Chapter 153: I Don’t Care!

In the center of the plush, volcanic-ash-bear rug, inside the heavily warded guest suite of the Obsidian Gate, Seraphina von Nacht drew in a sudden, sharp, ragged gasp of air.

Her small shoulders heaved as her lungs desperately synchronized with her returning consciousness.

The heavy, oppressive, pitch-black void of shadows that had coated the walls, ceiling, and windows of the bedroom instantly fractured, dissolving into harmless wisps of gray smoke before vanishing entirely into the ambient warmth of the room.

The connection was severed.

The black hole miles away in the Ashen Forest had been successfully deployed, the elemental behemoth had been pinned, and the grumpy hedgehog had delivered the finishing blow.

Her remote-artillery mission was an undisputed, resounding tactical success.

Seraphina blinked, her dark brown eyes readjusting to the dim, flickering, reddish-orange light cast by the dying embers in the massive stone fireplace.

She felt a bone-deep exhaustion creeping into her limbs, a natural byproduct of channeling a Supreme Dark Core across a vast dimensional distance while operating on a six-year-old’s carbohydrate reserves.

Her tiny muscles ached, and her eyelids felt as though they had been stitched with lead thread.

"M-My Lady?"

A trembling, awestruck, incredibly reverent whisper echoed from the shadows near the foot of the four-poster bed.

Seraphina slowly turned her head.

Hovering a few inches above the floor, clutching his silver mustache with two trembling, white-gloved hands, was the ghost.

Bartholomew, the former Head Butler of the Valen Archduchy, looked as though he had just witnessed the birth of a new universe.

The pale blue, spectral light radiating from his ethereal form was currently pulsing rapidly, shifting through a gradient of astounded colors.

He had watched the tiny child sit on the rug, coat the room in an impenetrable sphere of light-devouring void, and remain perfectly, terrifyingly still for nearly twenty minutes, radiating a power that made his own deceased soul feel like a flickering candle in a hurricane.

He didn’t fully comprehend the mechanics of what she had done, but he possessed enough intuition to know that the threat of the subterranean anomaly had been neutralized. The oppressive dread that had lingered beneath the fortress for centuries had simply... evaporated.

"You are back," Bartholomew breathed, slowly lowering his hands, his athletic, usually highly strung posture melting into a pose of devotion. He drifted forward, dropping to one knee at the edge of the rug, placing his right hand over the glowing purple bite mark on his cravat. "My Lady... the terror in the earth... it is gone. The Ancestors’ warning has been fulfilled. You... you intervened from afar, did you not? You saved the Archdukes."

Seraphina let out a tired, huffing sigh, rubbing her sleepy eyes with the back of her small fists.

"I had to squash a bug," Seraphina mumbled, her voice thick with fatigue. She looked at the kneeling ghost, offering a small, reassuring nod. "It’s handled. The big rock monster is dead. Papa Duke poked it with his sword. They’re now safe."

Bartholomew’s jaw trembled. A glowing blue tear of relief spilled from his eye, tracking down his sharp cheekbone.

For forty years in death, he had guarded the Obsidian Gate, terrified that one day the ground would split open and swallow the family he had sworn to serve. And now, a child who had attempted to consume his soul an hour ago had single-handedly orchestrated its salvation.

"I... I have no words," Bartholomew wept softly, bowing his head so low it practically touched the fur of the rug. "The House of Valen is forever in your debt. I am forever in your debt. You are a miracle of the dark, a Sovereign of unparalleled magnitude! Command me, My Lady! My eternal servitude is yours! Tell me what you desire, and I shall move the very stones of this fortress to provide it!"

Seraphina stared at the weeping, dramatically devoted ghost.

Her mind, swimming through the haze of a magical hangover, struggled to process his name. She had heard him introduce himself earlier, but the syllables were currently jumbled together in her exhausted brain.

"It’s okay, Butt-tolomeow," Seraphina yawned, stretching her short arms over her head, her joints popping softly. "You don’t owe me anything. I just wanted to make sure Papa didn’t get squished."

Bartholomew froze.

The dignified, impeccably trained ghost slowly lifted his head.

’Butt-tolomeow,’ the ghost repeated internally, his spectral eye twitching slightly. ’She... she called me Butt-tolomeow again. My name is Bartholomew. I am the descendant of a proud lineage of seneschals. I have served kings. I have orchestrated banquets for foreign dignitaries. I have been the epitome of refined grace.’

He looked at the tiny, sleepy, incredibly powerful girl sitting on the rug, then at the glowing bite mark still branded onto his chest. He remembered the suffocating, world-ending gravity she had projected mere minutes ago.

Bartholomew took a deep, spiritual breath.

The ghost butler made a decision regarding his personal dignity.

’I do not care,’ Bartholomew resolved fiercely, casting his ego into the void. ’She can call me Butt-tolomeow. She can call me Sir Fluffy-Pants. She can call me a walking candelabra for all I care. She just saved my master’s bloodline from a subterranean apocalypse. I will bear this name with absolute, uncompromising pride! I shall be the greatest Butt-tolomeow in the history of the ethereal plane!’

"Thank you, My Lady," Bartholomew smiled, his chest puffing out with renewed vigor, embracing his new, slightly undignified moniker. "You honor me. However, executing such a display of astral projection must have severely depleted your caloric reserves! Shall I float down to the kitchens? I can poltergeist the locks off the pantry! I can bring you cold roasted fowl! Pastries! A wheel of imported cheese!"

"No, thank you, Butt-tolomeow," Seraphina replied, shaking her head, her dark braids shifting. "I don’t want any snacks."

Bartholomew floated closer, his brow furrowing in genuine concern. "But My Lady, surely you must refuel? You exerted the power of a demigod! Your physical vessel requires sustenance!"