Chapter 71: The Purge

By sunset, half the staff of the Royal Palace was gone.

Jackson stood in the main courtyard, watching as rows of servants, gardeners, and even junior ministers were escorted out by his private security team.

"This is madness!" The Head Housekeeper, a stern woman named Mrs. Higgins, protested. "You cannot fire us! My family has served the crown for three generations!"

"And under your watch, an assassin walked into my wife’s bedroom," Jackson said coldly. "You didn't check his ID. You didn't verify his badge. You failed."

He handed her a check. "Here is five years of salary. Take it and leave. If I see you near the palace again, you will be arrested."

Mrs. Higgins looked at the check, swallowed her pride, and walked away.

Luke walked up to Jackson, holding a tablet. "Boss, we scanned the backgrounds of the remaining staff. We kept only 20 people. It's barely enough to run the kitchen and cleaning."

"I don't need clean floors," Jackson turned around. "I need a living wife."

He walked back into the secured wing.

In the drawing room, Serenity sat by the fire, wrapped in a blanket. She was watching Mia and Alex play chess on the rug. Margaret was there too, looking through old history books.

"It’s an ancient formula," Margaret tapped a book page. "This poison... it hasn't been used since the 17th Century. The Order isn't just a terrorist group. It's a cult. A cult that has existed in these mountains for hundreds of years."

"If they are that old," Jackson said, pouring himself a drink. "Then they must be in the history books. We need someone who knows the local lore. Someone old blood."

Serenity looked up. "Prince Frederick?"

Jackson grimaced. The last person he wanted to talk to was the man who tried to propose to his wife.

"He is a fool," Jackson muttered.

"He is a neighbor," Serenity corrected him. "His Principality borders ours. His family has ruled there for 500 years. If anyone knows the dark history of this region, it's him."

Jackson sighed. He hated it when she was right.

"Fine. Luke! Get the car. We are going to visit the neighbor."

---

The Castle of Principality of Arden.

Prince Frederick was surprised to see the black Sterling motorcade pull up to his drawbridge. He walked out, wearing another ridiculous velvet jacket.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Frederick smirked, feeling safe in his own castle. "Did you come to apologize for insulting my medals?"

Jackson stepped out. He didn't bow.

"I need information, Frederick. And in exchange, I won't buy your castle."

Frederick bristled. "About what?"

Jackson walked closer and showed him a photo on his phone. It was the symbol they found in the tunnel: The Black Serpent eating its tail.

The smirk vanished from Frederick’s face instantly. He turned pale. He looked around nervously, as if the walls had ears.

"Where... where did you see this?" Frederick whispered.

"It's carved beneath my palace," Jackson said. "And the people who use this symbol tried to poison my unborn child today."

Frederick crossed himself. "Mother of God."

He grabbed Jackson’s arm—surprising Jackson—and pulled him inside the heavy gates.

"We cannot speak out here," Frederick hissed. "The wind carries whispers."

Inside the safety of his library, Frederick poured two glasses of strong brandy. His hands were shaking.

"That is the sigil of The Ouroboros," Frederick explained, his voice low. "The World Serpent. They are older than your throne. Older than mine."

"Legend says they were alchemists. Sorcerers. They sought the 'Blood of the Earth' to live forever."

"They aren't legends," Jackson said grimly. "My uncle Arthur is one of them. And he is mutated."

"Listen to me, Sterling," Frederick looked Jackson in the eye with unexpected seriousness. "You Americans fight with money and guns. The Ouroboros fights with shadows and blood magic. You cannot kill them with bullets."

"How do I kill them?" Jackson asked.

Frederick walked to a dusty display case. He pointed to an ancient, rusted map.

"You have to cut off the head. The 'Grand Master'. But no one knows who he is. He could be anyone. He could be my butler. He could be your gardener. He changes faces every fifty years."

Frederick paused.

"But there is a prophecy. Only the 'Sun of Montbert' can burn the Serpent."

"Sun?" Jackson frowned.

"The Golden Hawk," Frederick tapped the crest of Montbert. "It represents the Sun. Your wife... Aurelia. She is the only thing they fear. That's why they want her dead. Or captured."

Jackson clenched his fist.

"Thank you, Frederick," Jackson turned to leave. "You are more useful than you look."

"Wait!" Frederick called out. "If you are going to war with them... take this."

He handed Jackson an old, iron key.

"It opens the ancient archives in the monastery up north. My grandfather hid records there. Maybe you will find a weakness."

Jackson took the key. He nodded once—a sign of respect.

"I owe you one."

As Jackson drove back into the night, he realized the stakes had just gotten higher.

He wasn't just fighting a cult. He was fighting a myth.