Rise of the Lustful Evil Monarch (Re)-Chapter 484: The White Shadow Appears Again (1)

Third Person’s POV

Her porcelain skin glowed faintly in the dim light, her long black hair cascaded down her back, and her delicate features held an innocent, almost mischievous charm.

Yet if anyone had dared to look into her eyes, they would have frozen in place as within those crimson pupils lay the weight of centuries, that is, the wisdom, authority, and a chilling, ancient depth that no child should possess.

This was the Little Duchess, the true, unseen ruler of the Abyssal Sanctum.

From her vantage point, she overlooked the scene of devastation that had covered half of the castle in the distance.

Luckily for Solomon, her tower was in the southern end of the black castle, so she hadn’t been disturbed at all by the massive fight.

The towering white obelisk still stood in the ruined square, its surface cracked yet unbroken as it radiated a faint, oppressive glow.

Seeing the scene, a faint, pleased smile curled onto her lips.

"Wow... Little Raven put on such a lovely show for me," she murmured softly, her voice light yet carrying an underlying majesty.

"She truly is such a promising seedling."

Her gaze then shifted slightly.

"And little Ethan... he was splendid today too."

In the next moment, she clapped her hands together in childlike excitement, her eyes shining with pride, not just as a spectator, but as a Master delighted in her disciples’ growth.

But her cheerful mood did not last long.

As she looked out over the vast swathes of burned forest, collapsed towers, and molten scars etched into the land, her expression darkened.

Her small fists clenched, and she shook them in the air like an irritated child throwing a tantrum.

"That big buffoon Solomon... he has clearly forgotten who truly rules this Sanctum," she grumbled under her breath.

Her voice carried a dangerous edge now.

"Scheming in the shadows with that sinister spirit, thinking no one can see through his tricks."

She clicked her tongue in annoyance as her eyes flashed coldly.

"And to make it worse, that old fool had to interrupt the fight just when things were getting interesting. How irritating."

She let out an exasperated sigh of boredom as her little shoulders drooped slightly.

"Right now, I can’t punish that muscle brained idiot openly... but at least I won’t have to see his ugly face again for a long time."

A sly glint flickered across her eyes.

"Hmph... still, I will have to find a proper way to deal with that old fool someday."

With that, she crossed her arms and leaned back against the window frame, her small figure framed against the ruined, ash-filled horizon like a deceptively innocent child who held the fate of the Abyssal Sanctum in her grasp.

Anyone who heard the contents of her grumbling might have been confused, and they might have wondered why a being of her caliber, a forbidden powerhouse who could shake mountains with a mere thought, spoke only of "dealing with" someone weaker than her instead of simply obliterating them out of displeasure.

But there was a reason for her restraint, and it was that the Abyssal Sanctum was not merely an academy.

Instead, it was a vast political crucible, a carefully balanced nexus of power where the interests of the two great demon empires intersected, clashed, and intertwined, with the other races being the silent supporters of either side.

Their influence ran deep into its foundations, their hands hidden behind layers of authority, tradition, and ancient agreements.

Their rivalry was so entrenched and so volatile that even the slightest overt favoritism could ignite a full-scale political storm, which she hated to deal with the most.

Because of this, the vampire race, a neutral, sovereign power that stood apart from both demon empires, had been chosen to provide the headmistress of the Sanctum.

And that headmistress was Altheria, yet holding that title did not grant her absolute freedom.

Being the headmistress did not mean she could casually execute, expel, or cripple deeply rooted assets of the demon empires whenever they irritated her.

Every action she took had to be measured, calculated, and politically defensible.

At the same time, the reason why she had taken this offer was that this position had carried an implicit, unspoken threat.

If she had refused, the role would have been given to the werewolves, the ancient, blood-sworn enemies of the vampire race.

That alone made refusal impossible for her, and thus, Altheria had accepted the position, not out of ambition, but out of necessity.

The other dukes had pushed her ahead all those years ago as they had huge families sired by their descendants, issues like power struggles, and territory to manage, while she, on the other hand, didn’t have a family of her own descendants and was only related to the current Sangrials very distantly.

So she stayed out of the trivial issues of the Sangrials, and they stayed out of hers as they feared her authority and power, while also needing her influence at the same time.

Still, within the Sanctum’s walls, countless factions vied for power, influence, and control.

There were invisible lines she could not cross, political currents she could not openly oppose, and conflicts in which she could not overtly take sides, no matter how much she despised the hypocrisy and scheming around her.

And just as she was mulling over these frustrating realities, a respectful, melodious voice spoke from behind her.

"You are indeed right, as you always are, Lady Altheria, and no matter how much those dogs squabble among themselves, in the end, they cannot truly harm you or your interests."

The tone was smooth, polished, and expertly flattering.

Hearing this, Altheria turned around slowly.

Standing behind her was a tall, voluptuous blonde vampire woman with sharp, intelligent eyes hidden behind elegant spectacles.

She wore a form-fitting robe that closely resembled the attire of a high-class secretary from Ethan’s previous world.

She looked neat, professional, and subtly seductive as she adjusted her glasses with a delicate push of her finger and spoke with her posture perfectly composed.