The Villains Must Win-Chapter 282: Vampire Hunt 42

They were standing in a vast chamber, round and hollow, its walls swallowed in darkness. Only a circle of torches burned, casting flickering golden light across the stone floor.

And at the very center, illuminated like a figure on a stage, was a woman.

Her wrists and ankles were chained to an obsidian pillar, her head bowed, hair spilling like ink over her shoulders. The chains glowed faintly, etched with runes that pulsed in rhythm with her shallow breaths.

Selis froze. ". . . Is that—"

Lucian raised a hand to silence her, his eyes narrowing as he stepped forward.

The woman’s presence dominated the room. Even in her confinement, even with her body slack and bound, there was something immense about her. The air seemed to bend around her, like a storm barely held at bay.

Selis shivered, instinctively stepping closer to Lucian. "She looks . . . dangerous."

Lucian’s hand hovered near his sword, his expression unreadable. "She is."

For the first time since they started the infiltration, Selis felt her earlier playfulness melt away, replaced by the heavy, unshakable feeling that they had just stepped into something far bigger than themselves.

Lucian’s boots echoed across the stone floor as he advanced, the torchlight flaring brighter as though unwilling to ignore what lay ahead.

Selis held her breath, her eyes widening as the woman’s features came into focus.

Her hair spilled in long, golden curls, cascading down her back like liquid sunlight, each strand shimmering despite the gloom. Her skin was pale as freshly fallen snow, so luminous it seemed to glow faintly under the torches.

And then—when her head slowly lifted—the air left Selis’s lungs.

Eyes like fresh blood stared back at them. Crimson, vivid and unyielding, they pierced through the dim light with a terrible beauty.

Emerald.

The Emerald Blood herself.

The figure from countless whispers and half-terrified legends. The woman whose name had rippled through kingdoms as both prophecy and curse.

Even chained, even weakened, she radiated an otherworldly allure—too perfect, too unearthly to be mortal. It was as though the chamber had been built for her alone, the rest of the world shrinking to nothing in her presence.

Selis’s throat went dry. "She’s . . . beautiful," she whispered, half in awe, half in fear. No wonder Salister wanted her back no matter the cost.

Her beauty could really sent humans and vampires to war.

Lucian didn’t answer. His gaze remained fixed, steady, but his hand had tightened on the hilt of his blade. Not out of hostility, but restraint. Because he knew what Selis only now was beginning to understand—

The woman before them wasn’t just beautiful. She was dangerous.

And despite the chains, despite the bindings glowing with sealing runes, there was a power humming beneath her pale skin.

A presence that seemed to recognize them, weigh them, and decide their worth without a single word.

For a heartbeat, silence stretched across the chamber. Then Emerald’s lips curved ever so slightly, a smile that was equal parts weary and knowing.

"You . . . ," she spoke, her voice low and velvety, echoing unnaturally in the hall, "you have part of my blood."

Selis instinctively stepped back, bumping into Lucian, who didn’t flinch.

Emerald’s crimson gaze lingered on him. "You’re half mortal and vampire."

The torchlight wavered as though shivering with the weight of her words.

"Are you . . . Emerald Blood?" Selis asked, her voice barely a whisper, though the question was obvious.

The chained woman smiled faintly, a softness that seemed out of place in the cold, torch-lit hall. Her crimson eyes glimmered like velvet wine, and something inside Selis’s chest tightened. The urge to protect her—shield her—bloomed before she could think.

"That’s right," Emerald said, her voice smooth and entrancing. Her gaze lingered, pulling Selis in like a tide. It wasn’t just beauty—it was gravity. Selis couldn’t look away.

Her hand twitched, ready to move closer, to help.

CLANG!

Steel rang out, jarring her from the haze. Selis blinked rapidly as though waking from a dream, realizing she had already taken two steps toward the woman.

Lucian lowered his sword after striking the ground, his eyes narrowing. "Careful. Even sealed, her power leaks. She can charm you before you know it."

Selis’s face paled. She hadn’t even realized. "I-I . . . what am I doing?" she muttered under her breath, shaken.

Emerald tilted her head, her expression shifting. Her earlier smile was gone, replaced by something cautious. "Are you here to collect my blood again?" she asked, voice tinged with quiet contempt. "Is the Church so desperate for soldiers they’ve taken to turning their own into vampires?"

"No, no!" Selis stammered. "We’re not—uhm—we’re actually here to stop the war and return you to—"

But her words died as she caught sight of Lucian.

He was advancing, sword in hand, his face shadowed and grim.

"Wait—what are you doing?!" Selis’s instincts screamed, and she threw herself forward, intercepting him just as his blade arced toward Emerald’s neck.

Steel clashed violently with steel, sparks flying in the dark hall.

Selis pushed against his strength with everything she had. "Are you out of your mind? We’re supposed to rescue her!"

Lucian’s glare was ice-cold, colder than she had ever seen it. For the first time, Selis felt a shiver of fear—not at Emerald, but at him.

"Rescue?" His voice was razor-sharp. "Who ever said anything about rescuing her?"

Her grip trembled against his blade. "W-what?"

"My goal," Lucian said, his words like iron, "has always been to kill her. To end her blood being fed to the Church. That’s the only way to stop this cursed war."

Selis’s heart sank. "But . . . Salister—the deal—everything we fought for—"

Lucian spat to the side, the firelight flashing in his eyes. "Do you honestly think he’d honor his word? Salister doesn’t want peace—he wants to eliminate the human race. And fools like you give him the chance to grab it."

Their swords ground against each other, pressure mounting. Selis’s arms burned with the effort. She knew—knew with painful certainty—that she couldn’t defeat him. Not in a hundred duels. Not in a million.

And yet—she didn’t move. She couldn’t let him through.