human form, others partially transformed, and dozens completely overtaken by the traits of their bloodlines. Natural Energy covered arms, claws, and weapons while the ground sank beneath the weight of their charges.

Serafall landed in the middle of them.

The first did not even manage to complete the movement of his claws.

She grabbed his arm, spun, and used him as a weapon against the two coming from behind. Bones cracked on impact, all three were thrown into the ground, and Serafall continued forward before any of them could recover their balance.

"Weak."

Blood began running from the palm of her hand.

It did not fall to the ground.

It gathered.

At first the amount looked small, only a red current twisting around her fingers, but the pressure increased so quickly that the nearest werewolves began retreating on pure instinct.

The current lengthened.

Hardened.

And finally took the form of a spear.

Gungnir.

Serafall's blood weapon had no excessive ornamentation. It was a long spear, dark at the ends and deep red through the center, formed from blood compressed to an absurd degree.

What truly made it dangerous was not its appearance.

It was the rule imposed upon the weapon.

When Serafall threw Gungnir at a chosen target, it hit.

Distance mattered little.

Speed mattered even less.

Hiding did not solve the problem.

Changing direction did not either.

The spear continued.

Serafall looked at one of the lupine commanders on the other side of the battlefield and smiled.

"You."

The man noticed.

"SHIT!"

Gungnir left her hand.

The thunder came afterward.

For an instant, no one saw the spear cross the field. Only a red line appeared in the air, and in the next moment the commander was ripped off the ground with a hole through his chest.

He was thrown hundreds of meters backward before crashing through part of a rock formation.

Gungnir changed direction in midair.

Returned.

Serafall caught the spear without even looking.

"Next."

Two werewolves leapt at her.

The spear spun.

The first lost his head.

The second managed to block the shaft with both arms, but the force of the impact destroyed his stance and created enough room for Serafall to drive a knee into his chest.

His rib cage caved in.

He fell.

Serafall stepped over his head and kept walking.

At the time, even the Valentines themselves had some difficulty deciding whether her presence on the battlefield was an advantage or simply another disaster they needed to manage.

Serafall did not respect formations when she saw an interesting enemy, ignored retreats if she was still having fun, and had the terrible habit of advancing kilometers beyond allied lines simply because someone had looked strong enough to justify it.

And that day, someone like that finally appeared.

Serafall felt him before she saw him.

The Natural Energy around the plain changed behavior.

The wind grew heavy.

The ground trembled in small waves, and nearby werewolves began moving away from a particular direction without receiving any order.

Serafall turned her head.

A man was walking between his own soldiers.

Large.

Dark hair.

A body marked by old scars.

Two enormous claws covered his hands, formed from Natural Energy so concentrated that the air seemed to distort around them.

At that time, Fenrir was not yet King.

He was a General.

And already one of the few werewolves who made high-ranking vampires pay attention before attacking.

Serafall smiled.

"There you are."

Fenrir stopped a few dozen meters away.

His gaze swept over the battlefield behind her.

Bodies.

Many of them.

Then returned to Serafall.

"You did this?"

"A large part of it."

"How many?"

Serafall looked around.

"Didn't count."

Fenrir took a deep breath.

"Vampires."

"Was that an insult?"

"An observation."

Serafall rested Gungnir on her shoulder.

"So you're Fenrir."

"And you're Serafall Valentine."

"I've heard of you."

"Same."

Serafall's smile widened.

"Good."

She vanished.

Fenrir raised his claws.

The collision hit the entire plain.

Gungnir met Fenrir's natural blades in the center of the battlefield, and the pressure generated by the impact carved a depression into the ground around them. Soldiers on both sides were pushed backward, dust rose in a circular wall, and several nearby trees simply snapped in half.

Serafall pressed the spear forward.

Fenrir did not yield.

"You're strong."

"You talk too much."

He twisted his wrist.

Serafall felt the direction of the force change and released Gungnir before her own weapon could be torn from her hands. The spear dissolved into blood in the air as Fenrir advanced with his other claw straight toward her neck.

Serafall leaned aside.

The claws passed so close they cut several strands of her hair.

She smiled.

The blood that had scattered behind Fenrir gathered again.

Gungnir reformed.

The point struck him in the back.

Fenrir was launched forward.

Serafall caught the spear in midair and continued the attack, trying to drive it through his chest, but Fenrir twisted his body and caught the weapon between both claws.

The ground cracked beneath his feet.

"That spear is irritating."

"She likes you."

Fenrir growled.

Natural Energy exploded from his body.

Serafall was thrown several meters backward, slid across the ground, and carved two deep tracks with her feet before stopping.

She ran her thumb across a small cut at the corner of her mouth.

Saw blood.

And started laughing.

"Finally."

Fenrir charged.

The fight quickly stopped looking like a battle between two generals.

The entire battlefield had to move away from them.

Serafall threw Gungnir from impossible angles, and Fenrir had to intercept a weapon that kept correcting its own trajectory even after missing by centimeters. He answered with blows charged with Natural Energy that tore through the ground and produced shockwaves capable of throwing dozens of combatants away.

When Serafall hurled Gungnir straight upward, Fenrir did not understand at first.

Then the spear disappeared into the clouds.

He raised his eyes.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Gungnir came back down from the sky.

Fenrir crossed his claws above his head.

The spear struck.

The impact split the clouds.

Literally.

The storm layer covering the battlefield was cut in half by a clean line, and the pressure descended over the plain like a hammer blow.

Fenrir sank to his knees in the ground.

Serafall appeared in front of him at the same instant.

Her fist struck the werewolf's jaw.

Fenrir left the ground.

Serafall jumped after him.

Gungnir returned to her hand.

She tried to impale him in midair.

Fenrir turned.

His claw met the spear tip.

The second collision was even worse.

The sky, already opened by the previous forces, seemed to tremble from end to end as released energy exploded in every direction.

Serafall felt her arms shake.

Fenrir did too.

They separated.

Fell in opposite directions.

And immediately went back at each other.

For several minutes, neither gained a real advantage.

Serafall was faster.

Fenrir was physically tougher.

Gungnir forced Fenrir to remain defensive even at long range, while the werewolf's Natural Energy made every close approach dangerous.

Serafall was loving it.

"YOU SHOULD BE KING!" she shouted as the spear passed only centimeters from his throat.

Fenrir caught the shaft.

"I don't want to."

"WHAT A WASTE!"

He pulled.

Serafall was dragged forward.

Fenrir's claw struck her shoulder and opened four deep cuts.

Serafall answered with her forehead.

The impact broke his nose.

Fenrir stepped back.

Serafall recovered Gungnir.

"Again."

Fenrir spat blood.

"You're completely sick."

"I've been told."

She charged.

That was exactly when the fight ended.

Not because of Fenrir.

Serafall noticed the presence behind her too late.

Another werewolf had managed to cross the chaos of the battlefield.

Maybe he had been hiding with Natural Energy.

Maybe he had simply waited for the exact right moment.

Serafall never found out.

She only felt the claws enter her back.

The strike came between her ribs.

Tore muscle.

Passed near her spine.

And the force that followed ripped her from the ground.

"GH—!"

Serafall was launched like a projectile.

Fenrir's eyes widened.

"IDIOT!"

But it was already too late.

Serafall flew hundreds of meters, slammed into a rock formation, and kept going, destroying stone until she finally vanished beyond the main battle zone.

The last sound she heard was Gungnir dissolving.

Then came darkness.

---

"Wait."

Victor raised one hand.

The room around them became fully present again.

Serafall was sitting on the sofa, telling that story with absurd calm as though she had not just described a battle in which she had nearly been torn in half.

Victor looked at her.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Serafall made a mildly irritated expression.

"Because you asked where the material came from."

"I did."

"Then let me finish."

Victor opened his mouth.

Closed it.

"Fine."

Rowena looked much more interested than she wanted to show.

"Fenrir was already a General back then?"

Serafall nodded.

"He was."

"That explains a few things."

Serafall pointed at her.

"Don't interrupt either."

Rowena frowned.

"I only asked one question."

"Then save the next ones."

Victor nearly laughed.

"Keep going, Mom."

Serafall settled more comfortably.

---

When she opened her eyes again, Serafall was in an infirmary.

It took several minutes for her to realize where she was.

Her chest hurt.

Breathing was unpleasant.

Her back felt as though someone had opened it and put it back together carelessly.

She tried to get up.

A nurse pushed her shoulders back down.

"No."

Serafall looked at her.

"Move."

"No."

"I'm a General."

"And I'm the person stopping you from tearing your stitches."

Serafall tried again.

The pain in her back made her entire body lock.

"Shit."

The nurse looked satisfied.

"Exactly."

The claws had left deep marks.

They healed.

But not completely.

Even centuries later, Serafall would still carry those scars across her back.

When she was finally able to leave the infirmary, she discovered she had missed the end of the war.

And she was not particularly happy when she learned who had finished her fight.

"My mother showed up."

Chysis smiled faintly in the present.

Victor looked at her.

"Of course she did."

Serafall continued.

"She arrived not long after I was removed from the battlefield."

At the time, Chysis already possessed enough strength to completely change the balance of that conflict. When she found Fenrir still injured from his fight with Serafall, she did not waste time trying to prolong things.

She won.

Not easily.

But she won.

Fenrir returned to werewolf territory injured, with part of his forces retreating with him and no interest in continuing that dispute that day.

The vampires kept the territory.

And the spoils.

Weapons.

Artifacts.

Documents.

Magical materials.

Objects found in warehouses, bases, and structures abandoned during the retreat.

As soon as Serafall could walk normally again, she went to look.

Not out of responsibility.

Out of curiosity.

At that time, practically anything that might make her stronger caught her attention.

She passed tables covered with catalogued objects, ignored documents, looked over a few weapons, and stopped in front of a small area where Valentine researchers had separated materials considered unusual.

One container caught her attention.

It did not look particularly impressive.

It was only a preserved biological sample.

Serafall looked at the label.

"Important?"

A researcher turned.

"General?"

"This."

She pointed to the container.

"Is it strong?"

"We don't know."

Serafall picked it up.

The researcher's eyes widened.

"General, that is still being analyzed."

"Good."

"You can't take it."

Serafall was already walking away.

"Yes, I can."

"SERAFALL!"

She raised one hand without looking back.

"I'll return it later."

She never did.