Chapter 479: The Solitude of The Forest

The silence was almost oppressive.

Where once a river of blood rose, seething like a living entity, only a desolate expanse of dry, cracked, and barren earth remained. The deep red that had once painted every surface had now vanished, as if swallowed by the darkness itself. The air was heavy, still, and exuded a sweet, metallic smell—there was no wind, no life, only the distant echo of something that had been consumed to the last drop.

In the center of that devastated expanse, Raphaeline stood as the only piece of color and movement.

Her skin, ethereally pale, glowed softly in the dim light, as if the stolen essence still flowed beneath her. Her hair, long and pitch-black, was more alive, shinier, with strands that seemed to move on their own, as if responding to the flow of newly embodied power. Her eyes, once intense, now burned a brilliant red, so deep they seemed to contain fragments of that extinct river of blood.

Raphaeline licked her lips slowly, letting the tip of her tongue savor the last trace of iron and pain.

“Wow… I’ve gotten stronger.” Her voice was deep, drawn out, charged with pleasure. A sinuous smile formed on her face, and the contrast between the delicacy of her features and the savagery behind it was almost disturbing.

She raised her hand, watching her own veins throb as if they were about to burst. With each movement, red drops shimmered beneath her skin, running like tiny liquid snakes. When she closed her fist, the condensed energy there caused a crackle in the air, as if space had been compressed.

The ground around her was dry, dead. No trace of blood remained, yet the earth seemed marred with an invisible scar. Wherever she stepped, the cracks in the ground deepened, as if the world itself rejected the weight of the power she now carried.

“Hm… how delicious,” she murmured, raising her eyes to the horizon.

There was something perverse in her satisfaction. The sensation wasn’t just of physical or magical strength; it was more intimate, more addictive. Raphaeline hadn’t just absorbed a river of blood. She had drunk the stories contained in every drop: battles, deaths, hatred, sacrifice. All of this now vibrated within her, multiplying into a symphony of voices applauding her existence.

The wind finally blew, carrying with it the distant scent of damp earth, as if the world were trying to heal the wound she had left. But Raphaeline didn’t care. Her eyes scanned the void ahead as if searching for something… or someone.

Raphaeline remained silent for a few moments, contemplating the empty horizon. The cracked ground stretched like a broken mirror of the world, reflecting not only the destruction she had caused, but also the aridity within herself. The wind, weak and irregular, stirred up fine dust that dissipated before it even reached the sky.

And it was in this silence that a thought escaped.

“Vergil…” she murmured, in a tone so soft it seemed impossible that the same voice could command storms of blood.

His lips curved into a wistful, delicate smile, and for an instant the savagery of his aura vanished. She closed her eyes, remembering him, the cold touch of his presence, the relentless way he looked at the world. Vergil was not like the others. He did not allow himself to be corrupted by futile desires; he was the embodiment of will, pure and indomitable. He was her husband, her companion… and, paradoxically, her greatest temptation.

A sigh escaped, laden with desire and melancholy.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen him… I miss the sound of his voice. I miss the way he looks at me…” His blue eyes opened slowly, shining like two moons. But it’s not time yet.”

The smile faded, giving way to an almost stern expression. Raphaeline placed a hand on her chest, feeling her heart pound harder, accelerated by the power flowing within her. Each beat was a reminder: the blood she had consumed could not be wasted. It would be an insult to fate itself.

“I need to seize this…” she said aloud, as if steeling herself. “This river of blood wasn’t just a blessing, it was an opportunity. If I want to be by his side… if I want to be worthy of him, I have to be even stronger.”

Power wasn’t just an obsession. It was a test. Vergil would never bow to someone unworthy of his attention. Raphaeline knew this. Deep down, that burning longing that ate away at her couldn’t be satisfied by a reunion alone. She wanted him to see her as an equal—or perhaps even as something more.

She raised her arms and let the energy course through her body. The earth trembled beneath her feet, small fissures opening, and a crimson liquid flowed through them as if the ground had begun to bleed. Small circles formed around her, pulsing blood runes that rotated slowly, like red moons in orbit.

Each symbol glowed and faded, being reabsorbed into her body. It was a meticulous process. Raphaeline didn’t just accumulate power, she refined it, molded it like a sculptor molds marble.

But as the magic dissolved in her body, a void grew within her mind.

The power was intense. The energy vibrated like liquid fire in her veins, but with it came silence. A cold, lonely, crushing silence.

Raphaeline slowly lowered her arms, taking a deep breath. Her eyes scanned the surrounding forest—or what was left of it. Dead trees, twisted like petrified corpses, surrounded the clearing where the river once flowed. The smell of dry wood and barren earth filled the air. No animal, no insect, nothing dared approach.

She walked a few steps, her bare feet crunching the parched dust. And then she stopped, staring at the horizon once more.

“This forest…” she began, almost in a whisper. “Why are you so lonely?”

The wind responded only with silence. Those words were more for herself than for anyone else. Raphaeline closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the faint breeze brush against her skin.

The loneliness.

That was what bothered her. The power filled her, but it didn’t warm her. The voices of the blood—the echoes of the lives she had devoured—were no companion. They were only distant murmurs, shadows of a lost existence.

“Why… is this loneliness so… sad?” she asked into the void, her voice wavering between vulnerability and anger.