Bound To The Ruthless Lycan

Chapter 8 : Secrets of the Iron Vault

"There's an old ash chute beneath the main hearth," Gerta said softly, pointing to a narrow gap behind a stack of firewood. "It cuts through the stone foundation right under Alpha Damon's tower. The masons from hundreds of years ago used it to clear soot, so the guards never monitor that passage."

I stared at the narrow, dark, and dusty gap. "Does it connect directly to the bottom of Damon's vault?"

"Straight to the back wall of the underground vault," Gerta answered with certainty. "But the vault door is sealed with magic. If you touch the seal wrong, guards across the entire tower will hear the alarm."

"I know how to breach the castle's magic seals," I said steadfastly. "Thank you, Gerta. If any guard asks about me, tell them I'm asleep in my quarters."

"Be careful, Sera," Gerta whispered anxiously. "If the Alpha catches you inside his private vault, he could execute you regardless of your status as the future Luna."

"I have to know the truth tonight," I replied curtly.

I slipped into the narrow ash chute. The air inside the shaft felt freezing, stifling, and thick with black soot. Crawling between the damp stone walls, I moved slowly without making the slightest sound. Every time I gasped for air, my chest constricted from the burnt wood dust.

After crawling through the darkness for nearly half an hour, my fingers brushed against a stone crevice at the end of the shaft. I peeked through the slit of a rusted iron vent. Beyond this wall lay King Damon's Private Vault.

I carefully pushed the old vent grate until it popped loose. Dropping down noiselessly, I landed on the cold stone floor.

The room was vast, cold, and dim, illuminated only by the glow of two crystal stones mounted on the walls. Neat rows of black wooden shelves held ancient scrolls, regional maps, and locked iron boxes.

In the center of the room stood a massive iron door etched with magic runes that flickered faintly. The inner vault door.

I approached the iron door. My hand trembled as I touched the cold metal surface. Three concentric circles of magical symbols were carved into the center of the door's hinges.

"A noble blood seal," I whispered to myself.

I pulled a small knife from the folds of my evening gown, pricked the tip of my thumb, and let blood drip into the center of the runic circle. Silverwood blood flowed along the carved symbols.

A faint red light flared across the iron surface. Heavy gears ground together within the walls. The thick iron door slid open slowly, making barely a sound.

I stepped inside the innermost vault. The scent of old parchment, weapon oil, and worn leather filled the air.

My eyes immediately locked onto a large wooden desk in the corner. Sprawled across it was a large cloth map I knew all too well.

The defense blueprints for Silverwood Fortress.

My footsteps faltered. My chest felt weighed down as if hit by a crushing blow. Tears welled in the corners of my eyes at the sight of my childhood home's layout sitting in the hands of the man who had promised to protect me.

"So it's true..." I whispered, my voice shaking. "You're the one keeping this map, Damon..."

I stepped toward the desk, intending to take the document. But as my fingers touched the surface of the blueprint, I noticed something strange.

The cloth map wasn't clean. Across its surface were red ink lines, heavy handwritten notes, and black X's over various defense posts. I recognized the handwriting. It was Damon's.

I pulled the map closer to the glowing crystal, meticulously reading every line Damon had written.

The breach at the west gate wasn't caused by cannon fire—it was opened intentionally from the inside. Silverwood reserve forces were pulled back under forged orders bearing the High Council seal, not the King's command. Lord Vane received three thousand gold pieces two days before the fortress fell. Who is the main traitor on the council forging the King's signature?

My hands stopped shaking. My eyes scanned dozens of pages of investigation reports stacked right beneath the cloth map. There were autopsy reports of Silverwood soldiers, lists of suspected council members, and details of black-market weapon transactions compiled by Damon over the past three years.

He hadn't kept the Silverwood blueprints to plan a m******e. He had spent the last three years gathering evidence to avenge my family's destruction.

"You didn't plan my Pack's destruction," I said softly to the empty room, my voice breaking with overwhelming emotion and profound regret. "You were trying to uncover who destroyed it..."

Guilt crushed down on my chest. All this time, I had doubted him. I had thought he was an enemy taking advantage of my weakness, when in reality, he was working in the shadows to seek justice for my family.

I continued searching the desk. Behind the stack of investigation files lay a small iron box engraved with the crest of a silver leaf and two crossed swords.

The official crest of House Silverwood.

The iron box wasn't magic-locked—it used a simple mechanical latch. With trembling fingers, I lifted the lid.

Inside lay a piece of faded parchment stained with dried, rusted blood. The handwriting across it was sharp and rigid. I knew this handwriting all too well. It belonged to my father, the Lord of Silverwood.

I lifted the parchment and read it beneath the crystal's glow.

To King Damon.

If this letter reaches your hands, it means the traitors within the High Council have pushed too far. They used your kingdom's name to strike our fortress from within. I will not survive tonight, Damon. They crave the blood of Pureblood Silverwoods for their power ritual. I am not asking for help to save this fortress, for it is already too late. I ask only one thing of you as a friend: save my daughter, Seraphine. Protect her from the council elders. Hide her where they would least expect, until she is strong enough to face them.

Never trust the court council.

Your friend, Lord Silverwood

The tears I had been holding back finally spilled over, dropping onto the bloodstains on the parchment. My chest heaved as I choked back heavy, ragged sobs.

My own father had entrusted me to Damon. And Damon had hidden me in the most lowly place in this castle—as a mute kitchen servant—just to ensure the council members wouldn't find and murder me.

"Damon..." I whispered, clutching my father's blood-stained letter tightly against my chest. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry for ever doubting you."

I understood now. The reason Damon had always been so cold, the reason he named me his Luna to-be in front of the noblewomen: he was luring those traitors out of hiding.

Suddenly, a heavy rumbling echoed violently from the vault's outer door. The stone walls around me shook violently.

A sharp clash of metal rang out from the outer corridor, followed by the sound of the massive iron door hinges being slammed with tremendous force.

I hurriedly shoved my father's letter and the kitchen ledger into the folds of my gown, gripping the small knife in my hand.

The iron vault door burst open violently.

In the doorway stood a towering figure. Damon stood there, his breathing heavy and labored. His black cloak was torn at the shoulder, and the broadsword in his right hand was drawn, dripping fresh blood onto the stone floor.

But it wasn't the drawn sword that made my blood run cold.

I stared at Damon's face. The muscles in his neck strained tight, black veins spreading along his jawline. And his eyes...the gold eyes that usually looked at me so sternly had turned entirely blood-red, glowing in the dark.

His breath sounded like a wild beast's low growl trapped in his throat.

"Damon?" I called out, taking a hesitant step back. "It's me...Sera."

Damon didn't answer. His consciousness had succumbed. The Frenzy, the mad blood curse most feared by Lycan kind, had completely overtaken his mind and body.

He raised his sword, glaring at me with crimson eyes without recognizing who stood before him. He stepped forward, dragging the tip of his blade across the stone floor with an agonizing screech of steel.