Chapter 3
Verna Harbor was the largest deep-water port on the eastern side of the Vestland Isles’ Emerald Sea, and Edmund’s private hunting ground.
Inside Warehouse No. 17, the stench of blood mixed with the salty sea wind.
Three workers were tied to iron frames, their bodies soaked in blood. Broken wooden sticks and a coil of rope lay scattered on the ground.
Edmund sat on top of a shipping container, holding a glass of whiskey, a perpetually cold, hyena-like smile hanging at the corner of his mouth.
“Continue,” he said after taking a sip. “Don’t kill them—I still need this trash to secure that inheritance.”
A man in a black tactical vest raised the wooden stick again and struck down.
Edmund looked at the barely conscious man with the gaze of someone examining a slaughtered animal.
Deep down, he did not want Cecilia to wake up.
The three years Cecilia had been asleep were the most glorious years of his life.
His uncle Cameron Helsing was dead, and the only heir, Cecilia, lay in bed as a vegetable.
Yet Cameron had left that damned will behind—only participants of the ritual could inherit the Helsing family assets.
So he had to control them, make them all work for him.
“Mr. Helsing,” a subordinate leaned in. “There’s news from the Costa family. They’ve sent someone over—his name is Luciano. He spent seven years in the fight pits of Mornveil Isle, and his blood type is said to match.”
Edmund sneered.
“A washed-up pit fighter?” He downed his whiskey in one gulp. “Is the Costa family treating us like a garbage dump? Someone like that isn’t even qualified to be used by me.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the warehouse’s iron door was pushed open.
A man stood at the entrance, backlit by the light.
Black overcoat, tall and upright build, broad shoulders. The harbor wind poured in from behind him, lifting the hem of his coat.
Luciano walked into the warehouse, his gaze sweeping coldly over the three bloodied workers, then raising an eyebrow.
So the Helsing family didn’t actually want that woman to wake up that badly after all.
Otherwise, they wouldn’t have chosen this place.
He lazily turned his gaze toward Edmund on the container.
Edmund felt inexplicably uncomfortable under that stare, because it did not feel like the gaze of a man—but rather like a butcher inspecting livestock.
He cursed under his breath and was about to reach for his gun when a subordinate leaned in and whispered, “Mr. Helsing, that’s him—the Costa family’s man. Luciano.”
Edmund paused, then let out a disdainful laugh and stood up on the container, looking down at Luciano.
“So you’re the one—the Costa family’s trash.”
He scanned him up and down. “I heard you’ve been stuck in the Mornveil Isle fight pits for seven years. What, got beaten too badly to stay there, so you came here to try your luck?”
He laughed loudly, and his men followed suit.
Walking along the edge of the container as if ordering a dog, Edmund said, “Since you’re here, don’t just stand there. Crawl over here on your knees and let me see what the Costa family’s trash looks like.”
The laughter grew louder.
Luciano stood still. The warehouse light was dim, but his pupils seemed to absorb all the light, turning into two bottomless voids.
Edmund’s smile stiffened for a moment. A chill suddenly crawled up his spine.
It felt like when he was a child hunting with his father, being watched in the depths of a forest by an unseen beast.
“You—”
Before he could finish, a black shadow suddenly appeared in front of him and grabbed his throat, yanking him down.
Luciano lifted Edmund into the air with one hand around his neck.
Edmund clawed frantically at Luciano’s fingers, kicking his shoes wildly in the air. His face turned from red to purple.
The surrounding men were overwhelmed by Luciano’s presence and dared not step forward.
“I heard you’re looking for people with special blood types.”
Luciano tilted his head.
“I am one.”
He looked at Edmund’s suffocating face.
“But I don’t like being bled, so…”
A playful curve formed at the corner of his mouth as he released his grip.
Edmund crashed to the ground, clutching his throat and coughing violently.
“Change the rules,” Luciano said, looking down at him. “I’ll preside over the purification ritual. And Cecilia—I’ll be the one to wake her.”
Edmund coughed for a long while before recovering.
He struggled to his feet, his eyes filled with venomous hatred as he looked at Luciano.
“You’re dreaming!” he gritted his teeth. “Do you know who I am? I’m Edmund! The future heir of the Helsing family! If you lay a hand on me, the entire family will never let you go!”
Luciano drew a gun from his waist. The muzzle was not aimed at Edmund.
“Seems like you still don’t want to cooperate. Try refusing, then.”
“Let’s see who dies first.”
He flipped off the safety.
Edmund’s expression finally changed. He hurriedly said, “Fine. I’ll prepare the materials. Go wait at our estate first.”
“Fine. I’ll give you time.”
Luciano slid his hand back into his coat pocket and turned toward the warehouse exit.
“I’ll be waiting.”
Edmund stood frozen, still not fully recovered from the fear of being held at gunpoint, while Luciano’s figure had already disappeared.
Only then did the subordinates dare to approach and help him up, only to be slapped away.
“Get lost! All of you, get lost! Useless trash!”
He stared coldly at Luciano’s departing figure, eyes filled with hatred.
As Luciano walked out of the warehouse area, a woman was standing at the entrance.
She wore a dark green suit, her deep brown hair tied into a low bun at the back of her head. A few strands of silver hair fell from her temples. Her brows were high, eye sockets deep, and her gray-green eyes carried a calm composure.
“Luciano Costa,” she said. “I saw everything that just happened.”
Luciano raised an eyebrow.
“And you are?”
“Elena Helsing,” she nodded slightly. “Cecilia’s mother.”
Luciano’s brow twitched slightly.
“You’re surprised?” Elena asked.
“A little,” Luciano replied frankly.
Elena smiled faintly and turned toward the direction of the castle.
“Come with me. I’ll take you to see Cecilia.”
Luciano was slightly surprised, but followed.
The two walked across the gravel path along the harbor. Elena spoke again.
“It’s been three years and four months since Cecilia fell into this state. Less than a month after her father passed away, on the night of the funeral, she returned to the castle, went up to the tower with a servant, and never came back down on her own.”
“The family elders say it’s a curse. In the Helsing bloodline, once every few generations someone is afflicted. At first it’s a deep sleep, and later the blood burns the body from within. Cecilia is the only direct heir of this generation. Combined with her symptoms, that’s why they reached this conclusion.”
She sighed, looking noticeably older.
“But I don’t believe it. This so-called inherited curse theory only appeared after the Council of Elders got involved. And now the council is controlled by my husband’s younger brother and his wife, Margaret.”
Luciano pressed his lips together and said nothing.
When they reached the tower, Elena pushed the door open.
The room was large, the ceiling painted with a faded fresco of a sea god standing on waves holding a trident.
“This is my daughter,” Elena said, pointing at Cecilia Helsing lying on the bed.
Her features were almost saintly—delicate and refined, with a high nose bridge, soft brow line, and thin lips pale like faded coral.
Her long dark chestnut hair spread across the pillow, and faint dark red patterns could be seen beneath her collarbone.
Luciano looked at her, then thought again of the so-called curse.
But… what kind of “curse” was inside Cecilia? Was it the same as his?
He looked at her pale face and curled his lips slightly.
They were both chosen by some unknown force—kindred sufferers.
Seeing Luciano’s silent reaction, Elena looked disappointed, assuming he was just another fraud without real ability.
“I don’t know what gives you the confidence to wake my daughter,” she said. “But I must tell you—those who tried before you, some died, some went insane, and some were frauds. None ended well.”
“If you don’t have absolute confidence, I suggest you leave.”
“Let me examine her first.”
Luciano sat by the bed and took Cecilia’s cold hand, preparing to check for any abnormal condition.
Just as he was about to roll up her sleeve, the tattoo on his chest suddenly burned.
His expression changed as he lowered his head in shock.
What is this…?
Every line of the thorn crown tattoo beneath his skin began to pulse like ancient runes. At the same time, the patterns beneath Cecilia’s collarbone also began to move.
A dark golden marking emerged on her chest, faintly resembling a rose.
The rose seemed to have been awakened by his thorn crown, pulsing in alternating light and shadow, resonating across the air.
Luciano’s pupils contracted slightly, and a surge of excitement erupted in his eyes.
Could it be… what that old man said was true?
And Cecilia… was the fated soul entity compatible with him?!
