Chapter 328: The Blood Resonance Compass

A month had passed since Kael’s capture.

The Vorn Estate. Cassandra’s war chamber.

The room was vast, its walls lined with ancient Vorn relics and holographic displays projecting territorial data across the Empire.

Brody knelt on the obsidian floor, his head bowed, his fists pressed against the cold floor.

"Lady Cassandra. Kael was captured in the Void Realm during the Inheritance Ground expedition. He was taken by a demon. And another man wearing a black mask who could devour abilities. They are members of the House of Crimson."

He paused. His jaw tightened.

"Isabella Vorn was with them. She appeared controlled. Her eyes were soulless. She opened a portal for their escape according to testament from one of Kael’s women."

Silence.

Cassandra stood at the head of the war table, her dark violet uniform pressed, her black hair pulled into its severe braid. Her expression was unreadable. Her hands rested on the table’s surface, perfectly still.

Then her aura exploded.

FWOOOM.

Mid Origin Realm pressure crashed through the estate like a tidal wave. The war table cracked down the middle—CRACK. Holographic displays shattered. Walls splintered, plaster falling from the ceiling in chunks. Servants in the corridor collapsed—THUD, THUD, THUD—their bodies pressed flat against the floor, gasping for air. Windows in the adjacent halls shattered—shards of glass spraying across marble floors

Brody’s knees drove deeper into the floor—CRACK—the obsidian beneath him fracturing from the combined pressure of his own weight and Cassandra’s aura. Blood trickled from his nose—DRIP—but he didn’t move. He didn’t dare.

Cassandra’s eyes were cold.

"Convene the council," she said. "Now."

Within the hour, the Vorn elders gathered in the grand council chamber. Twelve men and women, each representing a branch of the Vorn family. Most were Origin Realm cultivators—their power sufficient to govern territories but nowhere near the family’s true upper echelon. They sat in curved tiers around a raised dais where Cassandra stood, Brody kneeling behind her.

Cassandra’s demand was simple.

"I want access to the Blood Resonance Compass. Kael has been taken."

The chamber went silent. Then the protests began.

Elder Maren, a thin man with grey hair and perpetually pursed lips, stood first. "Lady Cassandra, the compass is a sacred treasure. It has been used only twice in the clan’s four-hundred-year history. It cannot be wasted on a Sleeper’s son, even one from the main family."

Elder Torvald, a broad-shouldered woman with scarred hands, nodded. "If Kael was captured, he wasn’t strong enough to deserve the Vorn name. The compass should be reserved for truly critical situations—family members of actual strategic value."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the elders. Most of them secretly preferred Kael dead. He was a threat to their political power, a wildcard that destabilized the family’s careful balance. A boy with Purple talent, multiple cultivation paths—he was too unpredictable, too dangerous to the established order. His death would simplify things.

Cassandra listened. Her expression didn’t change.

Then she spoke.

"You forget who I am."

She raised her hand.

Suddenly, Blade No. 10 walked into the chamber.

Lex Beaumont. Early Supreme Realm. Law Comprehension cultivator. The man who had previously been assigned to escort Kael, Isabella, and Sebastian during their academy years.

His aura activated.

FWOOM.

The pressure was instantaneous, absolute, devastating. Law power crashed down on the chamber like the sky falling. The Origin Realm elders—every single one of them—were driven to the ground. THUD. THUD. THUD. Bodies hit the floor, knees cracking against stone, faces contorting in pain.

Elder Rowan coughed blood spraying across the floor. Elder Torvald’s knees buckled—CRACK—the sound of bone against stone echoing through the chamber. Elder Maren’s face turned pale, his lips trembling, his earlier bravado evaporating like dew under a sunrise.

Cassandra looked down at them from the dais, her expression unchanged.

"Release the compass. Or I will take it. And your families will explain to the Family Head why you chose to die rather than cooperate."

The elders yielded. No words were needed. They crawled, stumbled, and limped toward the communication runes, issuing orders to their respective branches.

Within hours, the Blood Resonance Compass was brought forth—a crystalline orb the size of a fist, pulsing with crimson energy. Ancient runes swirled beneath its surface, each one inscribed by the First Ancestor, the Family Head’s father. The compass could track the bloodline of any Vorn descendant across galaxies, resonating with the unique spiritual signature embedded in their blood.

Cassandra held the compass in her palm. She pricked her finger and let a drop of her blood fall onto the orb’s surface. The crimson energy flared absorbing her blood, resonating with her Vorn lineage. Then she produced a stored vial—Kael’s blood, collected during a previous medical examination at the Vorn Estate.

She uncorked the vial and let a single drop fall onto the compass.

HUMMM.

The compass blazed—BLAZE—crimson light erupting from its core, swirling, pulsing, searching. The light condensed into a beam, pointing outward through the chamber walls, through the sky, toward a distant direction in space.

A directional pulse appeared on the holographic display—northwest, toward a galaxy on the outer rim of mapped territory. Far from the Thirteen Worlds. Far from IGF jurisdiction.

Cassandra stared at the pulse. Her expression remained cold. But her grip on the compass tightened until the ancient crystal groaned under the pressure.

"Prepare a ship," she said. "And summon Blade No. 11."

Meanwhile, in a hidden base deep within House of Crimson territory, Claude sat in a recovery chamber.

His body was wrapped in regeneration bandages—white strips of mana-infused fabric that pulsed with faint green light. Burns from Kael’s Demonic Asura Flame still marked his skin beneath the wrappings, the primordial fire law resisting standard healing techniques.

It had been a month since the Void Realm escape. A month of recovery. A month of humiliation, stewing in the knowledge that a Spirit Soul Rank 1 brat had damaged him this severely.

The Clown sat across from him, legs crossed, grinning as usual. He had spent the month running experiments on Kael’s soul while Claude recovered.

Claude finally stood. His body was healed—or close enough. He removed the bandages from his arms, flexing his fingers, testing his regeneration. The burns had faded to faint scars that will define this fight in his mind for the rest of his life.

He and the Clown walked through the corridor toward Kael’s holding cell.

"The Heavenly Flame’s ego was shattered by the boy," the Clown said, his voice casual. "If we forcefully extract it now, the flame will dissipate and reform naturally only after a thousand years. Our original plan—stealing the flame—is no longer viable."

Claude cursed under his breath. "A Rank 1 Spirit Soul brat. Damaged me this severely, and now we can’t even take what we came for."

The Clown giggled. "On the bright side, I tried something interesting. I attempted to turn the boy into a puppet by inserting my soul into his soul space." He paused, his grin faltering for just a moment. "I was immediately forced out. A dormant defense mechanism in his bloodline. It recognized my intrusion and expelled me before I could establish a single connection."

Claude stopped walking. He turned to the Clown. "Forced you out?"

The Clown nodded, his painted smile tight. "Kael’s soul is guarded by something older than anything I’ve encountered. And I’ve been alive for a very long time, Claude."

They resumed walking. Claude’s mind shifted to a more practical concern.

"Where are his treasures? His storage ring? His weapons? The artifacts?"

Claude’s frustration surfaced again. "He must possess a storage ability tied to his soul or bloodline, because every item he had all of it disappeared when he was knocked out. We couldn’t find a physical storage ring on him."

The Clown tsked. "Special Grade weapons gone. Just like that." He shook his head. "Frustrating."

They reached the holding cell door. A Rank 6 suppression formation was carved into the walls, floor, and ceiling. The door itself was solid Starfall Iron—irony that neither of them appreciated.

Claude pushed the door open—CREAK.

Kael was bound to a stone chair in the center of the chamber. Rune cuffs clamped around each wrist and ankle—HUMMM—Rank 6 suppression formations that sealed mana flow, disrupted soul power, and blocked aura activation. His hair had grown long, matted with dried blood. His body showed signs of repeated torture.

His head hung forward, his chin touching his chest. His breathing was shallow.

The Clown leaned against the doorframe, studying Kael with his head tilted. "He doesn’t look like much now, does he? Hard to believe this is the same creature that fought Draxos to a standstill."

Claude said nothing. He stared at Kael’s broken form, his dark eyes calculating.

"Leave him to Viper," Claude said finally. "She wants her revenge. Let her have it. We need to report to the Shadow Vatican."