“Seraphine, I offer you a kingdom as bride-price, and the gods as matchmakers. Will you marry me?”
He had not lied to her.
That wedding had truly happened.
He took Lan Kingdom, the strongest nation in the Nine Heavens back then, and laid it out as his betrothal gift. He married her, the Empress of Ling Kingdom. The ceremony shook the world. He was handsome, she was peerless, the phoenix robes dazzled all under heaven, and amnesty was declared across the land.
“Seraphine, from this day on, you are my wife, Gerald Ashford.”
“Alright.”
She had smiled then, soft and sweet, that little face enough to ruin cities. At the very height of her happiness, a dagger punched straight through her heart.
“Why? Why!”
Her scream tore out raw and broken. Betrayal cut deeper than steel. It bored right into the bone.
“Why else? For this empire.” Gerald Ashford laughed, wild with triumph. “At last, I’ve fused the realm into one. You’ve outlived your use.”
His strike had come too fast, too clean. He had even used a secret art. He wanted her soul scattered, wanted her erased so thoroughly she would never even enter reincarnation.
“You know something?” Gerald Ashford still looked like that same polished gentleman, mild as jade, but his heart was fouler than a viper’s den. “Your dear imperial father—I poisoned him to death. Did you know that? Even when he was suffering worse than death, he still begged me to spare you.”
He smiled as if speaking of weather.
“The sovereign of Ling Kingdom, once so high above all, crawling at my feet and pleading. That was satisfying.”
“Gerald Ashford—if I do not die, I’ll make you wish you were dead!”
Her final shriek sounded like a ghost howling out of the abyss.
“Then die!”
That crushing spiritual force slammed toward the crown of her head.
Then all at once, Seraphine Quin’s spiritual power returned.
The feeling of shattered bones and twisted organs surged through her, a brutal reminder of everything she had just endured. Rage burst out of her like a flood breaking a dam.
She threw every scrap of spiritual power she had into one savage strike above her head.
Hatred blazed sky-high.
She would not accept this.
She truly would not.
“Ah—! Pfft!”
A woman’s cry rang out, sharp with pain. Then came the thud of a body hitting the ground.
“Eighth Sister!”
Noise rushed in around her.
Eighth Sister?
Seraphine slowly opened her phoenix eyes.
What she saw was the sky.
Not those carved jade pillars twined with dragon patterns.
She was lying on a raised platform. The area around it was enclosed. Beyond the draped screens sat rows of spectators watching the fight, while several people stood not far from her.
This was plainly an arena stage.
Her gaze shifted.
The woman she had just knocked flying was sprawled on the ground, coughing blood, already unconscious.
“You filthy little bitch! How dare you lay hands on my Eighth Sister? I knew you were faking death!”
A man in yellow charged over and struck at her with one palm, straight for her life.
Seraphine rolled on instinct, but her body felt as though some giant beast had crushed it over and over. Pain ripped through her so hard she hissed.
She still failed to dodge that palm.
It landed squarely on her.
“Pfft.”
Blood spilled from her lips. At the same time, a torrent of memories crashed into her mind and hammered at her consciousness.
She had been reborn.
She had actually been reborn.
There was no time to feel joy. Seraphine blacked out on the spot.
Her injuries were far too heavy.
The man in yellow lifted his hand again, ready to finish her with another palm, but an old man cut in and stopped him.
The elder moved fast as lightning. His voice rang out cold and commanding. “Fifth Young Master Mercer, this is Eighth Miss’s arena. You have already broken the black market’s rules.”
“Hmph!”
Victor Mercer had no choice but to pull back. Even so, he was unwilling to let Seraphine off so easily.
“If anything happens to my Eighth Sister, I won’t let that cheap slut live!”
The elder wore a faint smile. “Fifth Young Master Mercer, this slave belongs to our black market. If something happens to her outside an arena match, you will be our first suspect.”
Victor Mercer ground his teeth so hard they nearly cracked. “Fine. Then I’ll buy her.”
“Five million crystal coins,” the elder said, face unchanged.
“What?” Victor Mercer’s expression darkened and shifted. “Elder, don’t name prices at random. Since when is a slave worth that much?”
“Our black market never names prices at random.” The elder’s smile did not move. “Fifth Young Master, someone else has already taken a liking to her. That person... is not someone your family can afford to offend.”
Victor Mercer bit down hard and glared at Seraphine lying on the floor.
“Lucky you.”
The elder watched them leave with a calm smile. Then he sent his voice outward with spiritual power.
“In this match, Number 103 wins!”
He turned and ordered, “Take her away.”
Then he lifted his head and looked toward one of the private boxes upstairs, his eyes carrying a complicated look.
Whether this was fortune or disaster—
No one could say.