Supreme Hunter of Beautiful Souls

The mansion wasn’t silent this time, but there was a controlled tranquility in the air, the kind of calm that comes after intense events, as if the environment itself was still slowly reorganizing itself. Light streamed softly through the tall windows, elegantly illuminating the interior, while the soft sound of clinking porcelain echoed discreetly through the main room.

It was in this setting that the door opened.

Irelia entered without ceremony.

Her steps were firm, direct, carrying urgency, but not a lack of control. She crossed the hall without hesitation, her gaze already searching for someone specific, completely ignoring any formality that would normally be expected upon entering that place.

And then she saw.

Amelia and Elizabeth were seated at the table, in an almost... too domestic setting for what had been happening in recent days. Teacups rested before them, the steam rising slowly, creating a scene that contrasted almost absurdly with the tension Irelia carried with her.

Irelia paused for a second.

She blinked.

As if it were unexpected.

"...Are you having tea?"

The question came out almost automatically, almost judgmentally, but without any real intention of criticism. It was more confusion than anything else.

Amelia calmly looked up, placing the cup back on the saucer with a slight clinking sound.

"Yes."

The answer was simple.

Natural.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, only glanced quickly at Irelia before returning to her own tea, as if it were perfectly normal—which, for her, in a way, it was already beginning to be.

Irelia was silent for half a second.

Processing.

And then simply let it go.

"Where’s Kael?"

Direct.

No beating around the bush.

No time for side comments.

Amelia opened her mouth to answer—

But she didn’t need to.

The sound of footsteps coming from the stairs caught everyone’s attention.

Slow.

Steadfast.

Irelia automatically turned her gaze.

And then he appeared.

Kael descended the stairs calmly, as if the world wasn’t constantly trying to crumble around him. He wore only simple black trousers and a slightly open button-down shirt, revealing part of his chest and making clear his lack of concern for formality at that moment.

Still...

There was something about his presence that made it seem intentional.

Natural.

Irelia froze for a second.

Literally.

Her eyes scanned him from head to toe before she realized what she was doing, and then she quickly looked away, her face blushing almost imperceptibly—almost.

But not completely.

She cleared her throat softly, forcing her focus back to the real reason she was there.

"A patrol from my family was exterminated."

The sentence came out directly.

Quickly.

Without introduction.

Without softening.

And then she finished, looking directly at him again.

"Vampires."

The atmosphere changed.

Subtly.

But it changed.

Kael, who was already descending, didn’t stop immediately, but his gaze adjusted. He became more attentive, more focused, even though his body continued its unhurried movement.

He let out a small sigh through his nose.

Lower.

Almost imperceptible.

But full of meaning.

"Of course..."

He murmured, more to himself than to the others, as if this were just another predictable piece in something bigger.

He continued descending.

One step.

Then another.

Irelia crossed her arms slightly, following the movement.

"My mother went to see."

She continued, now with a slightly firmer tone.

"But she wants you to come along."

It was at that moment that Kael stopped.

Not dramatically.

But clearly.

The movement simply ceased halfway down the stairs.

And, for the first time since he began to descend, something in his expression changed more noticeably.

He turned his face slightly toward her.

"Mother?"

The word came out with a slight weight of strangeness, as if it didn’t quite fit the context.

Irelia blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Clearly not understanding the reaction.

"I have a mother, you know?"

She replied, in a tone that was half defensive, half confused, as if it were too obvious to need explaining.

Kael stared at her for a second.

And then tilted his head slightly.

"You never talked about her."

The answer came simply.

Directly.

Without judgment.

But logically.

"So I just... assumed."

He shrugged slightly.

"That she was dead or something."

The silence that followed was... strange.

Irelia opened her mouth to reply.

She paused.

She thought. And then... her expression changed.

She really thought about it.

For longer than expected.

"...It’s true, isn’t it?"

The sentence came out slowly.

More to herself than to him.

She frowned slightly, as if mentally revisiting several past conversations—or the lack thereof.

"I never talked about her..."

She murmured, now clearly realizing how strange that sounded.

Amelia raised an eyebrow slightly on the table, observing the scene with silent interest, while Elizabeth merely glanced between the two, as if following something... unexpectedly interesting.

Kael remained silent for a moment.

And then he moved again.

Descending the last step with the same calm as before, as if that small revelation had been just another curious detail amidst bigger things.

"Is she strong?"

He asked, now on the ground, walking towards them without haste.

Irelia snapped out of her own thoughts quickly enough to answer.

"Yes."

Without hesitation.

Without a doubt.

Kael nodded slightly.

"Then you probably don’t need me."

The answer came naturally.

But Irelia reacted immediately.

"You do."

She said firmly.

And then she took a step forward.

"And so do I."

Her gaze met his again.

This time... without looking away.

Without blushing.

Without hesitating.

And there was something there that hadn’t been before.

It wasn’t just urgency.

It was decision.

Kael observed her for a few seconds.

And then he let out a low sigh.

A longer one this time.

"You two can’t solve anything on your own, can you..."

He murmured, but there was no real criticism in the phrase.

Just... acceptance.

Because, deep down—

He already knew he would.

...

The forest air was heavy.

Not just cold or damp—truly heavy, as if each breath required effort, as if the environment itself were saturated with something that shouldn’t be there. The smell was the first thing that betrayed it. Iron. Blood. And something else... something that was already beginning to rot.

Lysandra remained motionless for a few seconds at the edge of the clearing.

Observing.

The scene before her was not just violent.

It was... excessive.

Bodies were scattered everywhere, but not in an organized or even comprehensible way. Some were whole, but twisted at impossible angles, as if they had been thrown with absurd force. Others... were incomplete. Separated parts, impact marks, limbs torn off as if there had been no real resistance.

The ground was dark.

Soaked.

There was no space where the earth could be seen without the interference of the deep red that accumulated in irregular puddles, reflecting the little light that filtered through the trees.

And yet...

That wasn’t what was most striking.

It was the norm.

Or rather—

The lack thereof.

Lysandra took a step forward, the light sound of her feet contrasting with the silent brutality of the place. Her light dress didn’t match the setting, and yet... there was no hesitation in her movement. She walked with her usual elegance, as if she were crossing a ballroom, not a massacre field.

Her eyes moved constantly, analyzing.

Detail by detail.

Cuts.

Tears.

Impacts.

Nothing was ignored.

"...Too disorganized."

She murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.

One of the men behind her hesitated before speaking.

"Madam... we believe that—"

She raised her hand slightly.

And he stopped immediately.

Silence.

Lysandra approached one of the bodies.

Or what remained of it.

She knelt calmly, showing no discomfort as she approached the still-fresh blood. Her eyes scanned the marks with precision, like someone who had seen this before—or something similar.

But not exactly the same.

She lightly touched the ground beside her.

The blood was still warm.

Recent.

Very recent.

"It wasn’t a fight."

She said, finally.

Her voice was low.

Controlled.

"It was a massacre."

She stood up slowly, wiping her hand on a cloth she removed almost automatically, as if that gesture were too habitual to demand attention.

Her eyes moved across the field again.

Once more.

Deeper.

"They didn’t have time to react."

She continued, now with more certainty.

"There was no formation. There was no retreat. There was no real attempt at defense."

She tilted her head slightly, analyzing a nearby tree.

Deep marks in the wood.

As if something had pierced through... or been thrown against it with absurd force.

"They were interrupted."

A pause.

Short.

"...and erased."

The silence behind her was absolute.

No one dared interrupt.

No one dared suggest anything different.

Because even the least experienced could feel—

This wasn’t normal.

Lysandra walked a few more steps, passing another body, then another, without looking directly down each time. She had seen enough.

Now she was looking for... something else.

Something that would explain.

Something that would connect.

But there were no clear tracks.

No signs of multiple attackers.

No weapon pattern.

It was... inconsistent.

And that bothered her.

She stopped in the center of the clearing.

And remained silent for a few seconds. Just... feeling.

"This wasn’t done by a group."

She said, finally.

The conclusion came calmly.

Confidently.

One of the men behind her frowned.

"So... what was it?"

Lysandra didn’t answer immediately.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

And then she murmured:

"Something that didn’t need help."

The wind passed through the trees.

Lightly.

But enough to make some leaves move.

And, for a brief moment...

The silence seemed even heavier.

She closed her eyes for a second.

She took a deep breath.

And then opened them again.

Now... colder.

More focused.

"This wasn’t hunger."

She continued.

"It wasn’t territory."

A short pause.

"...It was efficiency."

And that made everything worse.

Because it meant intention.

Control.

Capacity.

Lysandra turned slowly to the men behind her, her gaze now completely different from the one she had shown minutes before in the mansion. There was no more lightness, no humor, no trace of relaxation.

Only calculation.

"I want the perimeter closed."

She ordered, without raising her voice.

"I want every trace analyzed, every direction checked."

The men nodded immediately.

"Yes, ma’am."