Emperor's harem: Transmigrated with SSS mana talent
Chapter 92: [Duchess Selvaris]

Chapter 92: [Duchess Selvaris]

She collapsed backward, thrashing in her own blood, staring in frozen disbelief at the stump that had been her arm.

Kael watched without flinching.

Without blinking.

Then, voice ice-calm:

"You picked the wrong fool."

Selina’s body slumped to the side, unconscious—blood seeping across the velvet couch like spilled ink.

Kael, still crouched, calmly exhaled.

No satisfaction. No regret.

He withdrew the plain steel sword he’d summoned from his space ring—its edge still gleaming with fresh blood—and, without urgency, wiped it clean using the lower folds of Selina’s dress.

The silk darkened as it absorbed the crimson, quiet and absolute.

Once clean, he slid the blade back into his ring with practiced ease.

Yue’s whisper echoed from the corner of his mind.

"Confirmed. She’s alone.No backup."

Kael chuckled under his breath.

"What a fool," he muttered. "To come to me... alone."

But then — footsteps.

His head snapped up.

Too soon.

The sound of boots approached from beyond the hall doors.

He moved fast—grabbing a cushion to blot the spreading blood, flinging Selina’s cloak over her to obscure the worst, and adjusting a nearby chair to block the sightline from the entrance.

A knock.

"Kael?" Riven’s voice—tense. "We heard screaming."

Another voice followed—Lira, sharp and suspicious. "Are you injured?"

Kael drew in a breath, smoothed his expression, and opened the door just a crack.

He forced an awkward, flustered smile. "Uh... no. No injuries. She just, uh..."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "She screamed. Real loud."

Riven narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Kael fumbled. "She thought she saw a—spider. One of those southern ones. Big. Hairy. Landed on her shoulder. It startled both of us, honestly."

Lira’s gaze flicked past his shoulder. "Is she alright?"

"Yeah! Yeah. She’s just... lying down. Breathing heavy. You know, scared and stuff." He gave a weak laugh.

They didn’t look entirely convinced.

Both Riven and Lira stepped forward, clearly intending to enter.

But Kael suddenly shifted his expression—eyes wide with hurt, lips trembling slightly, like a boy wrongly accused.

"You... don’t believe me?"

His voice cracked, perfectly timed.

That stopped them cold. The tension thickened, their gazes flicking between each other and Kael, now playing the wounded host.

Riven scratched the back of his head, awkward.

"N-no, I mean—of course we do. Just... you know, southern spiders."

Lira gave a stiff nod. "They bite. Dangerous things."

Kael nodded solemnly. "Exactly."

Both hesitated a beat longer—then slowly backed away.

"Right. We’ll leave you to it," Riven said.

"Call if you need anything," Lira added.

The door shut softly behind them.

Kael stood still for a moment, the mask falling. He exhaled deeply, no longer wearing the face of the naive young Duke.

Now, only the shadow of a hunter remained.

"...Why does this feel like murder," he muttered to himself, "even without a death?"

He looked back at Selina’s unconscious form.

She was still breathing.

He knelt beside the table, dipped a feathered pen in her still-warm blood, and began to write—on fine parchment stolen from her own satchel.

###

Southern Province.

The rain hadn’t stopped all day.

Thunder murmured beyond the dark clouds, and the steady patter of droplets tapped against the high-arched windows of the duchess’s estate.

Inside her study, Duchess Selvaris sat at her carved obsidian desk, poring over trade ledgers and envoy reports.

Her mind, however, wandered—again and again—to the framed portrait placed beside the flickering mana-lamp.

A young girl with bright eyes and an innocent smile.

Her daughter.

Selina.

Yes, she was ambitious.

Yes, she had her mother’s sharpness for politics and manipulation.

But she was still her child.

Selvaris leaned back in her chair, staring at the painting.

"She should have taken the guards," she muttered to herself.

She had begged her daughter to take at least two Shadowbound agents. But Selina had refused—saying sincerity was her weapon, that she needed to face Duke Kael unarmed to win his heart.

Foolish.

The duchess stood slowly and walked to the window, arms crossed beneath her cloak. Her gaze followed the trails of rain on the glass, though her mind was hundreds of miles away.

Something was wrong.

She could feel it—an unease nesting deep in her chest like coiled wire.

Just then, the door burst open.

The maid stepped inside, trembling.

In her hands she held a sleek wooden box—elegant, but tainted.

On its bottom, a red mark had bloomed. The smell hit them a second later—metallic, unmistakable.

Blood.

"My Lady... this just arrived," the maid stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Through magical courier... from Duke Kael."

Selvaris’s heart froze.

Her throat clenched around a breath she forgot to release. She instinctively stepped back, her heel brushing against the leg of her chair.

She stared at the box as if it might explode.

No... please no...

Trying to muster the iron of her name, she swallowed hard and said hoarsely, "Open it."

The maid hesitated, her hands trembling as she slowly lifted the lid.

Inside—folded neatly atop a stained silk cloth—was a letter.

And below it, severed clean, lay a delicate, bloodless hand.

A woman’s hand.

Unmistakably Selina’s.

The maid shrieked and dropped the box with a clatter.

The letter fluttered out like a torn petal.

The hand rolled grotesquely onto the polished floor, its pale skin slick with dried blood.

Both women screamed—long, raw, unrestrained.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—!"

Selvaris staggered back, her legs giving way beneath the weight of shock.

The maid caught her just in time, holding her upright as the Duchess clutched her chest, eyes wide, lips pale.

Selvaris whispered hoarsely. "Open it. Open the letter."

The maid, hands still shaking, crouched and picked up the bloodstained parchment.

The seal had been smeared, its crimson wax cracked and soaked in something darker.

She broke it carefully and unfolded the letter.

Thick, spidery handwriting stretched across the page—written in dried blood.

It read:

####

To Duchess Selvaris,

The hand you found is real.

So is the blood that sealed this letter.

Your daughter, Selina, is alive—for now. Her heart still beats. Her tears still fall. But if you’re reading this, then you already know how close she is to becoming a memory.

She thought herself clever. She came alone. She smiled. She tried to seduce.

She failed.

Now, listen carefully.

You will send 100,000 gold coins.

No delay.

No negotiation.

If you inform the king, the court, or the clergy—

If a single whisper escapes to the ears of the common folk—

If you send a single assassin or agent after me—

Then Selina is already dead.

Do you understand?

Tomorrow, come to the address written behind this letter.

Come alone. No guards. No tricks. Only the chest of gold.

—The Duke

####