Chapter 10 ONLY BEGOTTEN SPAWN OF SERPENTS

Seraphine’s voice was silk wrapped around a hidden blade—smooth, melodic, and dripping with false concern. The concubine lounged in a high-backed chair carved with coiling crimson serpents, her raven hair pinned with jade that caught the lantern light like drops of blood. She wore a sheer robe of midnight silk that clung to her curves, accentuating the dangerous grace of a mid-stage Body Tempering cultivator who had long since mastered the art of appearing harmless.

Seokga sat up slowly on the healing bed, every muscle protesting from the ritual’s torment. The Voidreaver Collar was gone, but its phantom bite lingered around his neck. His meridians felt raw, the Eclipse Sigil a smoldering ember buried deep, carefully veiled after the Nexara’s Veil of Damnation.

What the hell indeed.

“Stepmother,” he rasped, voice laced with the old divine sarcasm despite his battered state. “To what do I owe this… hospitality? Last I recall, your pets in masks were preparing to feed me to the Abyssal Soulflayer Chamber.”

Seraphine’s blood-red lips curved into a perfect smile. She rose fluidly and approached the bedside, pouring a cup of steaming medicinal tea from a nearby tray. The aroma carried subtle notes of spirit herbs—and something sharper, a faint demonic trace he now recognized all too well. “Drink, Seokga. It will soothe the aftereffects of the rite. The inquisitors can be… overzealous.”

He took the cup but didn’t drink, swirling the liquid as he studied her. In his past life as the untouchable god, women like her—seductive manipulators cloaked in beauty—had been both pleasure and peril. The Serpent Sisters flashed in his mind again: Lyra’s betrayal, Lirael’s stolen affections. Seraphine carried the same venomous allure.

“You orchestrated the testing,” he said flatly. “The Glacier Wraiths. Father’s reluctance. Draven’s masked whisper. All to expose me as ‘corrupted’ before the academy scouts finalized my advancement.”

Her eyes flickered with surprise, quickly masked by a soft laugh. “Such paranoia from a boy who barely survived the arena. But yes… the clan must be cautious. Top three is impressive for a blocked-vein cripple, yet rumors of strange powers spread like wildfire. The Eldritch Sigils of the Voidheart do not lie easily.”

Seokga’s grip tightened on the cup. The ritual had been hell—tendrils of void-energy flaying his soul, Soulflayer Probes ripping through memories, each wave of torment designed to drag hidden essences into the light. He had passed the first stage by sheer divine will, the Sigil cloaking itself in mortal frailty. But the next room, the Demons’ Torment, would have been catastrophic.

“And yet here I am,” he countered, meeting her gaze. “In a private healing suite. Not chained in the abyss. Why the sudden mercy, Stepmother?”

Seraphine leaned closer, her perfume heavy and cloying, carrying undertones of yin essence that stirred something primal in his core. The Eros Furnace—still dormant until his eighteenth birthday—hinted at its potential even now. A faint spark of dual cultivation resonance flickered between them, unbidden. Power through connection. Forbidden bonds. Exactly as the old gods had feared.

“Because,” she murmured, her fingers brushing his wrist with calculated intimacy, “some powers are too valuable to destroy outright. The clan… and certain allies… could use a tool like you. Stabilized. Controlled. Imagine what a true heir, tempered by shadow, could achieve at Azure Peak Academy.”

Her touch lingered. Seokga felt the Sigil stir, hungry for essence, but he suppressed it. Not yet. Not with this viper. Playing the weakling was still his best shield.

Before he could respond, the door slid open. Varak entered, face thunderous but eyes shadowed with conflict. Elara followed in her wheelchair, pushed by a servant, her expression a mix of relief and fury.

“Seokga!” Elara cried, wheeling forward. “They told me the rite was standard, but this—”

Varak cut her off with a raised hand. “The boy passed. Barely. The inquisitors found no overt demonic taint. He advances to Azure Peak with the others. But mark my words, son—any hint of corruption, and not even your mother’s pleas will save you.”

Seraphine stepped back smoothly, the picture of dutiful concubine. “As the Lord commands. I merely ensured his recovery.”

Seokga met his father’s gaze. The man looked away again, just as in the hall. Forced hand. Someone higher pulls Seraphine’s strings—perhaps the same demigod curse tied to Mother’s paralysis.

The dinner that followed was tense theater. Top-three placement secured his academy slot, but the family dynamic festered. Kael and the twins shot murderous glares across the table. Seokga ate sparingly, mind racing toward stabilization of the Sigil and the looming dual cultivation awakening.

Later that night, alone in his chambers, the Sigil pulsed stronger. Whispers of power teased him—visions of forging bonds not just for strength, but for vengeance. Seraphine’s touch lingered in memory, a dangerous seed.

Soon, he thought, echoing his divine past. I will turn every betrayal into fuel. The Serpent Sisters. This rotten bloodline. Heaven itself.

The road to the academy—and true rise—had only just begun.