HOLY HEAVENS!
What the hell was wrong with this woman?
Then she marched straight to me. No hesitation, no fear, no flinch — like she was returning misdelivered mail, not a cursed artifact forged by nightmares.
She stopped in front of me, looked up, and smiled.
Not a cute smile.
Not a polite noble smile.
A "boss villain about to monologue" smile.
She smirked at me…
Smirked.
Then she held up the broken statue like it was a friendship offering and said nothing — just handed it to me as if delivering cookies.
So the rumors were true…
And…
The moment my fingers brushed it, my vision blurred.
Mana drained like someone pulled a plug in my spine.
My heart stuttered. My limbs trembled. I nearly fell off my horse like a sack of potatoes in armor.
I hurled the damn thing away instantly and gasped: "My Lady—WHY WOULD YOU HAND ME THAT?!"
She rolled her eyes…murmured something about, 'why did you touch it, you weak knight.'
I pretend not to be able to hear her sass. But I swore she was enjoying this.
Even my men staggered, gripping their chests, mana leaking out like water from a cracked flask.
Meanwhile… Lady Seraphine just blinked. Then raised one brow — slowly, judgmentally, royally — and said: "Seriously? That little statue almost killed you? You guys act like you've been at war for three months. You need to toughen up."
TOUGHEN UP.
Ma'am. That thing could wipe out an entire battalion before breakfast.
Her maid simply sighed. Her guards shrugged like this was all Tuesday.
And I?
I stared at her, mind racing like a cursed chariot.
Humans cannot touch dark artifacts without exploding, dissolving, possessing, fainting, screaming, or dramatically dying.
But she? She held it like a lost toy. No burns. No curse marks. No mana backlash. Not even a hand cramp.
And that smile… It wasn't fear. It wasn't ignorance.
It was knowledge. And suddenly a terrifying thought formed in my skull: What if she's not powerless… What if she's dormant?
Because no normal human, magicless noble, or mortal woman with soft hands and a sweet face should walk into cursed darkness like she owns it.
But Lady Seraphine? She didn't walk in like prey. She walked in like… the mine should be afraid of HER.
By the time we dismounted and set foot near the entrance of the mines, the sun was melting behind the mountains like golden embers slipping into ink.
My knees were weak, my mana was crawling back like an ashamed snail, and I had enough paranoia for three kingdoms combined.
The world dipped into that eerie hour between day and night — where magic felt thicker and danger liked to breathe down your neck for fun.
And that was when — from the corner of my vision — I saw them again. Not fog. Not shadows from torches. No illusion of smoke or tired eyes.
Actual swirling, whispering, shape-shifting darkness trailing the carriage like clingy spirits who forgot how haunting etiquette works.
Humanoid… smoky… small, chubby, not tall enough to loom…
Yet somehow mischievously playful like they were enjoying the show.
I stiffened and asked my vice-captain, voice barely above a whisper: "Tell me you see that."
He turned.
Stared.
Blink. Blink.
Then said: "Sir… I see night, trees, and regrets. Nothing more."
Perfect.
So either I'm cursed, I'm delusional, or the shadows are on a VIP invisibility package.
And then —
A whisper slid past my ear, smooth and condescending: "She's out of your league, champ."
What.
In the demonic, chaotic, shadow-hugging hell?!
I snapped my head around — sword half-drawn — but they evaporated like shady politicians when asked direct questions.
Then…
My men, bless their discipline, fell into routine formation as if a war manual was surgically implanted in their brains: Perimeter scouts fanned out, Fire pit was built with perfect stone alignment, Bedrolls were laid in a semicircle facing outward for defense. Mana wards were placed using salt, chalk, and incantation ink, Signal whistle codes were assigned, First-aid mana crystals laid in the center for easy grab
The early night settled quickly — cold, damp, and unnervingly quiet.
The only sounds were: crackling fire, distant wolf calls, wind brushing trees, a single owl who sounded done with life, and the subtle hum of mana residue still trapped in the mine
Crickets chirped like an ominous soundtrack, and the mist curled around rocks like pale white snakes.
Everything was atmospheric — in a "we might die tonight but we will die professionally" sort of way.
Dinner was passed around: stale camp bread so hard it could replace shields, steaming, slightly bitter leaf tea. And Coffi brought berries from Corporal Liam — thank heavens for sweetness, roasted corn from the recruits and fresh bread from Joff (no one questions how he smuggles bakery goods; we simply respect it)
Morale lifted slightly—Until she spoke.
Lady Seraphine sipped her tea like she was in a royal salon, not a cursed danger zone, then casually said: "You know, we can set camp inside the mine. It's safer."
Silence.
The entire unit froze mid-chew. Even the fire crackled in slow-motion disbelief.
I slowly turned like a man preparing to hear a confession that will age him prematurely. "Inside… the cursed mine?"
She rolled her silver eyes — not dramatic, but Olympic-level dramatic. "Yes, obviously. No rain, no wind, no bugs, big space. Very convenient."
The look on my men's faces could only be described as: "Is she possessed or just confidently insane?"
I cleared my throat, firmly knightly: "My Lady, that mine is tainted. Its darkness nearly took dozens of lives. Anyone who steps inside risks corruption, insanity, or—"
She cut me off mid–life-saving explanation: "You're exaggerating. I've been inside twice. I'm fine."
TWICE?!
The maid and two bodyguards instantly activated trauma flashbacks, clutching each other like war veterans.
The maid whispered hoarsely: "Sir… there were… whispers. From the walls. And… invisible hands. Dark magic was so potent we couldn't breathe, mana drained after a second."
The taller guard nodded, pale: "I could feel my soul… leaving my body… and begging not to return."
The shorter one muttered: "I saw… things… with teeth. Dark shadow, I was hallucinating about my father's farm and my aunt having an affair with the baker."
Seraphine shrugged like they were reviewing an unfortunate hotel: "Well, yeah, they fainted after two minutes, but look — alive."
ALIVE IS NOT THE STANDARD.
My men exchanged horrified glances — we train against monsters, not… fearless chaos daughters.
She chomped corn happily, oblivious to the rising fear index, and announced: "Seriously, you all need mental stamina. You're knights! The kingdom's pride! Act like the main characters."
Somewhere behind her…the shadows snickered like evil bar patrons: "Yaaass queen, drag them."
I stared at her.
She stared back — eyes shining with some strange mix of humor, mischief, and hidden knowledge.
And I realized—one thing.
She wasn't reckless. She wasn't stupid.
She wasn't naïve. She knew something we didn't. And that made her more dangerous than any dark magic.