19:A Scapegoat?

Her name was Lady Seraphina Emberheart, head of the Emberheart House.

The only woman Duchess of the Arcadia Empire.

A figure of awe and terror to those who tried to fend against her.

Her golden hair seemed to ripple like molten fire as it floated unnaturally, as if caught in an unseen breeze.

Her face was pale and sharp, her features carved with precision, and her golden eyes burned with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the very soul. There was no warmth in her gaze. Rather, it was filled with only fury, sorrow, and an unrelenting resolve.

Seraphina stood among the bodies of her enemies, her sword dripping with their blood.

Around her, the ground was littered with the twisted forms of cultists and evil god worshippers who had dared to challenge her.

Their dark robes and masks lay scattered like discarded remnants of their failed ambush. Shadows dissolved into nothingness under the blazing light that emanated from her.

Aura of darkness seeped out from their bodies, permeating around, but as it came closer to Seraphina, it would start burning.

She was the embodiment of radiance, but there was no kindness in her light, only destruction for those who stood against her.

"For a pest who commits all kinds of dishonorable deeds, you surely bark too much as though it's you who suffered a grave injustice," she muttered while spitting in disgust.

This was supposed to be a rare day of peace for Seraphina. She had promised her daughter a visit to the marketplace and went on a shopping spree with her lovely daughter.

Today was a rare chance to leave behind the weight of responsibility and simply enjoy being a mother. It was meant to be a day filled with laughter and shared moments, a break from the ever-present shadows that loomed over her family.

But peace was a luxury she could not afford.

The night before, a letter arrived. It was from a merchant group, warning of a sinister plot by a dark cult to abduct her daughter and bring ruin to her household. The message described in chilling detail a cursed artifact forged through dark rituals, one designed to nullify her control over light.

At first, Seraphina dismissed it as another empty threat, but her instincts whispered otherwise. She had seen too many horrors in her life to ignore the possibility of danger. Her heart, usually encased in ice, stirred with a mother's fear. She ordered her knights to investigate the sender while she prepared herself for the worst.

That morning, she went to the marketplace as planned. Her daughter's excitement was contagious, and Seraphina allowed herself a fleeting smile as she watched the girl marvel at the bustling crowd.

But beneath her cloak, her hand never strayed far from her sword. She had dressed simply, concealing her identity, but no disguise could hide the regal bearing and quiet authority that marked her as someone extraordinary.

And then, they struck.

The cultists emerged from the shadows, just as the letter had warned. Cloaked figures with grim masks surrounded her, their laughter echoing like a sinister melody. They wielded the cursed weapon, and the air around them seemed to darken, the light dimming as if swallowed by their presence.

Soon, from an evil beating emerged a domain of darkness prepared to trap her in a binding space of darkness.

Seraphina reacted, and her power flickered.

Receiving the letter, she had planned for this. Her daughter was not by her side but safe elsewhere. Instead, the captain of her knights, in disguise as her daughter, accompanied her and stood ready to defend.

With a swift motion, Seraphina drew her sword. The cultists lunged, but she was faster. Her blade was a blur, cutting through the air with deadly precision. Each strike was cold and efficient, and there was no hesitation, no mercy.

The air burned with a bright, glazing sun, and her powers erupted like an explosion, filling the entire space with rays of warmth and piousness.

Their laughter turned to screams as they fell one by one. Blood splattered across her face and cloak, but her expression remained unchanged.

With calm, cold, and utterly ruthless moves, she cut through them like a monster.

When the last cultist fell, Seraphina drove her bloodied sword into the leg with a sharp, metallic clang. Her voice, low and chilling, cut through the silence.

"Tell me," she demanded, her golden eyes locking onto the lone survivor writhing on the ground. "Whose dogs are you?"

The man whimpered, clutching at the seared wound on his chest.

He tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat as light poured from her sword, burning through him like fire.

She saw him trying to use poison and scoffed, "It seems you are already a discarded dead pawn, so no use keeping you."

The sword burst with solar rays.

His screams filled the air as black blood spilled from his lips, staining the ground beneath him. His body convulsed violently before going still and then—

BOOM!

With a soft explosion of blinding light, his figure was burned into ashes.

Seraphina watched with cold detachment, her lip curling in disgust. She yanked her sword from the ground, flicking it clean. A burst of golden light engulfed the blade, burning away the taint of darkness until it gleamed once more.

She turned her gaze to her trusted mate, her loyal servant Mina, who stood nearby, her posture tense and ready. Mina's face was calm, but her eyes carried a flicker of relief.

"Did you get the man?" Seraphina asked, her tone sharp and devoid of warmth.

"Yes, my Lady," Mina replied, bowing slightly. "He has been caught and bound."

Seraphina's lips curved into a cruel smile, her eyes glinting with deadly intent. "Good. Take me to him. I should apologize for not taking him seriously and force open his mouth if necessary and…"

She paused, looking around at the dirty ashes left behind by the filthy corpses.

"Clean this place thoroughly. If required, inform the Pastors of Creation."

"As you wish, Your Grace."