My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 398: Blood Manipulation Test

Chapter 398: Blood Manipulation Test

The grounds of Sapphire Manor remained shrouded in an almost reverent silence, where the shadows of destruction still whispered stories of recent battles. The air was thick with the metallic, ancient scent of spilled blood—and, ironically, it would also be the perfect stage for what was to come.

Vergil stood barefoot on the cracked earth, arms crossed, observing the debris around him as if in meditation. His open shirt revealed the red circuits that ran through his body like translucent veins — remnants of his long-ago fusion with blood. His golden eyes flashed as he sensed Raphaeline’s light, rhythmic approach.

She approached with a lazy stride, her hands in the pockets of simple dark pants, her loose hair fluttering in the warm breeze. Her new body vibrated with a silent energy, refined and precise like a freshly sharpened blade.

“This place… smells like burnt memory,” she commented, stopping beside him.

Vergil nodded slowly. “Yes. But there’s something else now. Something alive. Pulsing.” He turned his face and looked at her. “You.”

She smiled, tilting her head. “You’re going to make me blush before the fight, are you?”

“I just want to confirm something, in practice.” He snapped his fingers, and small spheres of blood appeared from the ground—crystallized remnants of the previous battle. “I want to see what you’re made of now.”

Raphaeline raised an eyebrow, her scarlet eyes shining with hunger and excitement. “Ah… so that’s it. You want a duel.”

“Just blood. No weapons. No runes. No summonings.” Vergil opened his hands, letting the blood around him rise in slow spirals, like crimson snakes dancing in their own gravity. “Just the two of us. Blood against blood.”

Raphaeline licked her lower lip, as if savoring the idea. “You’re crazy, you know that, right?”

“Crazy for knowing what you’ve created. And wanting to face it.”

She let out a light, almost childish laugh, and then… stopped.

In an instant, the ground shook slightly. The blood that had been spinning in Vergil’s hands was brutally sucked toward Raphaeline, as if summoned by a superior gravitational force. She raised one hand and the liquid gathered around her arm, forming an elegant spiral of floating needles and blades.

Vergil frowned.

“You stole that from me.”

“You let it loose,” she replied casually. “You know how blood obeys commands. But with me… it obeys without hesitation. It recognizes me.”

Vergil reacted quickly. He twisted his fingers, creating thin spears of blood directly from the veins of nearby corpses. They shot out in a straight line, fast as bullets.

Raphaeline raised a hand.

Everything stopped.

The blood, already in the air, hesitated, flickered… and turned against Vergil.

“What—” he began, but the spears recoiled and hit him in the back with a dull thud, pushing him a few steps forward. He stopped, snorting, and wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth.

“You redirected my command.”

“I rewrote your command.” She took a step forward. “What you’ve done until now is master blood as a force. What I’ve done is reconfigure it as language.”

Vergil then concentrated. The veins in his left arm became visible, radiating in a circular pattern—he was using his own body as a catalyst now. A bubble of pure blood, dense as magma and luminous as a star, began to form in the palm of his hand. A secret technique of his. Unmatched.

But when he tried to launch it…

Nothing happened.

The bubble vibrated, shook… and exploded in his own hand.

The blood fell like rain in slow motion — but before it touched the ground, each drop was collected and dragged to Raphaeline’s side. She just looked at him with an amused gleam in her eyes.

“I took that too.”

“You stole the blood inside my body?” Vergil gasped.

“You left the circuit open. You taught me that, remember?”

He gritted his teeth and, with a fierce impulse, lunged forward. A punch. Not just physical, but with blood vibrating in harmony to destroy internal fields of manipulation. It was a dispersion maneuver — a technique designed to sever the link between user and matter.

But when his fist collided with her chest… he felt.

Nothing.

As if the impact had entered a motionless ocean.

Raphaeline smiled, almost tenderly. And then she whispered:

“My body does not separate soul and flesh. Everything here is blood.”

The response came brutally: dozens of blades made of Vergil’s blood shot out from her back like an inverted porcupine. They all hit him at once, throwing him away and knocking down part of a fallen wall.

Vergil got up with difficulty, his hair dirty, his face cut, panting.

“Are you reading my intention before I even execute it?”

Raphaeline walked calmly toward him, each step steady. “It’s not reading. It’s attunement. I am the flow itself now. I feel the turbulence in the blood of the world. I am part of it.”

She opened her arms.

And all the blood in the area—on the walls, on the floor, in the air, even the drops coming from Vergil’s own body—began to swirl around her, forming a spiral that touched the sky.

“Vergil,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “You taught me to listen to the blood. But I… I taught the blood to sing.”

He fell to his knees.

And laughed.

“This is humiliating.”

“This is art,” she replied, offering her hand to help him up.

He took it, still laughing, his eyes brimming with tears—of pain, pride, and respect.

“You won. Hands down. And not only that…” He looked at her as if he saw something sacred. “You have created a new form of life.”

Raphaeline just smiled, and for the first time, her eyes filled with something that seemed more than victory.

It was transcendence.

Vergil stood up, still shaking the dust off his shoulders and massaging his tense jaw muscles, when something seemed to occur to him. His purple eyes narrowed with genuine curiosity.

“…What about the swords?” he asked, still panting slightly. “The ones you loved so much.”

Raphaeline raised an eyebrow with a mischievous smile and turned her back, as if that were the cue for the real show to begin.

“Ah… them?” Her voice seemed to contain a provocation, almost a hidden laugh. “The collection is all here.”

With a single snap of her fingers, something pulsed in her spine. A vibration reverberated through the air—as if the world held its breath for a second.

Then, from his back, they emerged.

First one. Then two. Ten. Twenty. And more. More.

Like snakes awakening from a deep sleep, blades of all sizes and shapes slowly burst from the flesh of his back without tearing it, floating around him in perfect circular movements, like moons orbiting a crimson sun. Long swords with ornate hilts, daggers curved like claws, claymores black as abysses, translucent sabers, and even alien-looking blades made of metal that pulsed with internal light.

They didn’t seem to be merely stored there—they inhabited Raphaeline, as if she were a living house built around a legendary arsenal.

Vergil took a step back, instinctively. His face was a mixture of awe and reverence.

“…Hundreds…” he murmured, his voice almost failing. “These are… legendary swords. Unique.”

Vergil stood up, still shaking the dust from his shoulders and massaging his tense jaw muscles, when something seemed to occur to him. His golden eyes narrowed with genuine curiosity.

“…And the swords?” he asked, still panting slightly. “The ones you carried. The ones that screamed with the weight of history.”

Raphaeline arched an eyebrow with a mischievous smile and turned her back, as if that were the cue for the real show to begin.

“Ah… them?” Her voice seemed to contain a provocation, almost a hidden laugh. “The collection is all here.”

With a single snap of her fingers, something pulsed in his spine. A vibration reverberated through the air—as if the world held its breath for a second.

Then, from behind her, they appeared.

First one. Then two. Ten. Twenty. And more. More.

Like serpents awakening from a deep slumber, blades of all sizes and shapes slowly burst forth from the flesh of his back without tearing it, floating around him in perfect circular motions, like moons orbiting a crimson sun. Long swords with ornate hilts, daggers curved like claws, claymores black as abysses, translucent sabers, and even alien-looking blades made of metal that pulsed with internal light.

They did not seem to be merely stored there—they inhabited Raphaeline, as if she were a living house built around a legendary arsenal.

Vergil took a step back, instinctively. His face was a mixture of awe and reverence.

“…Hundreds…” he murmured, his voice almost failing. “These are… legendary swords. Unique. Some I’ve only heard whispered about in the corridors of time. Swords that have been lost for millennia.”

Raphaeline turned her face, staring at him over her shoulder. Her scarlet eyes burned with restrained pride.

“I turned them all into blood metal,” she said, gesturing lightly as the blades floated like natural extensions of her being. “Now they are part of me. They no longer need to be carried… they live with me, inside me.”

Vergil approached, looking closely at one of the swords. He recognized the blade—Black Muramasa, a legendary katana that had been missing for four hundred years, said to be capable of cutting the very will to live. It shimmered in opaque red, as if asleep.

“But… their power?” He frowned. “Can you use them?”

Raphaeline sighed softly, and her shoulders relaxed a little.

“Unfortunately… no,” she replied, a hint of frustration in her voice. “I can shape their forms, reshape their structures with my blood, as malleable and deadly weapons… but the power, what makes each one legendary—that remains blocked. Locked.”

She gestured with her hand, and one of the swords deconstructed into red particles before reconstituting itself into another form, as if made of liquid memory. “It’s as if I put each one in an inventory inside my body, you know? I can access the blades, but not their souls.”

Vergil nodded slowly, trying to process it all. “Even so… you’ve created a new system. A body that functions as a walking arsenal. A morgue of legends.”

Raphaeline smiled. “I prefer the term ‘sanctuary’. But I understand the drama.”

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