Chapter 361

When Euphemia stepped into the territory of the Blood-Tear Grand Duke Asmond, the air was immediately filled with a nauseatingly sweet, bloody stench.

It was the essence of pure despair, fermented and concentrated over thousands of years.

The sky, like a massive piece of blood-colored amber, sealed the entire territory in an eternal twilight.

On the ground, spire-topped buildings stood jaggedly like the fangs of a demon.

The walls of these structures were composed of living bone, their surfaces crawling with networks of still-writhing blood vessels.

Whenever new suffering was born within the territory, these vessels would greedily absorb it, then transport the essence to the giant pool of blood at the center of the palace.

Most chilling of all were the "Gardens of Sorrow" scattered everywhere.

Blood-Tear Flowers would emit infant-like wails when they sensed pain, their petals solidified from real tears;

The leaves of Despair Grass naturally grew various scripts, all of which were the final words of those who had committed suicide;

And those seemingly beautiful roses were actually cultivated using the hearts of lovers, each one whispering broken vows of love.

Euphemia walked slowly through this twisted garden, her long white hair fluttering slightly under the illumination of the blood-red light.

The white-haired witch's expression was as cold as ice, yet her left hand was trembling slightly.

It was a sign that she was desperately suppressing some complex emotion within her heart.

"The last time I came to a place like this, it was..."

She recalled in her heart, while involuntarily remembering fragments of memories from her childhood.

Those painful years spent in the Blood King's laboratory, every day filled with needles, reagents, and the endless agony of transformation.

Her status as the heir to the Blood Moon Clan was merely a grand facade displayed to the outside world.

The main gate of the palace was made of pure black obsidian, its surface carved with reliefs of thousands of weeping faces.

As Euphemia approached, these faces turned toward her one after another, using their mouths to recount their respective sufferings.

Guarding the gate were two high-ranking blood kin.

They had a form approximating that of humans.

But their skin was as pale as paper, their chests completely transparent, and one could clearly see the dark purple heart beating within.

"Please wait!" the blood kin guard on the left extended an arm, its voice as cold as the night wind:

"Miss Euphemia? Why would you be here at this time..."

"Move aside."

The white-haired witch's voice was as calm as a lake, but the pressure contained within it made the two blood kin tremble instinctively.

It was the absolute ruling authority from the depths of the bloodline: "I want to see Asmond, now, immediately."

The blood kin guards looked at each other, an indescribable, extreme fear rising in their hearts.

This feeling was like the natural submission of lower-ranking blood kin when facing a first-generation ancestor.

"This... Miss Euphemia, forgive me for speaking bluntly..." the guard on the right tried hard to remain polite, but its voice had already begun to tremble:

"His Excellency the Grand Duke is currently conducting an important bloodline ritual and is temporarily unavailable to see guests. If you could wait a moment..."

Before it could finish speaking, it felt a terrifying, bloody murderous intent rushing toward it.

Euphemia's eyes began to emit an eerie light, no longer the dark red from before, but a pure black as deep as the abyss.

Even more terrifying was that the air behind her began to twist, as if some existence were observing this place through some medium.

"I don't have that much time to waste, get out of the way!"

As she spoke, she slowly raised her right hand.

On that slender palm, dense blood-red runes suddenly emerged, emitting a heart-palpitating, bloody aura.

The two guards were sweating like rain, just about to say something more...

The next moment, the gates of the Scarlet Palace opened on their own amidst a low, grinding sound of stone.

Walking out from within was naturally the Blood-Tear Grand Duke Asmond himself.

This ruler of the fifth layer of the abyss had the typical appearance of a Western aristocrat.

His figure was tall and slender, his features as handsome as an ancient sculpture, and his long, bright golden hair was groomed meticulously.

He wore a magnificent deep-red robe, embroidered with countless tiny blood-colored roses, each one swaying gently in the breeze as if it were a living thing.

"Oh, my dear little Euphemia..."

Asmond's voice carried a classical trill, his eyes full of vigilance:

"What wind blew you to my remote little territory? And it looks like... your mood doesn't seem very good?"

As he spoke, he carefully observed the abnormal changes in Euphemia.

The intense sense of threat the other party brought him was not something a Morning Star-level little wizard could bring; could it be...

"Cut the crap, Asmond."

Euphemia directly interrupted his pleasantries:

"You have recently had a serious delay in the supply of blood dew to the Blood Moon Clan, and I am here for this matter."

Hearing this accusation, the Blood-Tear Grand Duke's expression underwent a subtle change.

He naturally knew about this matter, because it was the result of his deliberate actions.

"Oh? The supply problem of blood dew?"

His tone remained gentle, but his words already carried a clear sense of perfunctoriness:

"My dear Euphemia, you should understand that the production of blood dew takes time, and recently the acquisition of raw materials has also encountered some... technical difficulties."

This was clearly a stalling excuse.

The Blood-Tear Grand Duke's territory had the largest "Sorrow Farm" in the entire abyss, specifically for cultivating various emotionally rich creatures and then harvesting their pain and despair.

There was absolutely no difficulty in the mass production of blood dew.

"Technical difficulties?"

Euphemia repeated this term, the corners of her mouth slowly revealing a smile without any warmth.

That smile was as beautiful as a blooming rose: "It seems you feel... Father is too lenient with you."

Hearing the address "Father," Asmond's expression instantly became serious.

"Wait, Euphemia, I think there might be some misunderstanding between us..."

The Blood-Tear Grand Duke began to try to ease the atmosphere, but his words were mercilessly interrupted by Euphemia.

"No misunderstanding."

The white-haired witch took out the familiar blood-red dagger from her bosom and, under the gaze of everyone, pierced her own palm without hesitation.

Fresh blood immediately gushed out; these blood droplets did not fall to the ground but condensed into eerie images in the air.

Seeing this familiar summoning ritual, Asmond could no longer maintain his elegant posture.

"Wait! Euphemia! We can talk this over! There's no need to disturb Lord Aiden! Really, there's no need!"

For the first time, the Blood-Tear Grand Duke's voice carried clear panic.

He even disregarded his image and transformed into a blood shadow to fly over, wanting to stop the summoning ritual from proceeding.

But it was too late.

The blood-colored figure had completely formed and began to rotate at a dizzying speed.

Each rotation tore open a crack in reality, from which maddening whispers gushed out.

The temperature in the air dropped suddenly, and a malice beyond imagination began to spread in this space.

Even those Blood-Tear Flowers that fed on pain began to wither, as if they had sensed a higher level of terror.

From the figure, a giant tentacle composed of pure blood slowly extended.

The surface of the tentacle was covered with pulsating blood vessels, and at the end, a giant vertical eye that caused mental derangement opened.

When the gaze of the vertical eye fell on Asmond, it made him stiffen in place as if struck by lightning.

He could feel the bloodline within his body beginning to lose control under that gaze, and the power that originally obeyed his will now completely refused to follow his commands.

"Humble... wild dog..."

A low voice came from the tentacle.

That voice was mixed with countless different tones, as if it were a chorus issued from countless throats simultaneously:

"It seems you have forgotten... who it was that dug you out from the decaying mud..."