Chapter 297: Bloodbound Curiosity

The silence between them stretched.Trafalgar was the one who broke it.

"And how does this work?" he asked.

Selendra tilted her head slightly, crimson eyes studying him with renewed interest. There was no triumph in her expression.

"It’s a skill inherent to our bloodline," she explained evenly. "One shared by all true vampires, though rarely used so... formally. A Blood Contract is created through mana and sealed with blood. Both parties define the terms. Every clause is absolute."

She folded her hands on the table as if discussing a business arrangement rather than something lethal.

"If either party violates the agreement," Selendra continued, "their heart stops. Immediately. No delay or appeal. The secret dies with them."

Trafalgar’s gaze sharpened.

"So," he said slowly, "you wouldn’t be able to say anything about my Status. To anyone."

Selendra nodded without hesitation. "Correct. If that is written, then even speaking a fragment of it would kill me."

"And if your family asks?" he pressed.

"That depends," she replied. "You decide what I’m allowed to say to House Nocthar. I can fabricate a version you approve. Nothing more."

That answer mattered.

It meant control.

Trafalgar leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose. For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.

Selendra wasn’t an ally. She had made that clear.

But she wasn’t an enemy either.

She was something worse—a variable. Dangerous not because she acted, but because she knew. And knowledge, in the wrong hands, reshaped wars before swords were ever drawn.

Still... a contained variable was better than an unknown one.

If he accepted, Selendra would gain information about him—but she would be the only one who ever could. Bound for life. Bound by death.

And in return...

He would gain knowledge of the future.

Fragments, perhaps. Unreliable threads. But even a single glimpse could change everything. The war. The Veiled Woman. Primordial beings. Void creatures. Any warning—no matter how small—could mean survival instead of annihilation.

The probability of failure was low.

The potential benefit was enormous.

And destiny had already marked him once.

This was the first time he could look back at it.

Selendra watched him patiently, saying nothing.

"So?" she asked at last. "Do you accept?"

Trafalgar’s eyes met hers.

"Fine," he said. "I’ll do it."

Selendra rose first.

"Then we should move somewhere more... appropriate," she said smoothly. "My room."

Trafalgar didn’t comment. He simply stood and followed.

They left the casino floor behind, the noise fading as they stepped onto a circular platform rimmed with glowing runes. Mana surged softly beneath their feet, and the platform lifted them upward in complete silence. Through the open shaft, Carac unfolded below—tier upon tier of lights, towers, bridges, and drifting vessels, all stitched together by mana currents like veins of light.

The higher they went, the quieter it became.

At the top floor, the platform settled. Two figures stood guard before an ornate door—vampires, unmistakably so. Human features, composed expressions, faint crimson eyes. They wore dark formal attire rather than armor.

Their gazes passed over Trafalgar without pause.

No hostility. No recognition.

Selendra gave a small nod. "Do not disturb us."

Both guards inclined their heads and stepped aside without a word.

Inside, the room was expansive and refined. Wide windows revealed the city from above, the view uninterrupted. Plush furnishings, polished stone, and carefully placed mana lamps filled the space with warm light. It wasn’t so different from the room Trafalgar technically owned in this very hotel.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Selendra turned toward him and extended her hand.

A blank sheet of parchment materialized in the air between them, formed entirely of condensed mana. It hovered, pristine and waiting.

"Let’s be precise," she said calmly. "Ambiguity kills people in contracts like this."

They spoke quietly, clause by clause, refining every line until nothing was left to interpretation.

When they finished, Selendra read it aloud.

"If either party violates any clause of this contract, their heart will cease to function immediately."

Her tone remained even.

"Party One—Selendra au Nocthar—may not disclose any information regarding the Status, abilities, or abnormalities of Party Two, Trafalgar du Morgain, to any individual or entity. Violation results in death."

Trafalgar listened without blinking.

"Party Two agrees to satisfy the curiosity of Party One under the terms outlined."

Selendra continued.

"Party One must convey all visions, prophecies, or information obtained through Blood Oracle abilities to Party Two truthfully, completely, and without omission. Any deception or concealment results in death."

A pause.

"Additionally," she added, glancing at Trafalgar, "any attempt to manipulate or indirectly reveal said information through implication or third parties will also count as violation."

Good, he thought. She hadn’t missed anything.

"The contract remains active until one party dies or both parties mutually agree to dissolve it."

At the bottom, two empty spaces waited.

Party One.

Party Two.

Trafalgar exhaled slowly.

"Fuck it."

Widow’s Whisper manifested in his hand. Without hesitation, he drew the blade across his palm. A thin cut opened, and a single drop of blood fell onto the space marked Party Two.

The wound began to close almost immediately.

Selendra’s eyes flickered with genuine surprise—and interest.

She accepted the dagger, mirrored the motion, and let her blood fall onto Party One. Her cut remained visible, slow to heal.

The moment both drops touched the parchment, the mana flared.

The page dissolved into light.

A cold sensation passed through Trafalgar’s chest.

Blood Contract — Active

The words burned briefly into his awareness before settling, permanent.

He looked at Selendra.

"Well," he said quietly. "That’s done."

There was no going back now.

Trafalgar exhaled slowly, fingers resting against the edge of the table. "Alright," he said at last. "How do we do this?"

Selendra’s expression sharpened—not predatory, but focused. Businesslike. "That depends," she replied. "On what you want to see. And how much you’re willing to give."

"Give," Trafalgar echoed flatly.

"Blood," she clarified without hesitation. "The more I take, the clearer the visions become. More fragments. More detail. More... accuracy." Her crimson eyes held his. "Less blood means blurrier threads. Symbols instead of events."

Trafalgar leaned back, gaze drifting briefly toward the wide window and the lights of Carac far below. ’So it’s a scale,’ he thought. ’Risk versus clarity.’

There was no illusion here. Selendra would gain something no matter what—insight, impressions, pieces of him no one else was allowed to see. That was the cost. The danger.

But the contract bound her.

No lies. No omissions. No sharing. Not with her family. Not with anyone.

And his Primordial Body made the physical cost... manageable.

’My blood will recover,’ he reasoned. ’Information like this won’t.’

He looked back at her. "Once," Trafalgar said. "We do this once."

Selendra nodded immediately. "That’s acceptable."

"I want as much information as you can get," he continued evenly. "I don’t care if it’s uncomfortable. Or ugly."

A faint smile curved her lips. "Greedy," she said softly. "I like that."

Trafalgar ignored the comment. "Does it have to be the neck?"

She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "No," Selendra replied. "I’m a lady."

She gestured lightly. "Your hand."

After a brief pause, Trafalgar extended his arm across the space between them, turning his wrist upward. The veins beneath his skin pulsed steadily, mana flowing in quiet harmony with his heartbeat.

Selendra watched the motion closely, not moving yet.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

Trafalgar didn’t hesitate. He met her gaze directly. "Go ahead."

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then Selendra leaned in.

Her fingers closed around his wrist.

Her expression softened into something almost reverent as she lowered her head. The faint glint of her fangs caught the light just before they pierced his skin.

Pain flared—sharp, sudden—but brief.

Blood flowed.

Mana surged in response, instinctively trying to seal the wound, only to be held back by Selendra’s will. Her eyes fluttered closed as she drank, posture tensing, breath slowing as if she were listening to something far away.