Chapter 415: Half Truth
After Marcus had left her slumped at the tree trunk, it took less than a minute before four Solara Knights, accompanied by a mage, burst through the dense forest canopy. Their golden armor shimmered faintly beneath the moonlight as they rushed to her side without hesitation, one of them instantly kneeling to check her vitals while the mage began working to seal the wound at her midsection.
As the healing spell washed over her, Serah winced, her body still rattled by the encounter. The commander of the squad—a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard, cropped buzzcut, and a single eye gleaming from beneath a worn eyepatch—stood tall over her, eyes sweeping the surrounding battlefield. When his gaze settled on the twisted corpse of the Blood Demon, his jaw clenched. He looked like he wanted to ask—how the hell did Serah end up fighting one of those alone?—but seeing her drained state, he swallowed the questions and said nothing.
As the final shimmer of the mage’s healing spell faded, Serah gave a tired nod. The knights helped her to her feet. Without another word, the group began their slow trek back to Ilis, the remains of the Blood Demon slowly breaking apart, turning to ash that scattered in the night breeze.
***
By the time they reached the gates of the royal palace in Ilis under the shadow of night, Serah didn’t speak to anyone. She moved quietly, her expression unreadable, and headed straight for her quarters. Her limbs were heavy with exhaustion, her mind even heavier.
She didn’t bother changing—just collapsed onto her bed, letting the warmth of the sheets swallow her whole.
As dawn broke over the gleaming city of Ilis, sunlight filtered lazily through the high-arched windows of her room. Golden beams slanted across the bed, painting her resting form in soft light. Her red waves spilled over the pillow, wild and tangled.
The warmth of the morning sun crept across her cheek, coaxing a faint frown. Serah grumbled under her breath and turned her head away, trying to escape the light.
Then came the knock—steady and rhythmic against the wood.
She groaned and shifted under the covers. "Come in," she mumbled, voice hoarse from sleep.
The door opened with a quiet creak as a woman entered—early thirties, refined posture, clad in a crisp black and white maid uniform. She stepped lightly, stopping just short of Serah’s bed.
"Princess," the maid said gently, her voice laced with calm professionalism.