F-Rank Soul Eater

Chapter 213: To Save Sophia 2

The following morning, the frantic shouts of the white-robed guards had faded into a dull, rhythmic preparation.

The search for the "missing" cadets hadn’t been abandoned, but it had certainly been demoted.

Baron Don Alejandro had a legacy to secure, and the wedding of the Saintess to his twin sons took precedence over a few runaway students.

The town was a fever dream of forced celebration.

Strands of vibrant marigolds and white lace papel picado were strung from every stone balcony, fluttering like the wings of trapped birds.

The scent of roasting meat and heavy incense fought against the metallic tang of the purple mist that still clung to the outskirts.

Carts overflowed with sugar skulls and fermented agave, and the cobblestones had been swept clean of the Eldritch filth that usually lined the gutters.

To the commoners, it was a day of salvation. To Soren, it was a gilded cage being locked tight.

Soren, Polystar, and the others had shed their Academy black tunics for the local ponchos of rough, earth-toned wool and wide-brimmed hats.

They moved through the periphery of the town square, with their weapons, but it was hidden beneath the heavy fabric.

They needed the crowd—the dense, sweltering press of bodies—to act as their shroud.

A massive mariachi band struck up a blaring, brassy tune, accompanied by the rhythmic stomp-clack of dancers in tiered, colorful skirts.

The swirling fabric created a kaleidoscopic blur of motion.

"Now," Soren whispered.

As he navigated through the dancers, a figure brushed past him. It was a fleeting contact, but Soren felt a sudden, jarring spike in his Blackfield.

For a split second, he saw a profile—skin the color of a bruised plum, hair like a dying ember.

Yes. It was purple skin, and orange hair.

Soren spun around, his hand instinctively reaching to touch the petson.

Wait—

But there was no one.

Only a laughing dancer in a flower-crown and a group of intoxicated men cheering.

"What are you waiting for, Turdface?" Vass hissed, pulling at Soren’s poncho. "The procession is starting. We have to move now or we’ll be left in the square!"

Soren blinked, shaking his head to clear the phantom image. "Right. Let’s go."

On the opposite side of the whirling crowd, the figure in the black hoodie stopped dead.

Her purple skin was shadowed by the deep cowl, but her amber eyes narrowed as she looked back toward the path Soren had taken.

Beside her stood a man leaning lightly on a gnarled walking cane. His face was a void behind a porcelain mask, and his dark robes seemed to swallow the morning light.

"Something the matter... Mora?" the man asked, his voice a dry, rattling rasp, and no doubt more than one mouth had spoken underneath that mask.

She lingered for a moment longer, her nostrils flaring as if catching a scent on the wind.

Then, she shook her head. "Nothing, Master Caretaker. I thought I saw... a familiar face. A ghost from the prison."

"Mmm..." The Caretaker chuckled, a sound like dry leaves skittering on a grave. "If by ’familiar,’ you mean the exquisite pain and suffering radiating from this town... then I see it too. Soon, we shall let that flavor spread through the rest of the land."

He turned away from the celebration, his cane tapping rhythmically against the stone.

"Hurry now. We have taken what we came here for. The Baron’s logic is... unique, but poorly utilised." He patted a box underneath his armpit. We must prepare. After all, to fall an empire requires proper planning. Let the children play at their parties. We have a world to unmake."

Mora pulled her hood lower and followed him into the shadows of an alleyway, disappearing just as the wedding bells began to chime.

Inside the manor, the air was filled with the scent of expensive lilies and floor wax.

Sophia sat like a porcelain doll as six maids swarmed around her.

Some brushed her golden hair into intricate coils, while others applied rouge to her pale cheeks to mimic a health she didn’t feel.

Her fingers trembled, clutching a red ribbon—the same one she had hidden away since arriving in this nightmare.

As the silk pressed against her palm, a memory, bright and painful, flickered to life.

She saw herself as a little girl, heart hammering against her ribs as a stray dog snarled at her heels.

Her brothers had already scrambled up a stone wall, their small faces pale with terror as they shouted for her to climb. But she was too small.

"Help me... jo... help me up," she cried.

But it was no use.

She tripped, the rough earth scraping her knees, and as the street dog lunged, a shadow fell over her.

Her father appeared, a wooden bat in hand, driving the dog back with a single, fierce strike.

He had scooped her into his lap, his voice a warm hum against her ear.

"My little princess its okay... its okay... Papa will always be here to protect you."

She had wept tears of joy then, burying her face in his neck, whispering ’Papa’ over and over.

The memory shattered as the heavy oak doors groaned open.

Don Alejandro stepped in, his presence instantly chilling the room.

The maids ceased their chattering and dropped into deep, subservient bows.

With a flick of his jeweled fingers, Alejandro dismissed them, leaving him alone with his prize.

He walked toward her, his hand reaching out to stroke her hair with a sickening, possessive tenderness.

"You know," he mused, his voice smooth as oil, "the day you and your useless family broke into my house, I thought the last vestige of my family’s glory was gone.

My lands were being ravaged by Eldritch filth. I had no Soulbound Knight, and regular soulbound warrior mercenaries were far too expensive.

I was at the brink of despair."

He leaned in closer, his dark eyes gleaming.

"But who would have known the thieves would bring my saving grace? My healing... the legacy of my family’s future."

Sophia flinched, pulling away from his touch. Alejandro didn’t seem to mind; his smile only widened.

"You will birth children for this house. A line of Soulbound warriors that will become Knights and push the Elegidos to heights we haven’t seen in centuries. I merely came to say... thank you

for breaking into my home that day."

He turned and swept out of the room, the click of his boots echoing like a death knell.

Sophia collapsed, her forehead touching the vanity as she broke into silent, racking sobs.

That day—the day of the break-in—was her greatest regret. It was the last time her brothers had ever spoken.

She remembered the red spray against the white marble, the way Alejandro had slaughtered their necks to test the limits of her power.

Again and again, he had killed them. Again and again, he had forced her to stitch their flesh back together.

For weeks... wigh no end in sight.

It was so bad that even though their bodies had healed, their minds were shattered.

The psychological trauma of dying dozens of times had stolen their voices forever.

Meanwhile...

Tía Maria led the group through the shadows of the manor’s rear gardens, dodging the rhythmic patrols of the white-robed guards. She reached a nondescript servant’s entrance and gave a sharp, rhythmic series of knocks.

The door creaked open, revealed a young maid with a nervous expression. Tía Maria whispered a word of thanks, and the group slipped inside, quickly ducking into a large laundry closet.

Within minutes, they had shed their local ponchos. Soren and Polystar emerged dressed in the drab tunics of stable boys, while Vass and Bloodshine—to Vass’s visible horizontal fury—were disguised in the high-collared uniforms of manor servants.

"Alright," Soren whispered, checking the weight of the hidden dagger at his thigh. "I and Polystar will go searching for the ’Anchor’ for the Soul Oath. Vass, Bloodshine, you head for the tunnels. We need that evidence of the Baron’s illegal dealings to cover our backs with the Academy."

Vass’s brow twitched, his face reddening.

"And who made you in charge, Turdface?"

Soren turned, his gaze hard and uncompromising. "Sophia is my party member. This is my call. I’m calling the shots."

Vass looked toward Bloodshine and Polystar, but they both stared back at him with flat, ’don’t-be-an-idiot’ expressions.

Vass groaned, a low, disgruntled sound in the back of his throat.

"Fine," Vass muttered. "I’ll allow it. For now."

"Good," Soren said, pressing his ear to the closet door. "Now we just wait for Cynthia to bring the distraction."

They didn’t have to wait long.

BOOM.

A thunderous explosion rocked the manor, the shockwave rattling the fine china in the nearby kitchens. Screams erupted from the front courtyard as smoke began to billow past the windows.

Cynthia had arrived, and the distraction was loud, heavy, and impossible to ignore.

"Go!" Soren hissed.

Soren and Polystar are heading toward the Baron’s private study to find the Anchor...