Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband-Chapter 84: The Forest of Living Stone and The Fox of Legend
The carriage ride to the Obsidian Estate was not a leisurely Sunday drive. It was a descent into a nightmare, punctuated by moments of extreme violence and questionable parenting advice.
The Blackwood Forest lived up to its name. The trees were ancient, their bark as black as coal, twisting into shapes that looked uncomfortably like screaming faces. The canopy was so thick it blotted out the sun, plunging the road into an eternal twilight.
"This place has bad feng shui," Primrose muttered, clutching her seat as the carriage bounced over a root the size of a python.
"It is fortified with territorial wards," Archduke Cassian observed, looking out the window with clinical interest. "And... ah. Here come the welcome committee."
SCREEEECH.
The carriage slammed to a halt. The horses screamed.
From the tree line, shadows detached themselves. But they weren’t shadows. They were grey, winged, and made of solid rock.
Gargoyles.
A dozen of them swooped down, their stone claws screeching against the roof of the carriage.
"Lunch time!" Lord Rurik roared happily.
He didn’t open the door. He kicked it off its hinges.
The Wolf Warlord launched himself out of the moving carriage, tackling a gargoyle in mid-air.
CRUNCH.
He punched the stone beast so hard it exploded into gravel.
"Rurik!" Primrose yelled, leaning out. "Don’t eat the gravel! It’s bad for your digestion!"
"It adds texture!" Rurik shouted back, catching another gargoyle by the tail and swinging it like a flail into a tree.
General Rajah stepped out next. He didn’t roar. He simply drew his saber. The steel flashed in the dim light.
Swish. Swish. Click.
Three gargoyles diving toward him fell to the ground, sliced neatly in half before they even touched the dirt. Rajah flicked a speck of dust off his coat, looking bored.
"Sloppy craftsmanship," Rajah critiqued. "These golems are slow."
Suddenly, a massive gargoyle—twice the size of the others—landed on the roof of the carriage, directly above Primrose. Its stone jaws opened, dripping with mossy saliva.
Primrose froze. She reached for her smoke bombs.
POOF.
A cloud of black smoke erupted—not from her bag, but from the air itself.
Duke Lucien materialized on the roof, crouching behind the beast. He didn’t use a weapon. He simply placed a gloved hand on the gargoyle’s neck.
Dark, purple energy flashed.
The gargoyle crumbled into dust instantly, blowing away in the wind.
Lucien dusted off his hands and dropped down beside Primrose. "Pardon the debris, my lady."
"You guys show off too much," Primrose sighed, though her heart was pounding.
"We are merely clearing the path," Cassian said from inside the carriage, not having looked up from his glowing crystal slate once.
He traced a rune on the glass-like surface, and the numbers rearranged themselves. "According to my arithmancy calculations, we have eliminated 84% of the external defenses. The main gate is one mile ahead."
The Warlords climbed back in—Rurik carrying a gargoyle head as a souvenir ("For Vali!").
"That was terrifying," Primrose breathed.
"That was a warm-up," Rajah corrected, sheathing his sword. "Now. Let us see if the Lion has teeth, or just stone toys."
The Obsidian Estate was a fortress of black stone, rising out of the forest like a jagged tooth. It radiated a cold, oppressive energy that made the hair on Primrose’s arms stand up.
The iron gates were shut. A magical barrier shimmered in front of them, glowing with a hostile red light.
The carriage stopped. The Warlords stepped out, radiating enough mana to challenge the barrier itself.
"Open the gate!" Rajah roared, his voice amplified by magic. "By order of the Warlord Council!"
The air shimmered. A voice—hollow, magical, and undeniably Lord Bastion’s—echoed from the walls.
The Warlords have no jurisdiction here. This is private land.
"You are harboring a Void threat!" Cassian shouted, his monocle flashing. "Open the gate, Bastion, or we will dismantle it brick by brick."
If you attempt to breach, Bastion’s voice replied, devoid of emotion, the estate will self-destruct. I will bring the roof down on my own head before I let an army in.
Rajah growled, his hand going to his sword. "He is bluffing."
I have nothing left to lose, General, Bastion returned coldly. Try me.
Silence stretched. The threat hung heavy in the air.
Then, the voice spoke again. Softer.
However... I will speak to the Tutor. Alone.
"Absolutely not," Rurik barked. "He wants a hostage."
"I am not going in as a hostage," Primrose said, stepping forward. She adjusted her satchel. "I’m going in as a negotiator."
"Primrose," Rajah grabbed her arm gently. "He is unstable. He burned his wife’s belongings. He abandoned his child. He is desperate. Do not go in there without steel."
Primrose looked up at the Tiger. She saw the genuine fear in his eyes.
"I have steel," she smiled, tapping the Repulsion Necklace Cassian gave her. "And I have you guys outside. If I’m not out in an hour... then you can kick the door down."
Rajah hesitated. He looked at the others. Lucien gave a microscopic nod.
"One hour," Rajah growled. "Not a minute more."
Primrose walked to the gate. The red barrier flickered and parted, just wide enough for a small, tail-less woman to slip through.
The heavy iron gates clanged shut behind her.
The inside of the estate was freezing. It wasn’t the magical cold of the Void; it was the physical cold of a house that hadn’t had a fire lit in months. Dust motes danced in the shafts of grey light filtering through the high windows.
Primrose found Lord Bastion in the main study.
He was sitting in a leather armchair, staring into a cold fireplace. A bottle of amber liquor sat on the table, half-empty. He looked worse than he had in the Palace. His golden hair was matted, his robes disheveled. He looked like a king of ashes.
He didn’t look up when she entered.
"You are persistent," Bastion rasped. "Most people run when I threaten self-destruction."
"I handle toddlers," Primrose said, walking over and standing in front of him. "Self-destruction is just a Tuesday for me."
She looked around the room. It was sparse. No decorations. No warmth.
Except for one thing.
On the mantelpiece, untouched by dust, was a large, framed portrait.
It depicted a stunning Lioness woman with kind eyes and a smile that lit up the canvas. She was holding a baby—Ellia. And standing next to her, looking younger, happier, and full of life, was Bastion.
"She was beautiful," Primrose said softly.
Bastion looked at the painting. His expression crumpled. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚
"Seraphina," he whispered. "She was the only thing that made me brave."
He poured another drink, his hands shaking.
"I know what you think of me, Tutor," Bastion said bitterly. "You think I am a monster for leaving Ellia. You think I am cruel."
"I think," Primrose corrected, "that you are scared."
Bastion laughed—a dry, hacking sound.
"Scared? No. I am terrified. Paralyzed."
He stood up, pacing the room frantically.
"I watched it take her, Primrose. I watched the grey veins spread. I watched the light fade from her eyes. And I couldn’t stop it. I am the Grand Duke. I command legions. And I couldn’t save my own wife."
He turned to her, his eyes wide and frantic.
"And then I looked at Ellia. And I saw it. The same shadow. The same cold. And I knew... I knew I was going to lose her too."
"So you left before you could get hurt?" Primrose asked, her voice sharp.
"I left because I am a coward!" Bastion roared, throwing his glass into the fireplace. SMASH.
He slumped against the mantle, gripping the wood.
"My brother, Leonis... he is the Sun. He is the Emperor. He burns bright. He fears nothing. But I... I have always been the shadow beneath him. I am weak. I cannot watch my daughter die. I cannot do it again."
Primrose looked at the broken man.
For a moment, she wondered if he was truly a Lion. Lions were supposed to be prideful, brave. But Bastion was just... human. Flawed, broken, and drowning in grief.
"She isn’t dying, Bastion," Primrose said firmly. "Not yet. We broke the anklet. We stopped the voice. She is safe."
Bastion looked up, hope warring with disbelief in his eyes. "You... you stopped it?"
"We bought her time," Primrose corrected. "But the corruption is still out there. It’s in the world. And we need to know how to cure it completely. Not just suppress it."
She stepped closer.
"You studied it. I saw the books in your office. You know more about the Void than anyone."
Bastion nodded slowly. He walked to a hidden safe behind a tapestry. He pulled out a ragged, ancient book bound in black leather.
"I searched every archive," Bastion whispered, running his hand over the cover. "I looked for a cure for Seraphina. I tried alchemy. I tried light magic. I tried blood rituals."
"And?"
"Nothing worked," Bastion said bleakly. "The Void is the anti-thesis of mana. You cannot cure it with magic, because it eats magic."
Primrose felt a pit open in her stomach. "So there’s no hope? For Ellia? For... anyone infected?"
"There is one thing," Bastion said.
He opened the book to a page marked with a golden ribbon.
The illustration showed a figure glowing with a pure, white light that wasn’t mana. It was something older. Something holier.
"Divine Magic," Bastion read. "The Light of Creation. It is the only force that can overwrite the Void. It doesn’t fight the darkness; it simply makes it cease to exist."
"Okay," Primrose said, grasping at the straw. "Who has Divine Magic? The High Priest? The Emperor?"
Bastion shook his head. He closed the book with a heavy thud.
"No one," he said. "Divine Magic died out in the First Era. The bloodlines diluted. The connection to the Gods was severed."
Primrose slumped. "So it’s a myth."
"Not entirely," Bastion murmured. He looked at Primrose. He looked at her ears, her tail-less form, her strange, otherworldly aura.
"There was one being in recorded history who wielded pure Divine Magic. The founder of the Nine-Tailed Clan."
Primrose froze. Nine-Tailed Clan? My game character’s species?
"Her name was Ophelia," Bastion said, his eyes locking onto hers. "The First Fox. It is said that she disappeared, but left a fragment of her power behind. A relic. Or... a descendant."
He stepped closer, invading her personal space.
"Tell me, Tutor. Why do you have no tail?"
Primrose swallowed hard. "It’s... a birth defect."
"Or," Bastion whispered, a flicker of frantic hope igniting in his dull eyes, "it is because you are not like the other Foxes. Maybe... just maybe... you are the key I have been looking for."
Primrose stared at him.
The game lore never mentioned this.
If Divine Magic is the only cure... and I might be a Nine-Tailed Fox...
"Ophelia," Primrose repeated the name.
"Find her legacy," Bastion pleaded, grabbing her shoulders. "Find the Divine Light. And you can save them all."
