The Damned Demon

Chapter 693  She Must Be Watching Us

The next morning, the dim light of dawn crept into Asher's royal chamber, casting faint shadows across the dark walls. The room was bathed in a quiet stillness, broken only by the soft rise and fall of Rowena's breath. She lay beside him, her naked figure elegantly draped in a thick, warm sheet, her raven hair spilling over the pillow like a cascade of midnight silk.

Asher stirred, slowly sitting up in his king-sized bed, his gaze drifting toward the window. The horizon glowed faintly with the promise of sunrise, a subtle crimson line marking the end of night. He turned, leaning over to look at Rowena, his eyes softening as he watched her sleep.

Her face, usually cold and guarded, was now peaceful and content. He gently tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, revealing more of her bewitching features. In her slumber, she seemed almost otherworldly, her beauty even more striking when she was at rest.

'If only I could let her feel this peace forever', he thought to himself, his hand lightly brushing her cheek. Usually, Rowena wouldn't sleep this long. Her mind was always racing, always on guard. But now, she was deep in slumber. Asher couldn't help but feel a small pang of guilt, knowing he had drained her energy throughout the intense night. Yet, he also felt she needed the rest.

Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder, savoring the warmth of her skin before quietly slipping out of bed. His mind shifted to his duties, recalling that Isola had something important to tell him.

As he walked out of the room, the door clicking softly behind him, Rowena's eyes slowly fluttered open. She blinked a few times, her crimson gaze shifting to the empty space where Asher had just been. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but her eyes were thoughtful as she sat up, the silence of the room enveloping her once more.

—

Later, Asher sat atop Callisa's massive carapace as she shifted playfully in the crimson waters, her giant pincers creating soft ripples that broke the surface. Her energy was contagious, and Asher patted her shell affectionately, enjoying the tranquility of the moment.

Isola soon emerged from the waters, her torso glistening in the early sunlight. Her twilight-blue skin shimmered under the light, and her moon-white hair clung to her shoulders. With a graceful motion, her fish tail transformed into legs, allowing her to climb atop Callisa and crouch beside Asher.

A warm smile spread across Asher's face as she approached, and he pulled her close by the nape, kissing her deeply. She reciprocated with equal warmth, her hands resting lightly on his chest.

As they broke the kiss, Asher's expression shifted to one of concern, "So, what's this important thing you wanted to tell me?" he asked, his tone serious.

Isola's smile faded as her expression grew more somber, "It's about Oberon. Since the plan moved so quickly, I didn't have the chance to fully explain what I found when I went through his mind."

Asher's brows furrowed, "What did you find?"

Isola's face tightened with thought, her silver eyes darkening, "I discovered how he and Edmund managed to present Cedric's head to Rowena," she said, her voice heavy with the weight of the revelation.

Asher's frown deepened, "I've always wondered about that. I suspected they had some sort of inside connection within the WHA. So, who gave it to them?"

Isola's expression grew contemplative, "Strangely, it wasn't a human. Oberon referred to her as the 'Red Witch.' She was the one who handed over Cedric's head. The head itself contains the memory of your final battle with Rowena's father and everything that followed. These memory fragments were preserved using both Death Arts and Blood Arts."

Asher's brows shot up, "That's absurd. Memory fragments? Why go so far to preserve something that could jeopardize Derek's entire plan? Unless we're missing something." He shook his head, thinking aloud, "And who in our world has the skill to wield both Death Arts and Blood Arts like that?"

Isola nodded, her face still clouded with concern, "It's highly complex magic. The Death Arts were used to prevent the memory from decaying—it can only be viewed once. The Blood Arts allowed for the capture of as much memory as possible within a single fragment. But those fragments are fragile, short-lived. So maybe it was a combined effort because I can't think of anyone who can possibly be a master of two such powerful arts."

Asher's frown deepened as he crossed his arms, his mind racing, "So you're saying that at least two people from our world colluded under Derek's nose to hand over Cedric's head to Oberon? Even if it doesn't make sense for Derek to allow that, who do you think this Red Witch could be, and why would she do this? Does Oberon know anything more about her?"

Isola shook her head, her silver eyes troubled, "No, he doesn't. I went deep into his mind, and it's clear that the Red Witch is as mysterious to him as she is to us. She appeared out of nowhere, claiming she could help him curry favor with Rowena. That's all he knew. Do you think the Thornes could be behind this? They're the best experts in Death Arts, and I believe they're capable of this level of magic."

Asher furrowed his brows in thought, "It crossed my mind too. But none of the Thornes, including Rebecca, knows my past. If they did, do you really think they'd sit idle?" His tone carried a sharp edge, "As for Blood Arts… My House has the greatest experts in that field, but no one else besides Rowena has the precision to manipulate the blood that flows through the head of a Peak S Ranker. And if anyone from my House knew about my past, they would've acted by now."

Isola's expression grew graver, "Whoever the Red Witch is, she must be watching us. But you're right… I can't point to anyone in your House or House Thorne who fits the profile. Unless, of course, they're hiding it—pretending not to know for some reason." Her lips tightened, "She might be a serious threat to us, and the worst part is, we have no idea what she's planning."

Asher let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his moon-white hair, "Just when I thought I had some semblance of control over this whole shitstorm, something or someone else jumps in to stir the pot. Don't worry," he said, his voice sharpening with determination, "I'll find out who this Red Witch is and what she's after."

Isola nodded, her fingers lightly brushing his arm in a gesture of solidarity, "I'll help you in any way I can. But… why haven't you gotten rid of Cedric's head yet? Doesn't it concern you that Rowena still has it?"

Asher's eyes darkened, a somber look crossing his face, "You think I haven't tried? It was a miracle I even managed to stop her from peering into those memories. But for reasons she hasn't shared, she refuses to part with it," he admitted, his voice laced with regret, "I think she's keeping it as a reminder of her failures…of how she feels responsible for her father's death. That's what pains me most… not a day goes by where I don't think about it."

Isola's expression softened, "That must be difficult for you."

Asher's gaze grew distant. "It is. I stopped trying to convince her because if I pushed too hard, she might start suspecting something. None of this should be my concern, at least not in her eyes."

Isola sighed, "I understand. But those memory fragments… they could be powerful evidence if we ever decided to expose the truth to humans. Derek couldn't claim they've been tampered with, given how they've been preserved."

Asher shook his head, his voice low but resolute, "You don't understand Derek's reach. Even if we had the fragments, by the time we tried to broadcast them, Derek would know, and he'd stop us. And even if we succeed, Derek wouldn't care. He'd just escalate. He's too dangerous to be exposed prematurely." His gaze hardened, his voice cold with determination, "I'll wait. Once I've cornered him, once he's weak and can't claw his way back up… that's when I'll expose everything. Then, I'll destroy him for good."

—

Meanwhile, in the desolate wastelands of the Oseon Continent, a lone hooded figure stumbled forward. His steps were unsteady, his body weak, but still, he forced himself to keep moving.

The crimson sun blazed fiercely overhead, its heat scorching the earth below. Every breath the man took felt like inhaling fire, the dry air only adding to his misery.

His cloak clung to him, drenched in sweat, but did little to shield him from the oppressive heat. Each step was an agony, the sharp rocks cutting into his feet through worn boots. He knew—if he continued like this for another hour, he might collapse for good. Nôv(el)B\\jnn

But he pressed on, his will stronger than his failing body. 'I can't stop here. Not yet.'

Oberon knew that the safety of someone, the only one dear to him, was depending on him.

However, unbeknownst to him, a boulder not far behind suddenly stirred. Its surface shimmered, revealing a pair of eyes that had been watching him silently, tracking his every move. A pair of other eyes also began to surface on the surrounding large rocks and trunks of dead trees, all of them focusing intently on the hooded man, glinting with a dangerous gleam.