Serpent Emperor's Bride-Chapter 80: The Day the Bridge Chose Blood

[The Great Bridge—Beneath the Burning Sun]

The wind screamed first.

It rushed through the ravine beneath the bridge, dragging sand and heat upward like a warning too late to matter. Five figures stood across the stone span, cloaked in black, hoods pulled low, swords raised toward the Malika of Zahryssar.

Their eyes were wrong.

Pitch-black, lightless, devouring the sun rather than reflecting it.

Captain Varesh stepped half a pace forward, shield lifting instinctively, sword angling toward the nearest threat. Around him, the knights adjusted—tightening formation, boots grinding stone, breath syncing as one.

"How," one of the younger knights whispered hoarsely, "did they know the Malika would be here?"

Varesh did not look away from the enemy; with low and sharp voice, he said, "That question can wait until we are alive to ask it."

Levin stood in the center of them all—still, composed, hands relaxed at his sides.

Lyresaph slid from his shoulder, dropping to the stone with a soft thud. His body tensed, scales darkening, and muscles coiling as instinct screamed for violence. His form wavered—larger, heavier—bones already preparing to shift.

Levin whispered, barely audible, "No, Lyresaph. Not now."

Lyresaph froze; he tilted his head, confused, blue pupils narrowing. Then he hopped back up, curling around Levin’s forearm, tail flicking in agitation.

Hisssss—?

Levin lowered his voice further, his eyes never leaving the assassins. "I want to see," he murmured, "if he is here too."

His gaze sharpened—counting, measuring.

Five assassins, all masked and all eyes black.

’Iru’s eyes are brown,’ Levin thought coolly. ’If he is here... he is not among them.’

The Black Serpents moved, not rushing, not charging. They advanced like a tide—measured, silent, blades angled to strike joints, throats, and gaps in armor. Their presence pressed down on the bridge like rot seeping into stone.

"Shields!" Varesh roared.

The first clash exploded like thunder.

Steel slammed into steel. Shields rang. One knight was driven back three steps by a single blow, boots skidding, arms shaking as if struck by a siege hammer.

"They’re too strong!" someone shouted.

A Black Serpent twisted mid-strike, blade reversing in a blur, cutting through a spear shaft and burying itself into the knight’s shoulder. Blood sprayed dark against sunlit stone.

Varesh lunged, sword flashing, cutting the assassin across the chest—but the Black Serpent did not scream; he laughed. The sound was wrong—wet, gurgling, delighted.

Another assassin vaulted over the shield wall, landing behind the formation. He moved like smoke, blade plunging downward—Varesh turned just in time, shield catching the blow, but the impact rattled his bones.

Varesh snarled. "Hold—HOLD—!"

The Black Serpents hissed as one, their mouths opened, and they spat, not liquid.

Mist.

A thick, violet-black vapor burst from their throats, splattering against shields, armor, and exposed skin. Where it touched metal, it sizzled. Where it touched flesh—

Screams tore the air apart.

One knight dropped instantly, clawing at his throat as veins blackened beneath his skin, racing upward like living ink. Another staggered, vomiting blood as his legs gave out beneath him.

"Poison—!" someone choked.

Varesh raised his shield too late; the mist struck him full in the chest, and it burned. Not like fire—but like unmaking. His breath seized. His vision blurred as pain ripped through his veins, spreading fast and mercilessly.

He fell to one knee, then another; his sword slipped from his fingers, clattering against the stone.

"Captain!" a knight cried.

Varesh tried to answer, but no sound came. Around him, knights collapsed one by one—armor clanging, bodies convulsing, eyes wide with horror as the poison devoured them from within. Some twitched. Some went still too far too quickly.

The bridge was suddenly littered with fallen defenders.

Only Levin remained standing.

The Black Serpents straightened slowly, blades dripping with poison and blood. One of them tilted his head, amused.

"So," the assassin hissed, voice warped and echoing, "the Malika bleeds like any other after all."

Levin stepped forward, not shaken, just calm as if he knew this would happen. Lyresaph hissed sharply, coils tightening, but Levin lifted a hand—calm, commanding.

"Stay," he whispered.

He looked down at Captain Varesh, who lay barely conscious, chest heaving shallowly, poison racing through his veins.

Then Levin raised his eyes to the assassins. Cold and unmoved.

"...You came for me," he said softly as the wind howled again. "And you brought venom instead of courage." 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

The Black Serpents shifted uneasily; the wind tore across the bridge again, hot and cruel, carrying sand and the stink of venom.

Captain Varesh lay sprawled on the stone, armor dulled by poison mist, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven pulls. The veins along his neck had darkened; sweat soaked his brow. His fingers twitched weakly against the stone as his body fought what it believed was death.

Levin’s jaw tightened—but his face did not change.

Then he lifted his gaze.

The Black Serpents stood watching him now, blades loose at their sides, heads tilted with predatory interest. One of them let out a low hiss, amused, savoring the moment.

"Your captain is dying," the assassin said, voice slithering through the air. "Your knights rot on stone, Malika. Do you feel no remorse?"

Levin did not answer at once; he looked at them the way one looks at a storm already measured—already calculated, as he thought, ’I knew, that you would spit venom. I knew that the Black Serpents favor poison that devours even their own kind.’

The wind whistled between the arches.

Levin’s eyes flicked briefly—just once—over the fallen bodies. He felt the antidote working already, slow and deliberate, coursing beneath skin and scale. Lady Arinaya’s plan had been precise. Measured, that’s why they made their knights and captain drink the antidote without their knowing.

But the Black Serpents did not need to know that.

"I do not care," Levin said flatly, meeting their void-black eyes. "As long as I stand... everything else is replaceable."

The words struck harder than any blade.

Captain Varesh heard them.

Through the haze of poison, through ringing ears and burning veins, the words reached him—cold, absolute. His vision blurred as he forced his eyes open one last time.

He saw Levin, standing, untouched, unmoved, with no fear and no hesitation. Shock widened his eyes—not betrayal, but awe twisted painfully into misunderstanding.

"...Malika..." he rasped, breath breaking. "How can you...say..."

Levin did not look down again.

Varesh’s strength failed; his body slumped fully against the stone—THUD—unconscious. Still breathing, alive, but to the black serpents, they are already dead.

The Black Serpents laughed softly, convinced.

Levin turned at last to Lyresaph. The small creature trembled against his arm, rage and instinct crashing together, eyes blazing bright blue.

"...Let’s fight," Levin said quietly.

Lyresaph hissed—sharp, piercing, ancient—then he leapt.

He hit the bridge hard, coils slamming stone as his body expanded. Scales shifted, cracking and reforming, blue darkening into deep cerulean edged with gold. Bone stretched.

The bridge shook.

A shadow swallowed the sun.

GROWWWWWWLLLLLLLL—

The sound rolled across the ravine like a living earthquake, rattling stone, rattling bones, and rattling courage. Lyresaph’s tail slammed down—THUD!

Cracks spidered across the bridge’s surface.

The Black Serpents staggered back despite themselves.

"Impossible—!" one hissed.

Levin stepped forward, cloak snapping in the dragon’s wake. He drew his dagger—simple, scarred, honest steel—and let it rest easily in his hand.

His eyes were no longer calm; they were focused.

"Now," Levin said, voice carrying cleanly through heat, sand, and fear, "we fight."

Behind him, Lyresaph was ready.

The heat shattered and Lyresaph moved first.

The dragon surged forward with a roar that split the air, his massive body slamming into the bridge like a living avalanche. Stone buckled. One assassin vanished beneath his claws in a spray of blood and black cloth before the scream could even form.

Levin ran, not away—into them.

His cloak tore back in the dragon’s wind as he ducked beneath a blade, pivoted, and drove his dagger up under a ribcage. The steel slid clean. The assassin stiffened, eyes wide, then collapsed without a sound.

Another came from the side—too fast, too close.

Levin caught the wrist, twisted hard, felt bone snap, then buried his knee into the man’s chest and shoved him backward—Straight into Lyresaph’s tail.

CRACK.

The body hit the stone in pieces.

Poison hissed through the air again, spat in a desperate arc—but Lyresaph reared back, jaws snapping shut around the attacker’s head.

CRUNCH.

Levin didn’t look, he was already moving.

A blade flashed toward his throat—Levin caught it with his forearm guard, sparks screaming as metal scraped metal. He twisted, slashed low, then high, then stepped inside the assassin’s guard and drove his shoulder forward.

The man flew.

Another assassin tried to retreat—too late.

Lyresaph slammed down in front of him, massive head lowering, glowing eyes burning like judgment made flesh.

The assassin froze.

Lyresaph exhaled, not fire—force. The shockwave lifted the man off the bridge and hurled him screaming into the ravine below.

Silence fell in pieces.

Bodies lay scattered across the stone. Blood steamed in the sun. The Black Serpents—elite, feared, lethal—were gone in moments.

Levin stood still, chest rising, dagger dripping.

"It’s over," he said quietly and mumbled, "....And this confirms that Iru is---"

Then—

Movement.

Behind him, a hand slammed into his back.

Levin’s breath tore from his lungs as the world tilted violently. He spun just enough to see one assassin—bloodied, shaking, alive—eyes wild with hatred.

"For the Dark Serpent—!" the man screamed.

Levin reached—too late, the edge of the bridge vanished beneath his feet.

Time fractured.

As he fell, weightless and stunned, Levin’s eyes caught one last image above—A blur, a horse at full gallop as he saw, Zeramet, riding straight toward the bridge, eyes blazing, mouth open in a raw, broken shout—

"CONSORT—!"

Levin’s eyes widened, shock, relief, horror—all at once. The sky spun, the bridge rushed away, and then—

SPLASH—!!!

Cold swallowed him whole as his body slammed into the river below, the impact tearing the breath from his chest.

Above, Lyresaph roared—furious, panicked—ROARRRRR!!!!!

"CONSORT!!!!"

Only the echo of a name screamed too late as the river closed over the Malika of Zahryssar and dragged him into darkness.