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Chapter 66: The Fall of House Duremont
Chapter 66: The Fall of House Duremont
The Duremont family was one of the most powerful noble houses in Shambell, but unlike Montclair, who funded the war through trade and illicit dealings, the Duremonts were the military backbone of the kingdom. They supplied weapons, armor, and warhorses, and their sons and daughters commanded the royal army. They weren’t just nobles—they were warlords.
Their influence ran deep, rooted in centuries of bloodshed. From the shadows, they orchestrated massacres, crushed rebellions, and ensured that Shambell’s army remained a force of terror. They didn’t just support the king’s ambition; they fed it, nurtured it, and ensured that war would never end.
Seraphis had seen their handiwork firsthand. Entire villages razed because they refused to pay war taxes. Soldiers armed with Duremont-forged steel cutting down innocent civilians. This family thrived on suffering.
That ended tonight.
Seraphis moved through the noble district, her form cloaked in the darkness of midnight. The Duremont estate was a fortress—a towering mansion surrounded by stone walls, guarded by elite soldiers trained for war. It would be impossible to walk in unnoticed.
So she didn’t walk in.
Instead, she climbed.
Using her agility, she scaled the walls with ease, her body a mere shadow against the moonlight. The guards patrolling the balconies were alert, but they were looking for an army, not a ghost.
She slipped through an open window on the upper floor, landing silently in a lavish corridor. The air smelled of polished wood, candle wax, and the faint scent of blood.
House Duremont had its own private torture chamber.
She could hear muffled screams from beneath the floorboards—prisoners being “interrogated” by the family’s enforcers. Her jaw tightened. That only fueled her resolve.
She wasn’t just here to kill them.
She was here to end their legacy.
Her first target was Lord Cedric Duremont, the family patriarch. He was a ruthless strategist, known for his brutality in war. It was said that he never once spared a defeated enemy.
She found him in his study, surrounded by maps and battle reports. A man in his fifties, his graying hair was tied back in a soldier’s knot, his expression stern even in solitude. He was deep in thought, unaware that death stood just a few feet behind him.
Seraphis considered simply slitting his throat, but that would be too merciful. He needed to know why he was dying.
So she spoke.
“Lost in thought, Lord Duremont?”
He spun around, eyes widening. His hand shot for the dagger at his belt, but Seraphis was faster. With a flick of her wrist, a metal playing card sliced across his hand, sending the weapon clattering to the ground.
He hissed in pain, clutching his bleeding fingers. “Who—who are you?”
Seraphis stepped forward, her white hair catching the firelight. “The White Raven,” she said.
Recognition flickered in his eyes. He had heard the name.
“You…” His voice was low, calculating. Even in the face of death, he was analyzing her, searching for a way to turn the situation to his advantage.
Seraphis smirked. “You’re wondering if you can bargain for your life, aren’t you?”
She tossed a second playing card onto his desk. It was stained with blood—the blood of his youngest son, Lionel Duremont, who had been leading a raid on a village just last night.
Cedric’s eyes darkened. “You—”
“Yes. He won’t be coming home,” she interrupted. “And neither will you.”
He lunged. Desperate, reckless. But Seraphis had fought warlords before. With a single movement, she twisted, dodging his attack and driving her dagger into his ribs.
Cedric gasped, stumbling back. Blood dripped onto his maps, staining them red.
Seraphis leaned in. “Your family has bled the world long enough. Now, it’s your turn.”
With a final slash across his throat, Lord Cedric Duremont fell.
But Seraphis wasn’t finished.
The Duremonts weren’t just one man.
There was still Lady Evelyne Duremont, Cedric’s wife—the true mastermind behind their power. If Cedric was the blade, she was the poison. She manipulated alliances, orchestrated assassinations, and ensured that House Duremont remained untouchable.
Seraphis found her in her chambers, already awake. The woman had sensed something was wrong.
“You,” Evelyne whispered, standing by her vanity. Unlike her husband, she didn’t reach for a weapon.
Seraphis nodded. “Me.”
Evelyne sighed. “I suppose this was inevitable.”
Seraphis raised an eyebrow. “No begging?”
The noblewoman smirked. “I’ve always known I’d die by an assassin’s hand.”
Seraphis stepped forward, but Evelyne suddenly threw a handful of shimmering dust into the air. Poison.
Seraphis instinctively covered her mouth, but it was too late. Her vision blurred, her limbs heavy.
Evelyne’s smirk widened. “I had a feeling I’d need this someday.”
But she underestimated Seraphis.
Before the poison could fully take effect, Seraphis flicked her wrist, sending two metal playing cards flying.
One slashed across Evelyne’s wrist, making her drop the remaining powder.
The second embedded itself in her throat.
Evelyne gasped, choking on her own blood as she staggered back. Her body hit the vanity, knocking over perfume bottles and jewelry boxes. Her beautiful chamber was now a crime scene.
Seraphis exhaled, steadying herself. The poison was weakening her, but she had done what she came to do.
House Duremont was finished.
By the time the sun rose, the estate was in chaos.
Servants screamed, guards rushed into the halls, and the name “White Raven” spread like wildfire.
With the warlord family eliminated, Shambell’s military would be thrown into disarray. The army would still march, but now, they had no leadership, no funding, and no stability.
Seraphis stood on a distant rooftop, watching as panic spread through the noble district.
One more piece had fallen from the board.
And she was just getting started.