Wraiths are a mysterious race.

The vampire clan rarely ventures into the Snow Domain. Every time they appear, it heralds bloodshed and carnage.

Wherever the Wraith army passes, bloodshed and war follow. Year after year, the impression of terror deepens, and this race has almost become synonymous with doom.

This visit to the vampire clan’s Royal Capital, however, was entirely different from previous occasions.

Acting on the orders of the Lord of the Snow Domain, the four had come to deliver a message to the vampire clan: the Snow Domain accepted the vampire clan’s overtures, but Golden Rock City must demonstrate greater sincerity. What had been offered previously was far from sufficient.

A giant owl appeared in the skies above the city, and word quickly reached the royal palace.

The wraiths did not have to wait long; the kingdom’s high officials appeared together on the city walls.

In accordance with Gorod’s orders, the ministers donned their finest attire to welcome the envoys who had traveled from afar, escorting them into the city and into the heart of the vampire clan’s realm—Golden Rock Fortress.

The giant owl descended, and the Wraiths leapt from the air with graceful ease, leaving no trace in the snow as if weightless. They were both mysterious and terrifying.

Their dark cloaks fell to their ankles; as they landed, the hems flared, revealing exquisite boots. The heels were inlaid with jewels, a sign of great luxury.

Eerie dark patterns wound around the uppers of the boots. With their cloaks draped over them, the vampire clan members had no time to examine them closely; they could only vaguely make out what appeared to be the Wraiths’ totem.

The four landed without a sound, their cloaks concealing their entire bodies, and their hoods remained firmly in place. “Lead the way,” said the leader succinctly, his tone arrogant, even somewhat rude.

The ministers, led by Zax, felt a surge of resentment, but since they were in need of his help, they had no choice but to swallow their anger for now. Gritting their teeth, they forced smiles onto their faces, though their expressions were inevitably somewhat strange.

“Please.”

A carriage awaited at the base of the city walls, drawn by horses of unparalleled beauty—truly one in a hundred. The interior was lavishly decorated, while the exterior bore exaggerated carvings in a distinctly vampire clan style.

The emblem on the roof glowed faintly, symbolizing King Gorod, who had replaced the ancient bloodline that founded Golden Rock City. Wraiths paused before the carriage; beneath his hood, a clear flash of scorn flickered in his eyes.

Supporting a mongrel to the throne, indulging in hedonism, and wallowing in underhanded tactics—no wonder the vampire clan is in decline. Seeing that they made no move, the ministers exchanged glances, unable to suppress their hesitation.

“May I ask…”

Before the words could finish, the four withdrew their gaze, entered the carriage without a word, and casually closed the door.

Seeing this, Zax and the others did not breathe a sigh of relief; instead, they grew even more on edge, acting with even greater caution.

The ministers exchanged quick glances and climbed into their carriages one by one. Throughout the process, there was no verbal exchange—the silence was eerie. Once everyone was aboard, the coachman raised his whip.

The fine horses broke into a gallop, sweeping through the city like a gale.

The scenery alongside the carriage receded rapidly, blurring into a hazy blur of light and shadow stretching along both sides of the road. Above the city, four giant owls circled in the sky.

They darted through the clouds, parting one dark mass after another.

Their agile forms trailed white light, coalescing into crisscrossing white ribbons that painted strange patterns in the clouds, only to be obscured again as the wind swept past. The convoy passed through the city, passing by a solitary, towering Black Tower.

Through the car windows, the Wraiths glimpsed the structure entwined with thorn vines, and their expressions finally shifted. “Black Tower.”

“The residence of the vampire clan prince.”

“It is said his mother was the most beautiful woman among the vampire clan, invincible on the battlefield, yet politically naive and overly consumed by her emotions.”

“The current vampire clan king ascended to the throne through deception— his methods were far from honorable.” 

“The vampire clan should have had a queen.”

Though the Wraiths dwelled in the Snow Domain, they were far from isolated from the outside world.

They have extensive intelligence networks and have heard whispers of the love-hate entanglement between Gorod and Queen Yin, as well as of the vampire clan prince who has been secluded in the Black Tower since childhood.

Even these seemingly aloof beings are not immune to a love of gossip.

“If this prince marries His Majesty, he will forfeit his right to the throne.” 

“That is the vampire clan’s affair.”

“His Majesty has been single for far too long; he needs a companion. This prince has pure blood and is quite handsome—he is a suitable match.” 

“Indeed.”

The wraiths ended their conversation and immediately withdrew their gazes.

Recalling the purpose of their visit, their expressions grew serious, and they had no further inclination for idle chatter.

“May everything go smoothly.”

At first, the Wraith King had been indifferent to this alliance; it was his ministers who were enthusiastic about it. The ruler of the Snow Domain cannot remain unmarried forever.

Whether or not there was an heir was unimportant; after all, Wraiths live for a very long time.

What worried them was that the Wraith King might become too lonely, or even reclusive. If that happened, the situation would take a turn for the worse.

Historical experience has shown that the Wraith King’s existence is unique; his emotional state is tied to the stability of the Snow Domain. If he were to become bloodthirsty or misanthropic like his predecessor, not only the North but all the surrounding kingdoms would be plunged into war.

The Wraiths racked their brains, trying every possible means to persuade the Wraith King, but to little avail. Just as everyone was feeling utterly disheartened, an unexpected turn of events occurred.

When Cen Qing’s portrait was delivered to Storm City, the Wraith King’s attitude shifted.

The Wraiths rejoiced at this, even going so far as to abandon their reclusive ways and begin traveling far and wide, each one working harder than the next.

This was exactly the case for Fran and his three companions.

The carriage pressed on, quickly passing the Black Tower and disappearing at the end of the road. As the carriage traversed the long street, the dark clouds above the city walls unexpectedly dispersed.

Bright sunlight poured down, its rays reaching the Black Tower. The thorn vines outside the tower were bathed in light, their colors softening. Inside the Black Tower, the Black Knights awoke from their deep slumber, opening their eyes to stare at the ceiling, their minds blank for a moment.

After years of exile in crude quarters, they had long grown accustomed to hard wooden beds, stiff quilts, and drafty rooms. The room was too warm and comfortable, leaving them feeling dazed.

For half a minute, they stared blankly at the ceiling, unable to tell whether they were in reality or a dream. Footsteps echoed down the hallway, followed by a knock on the door.

The goblin’s voice boomed through the door: “My lords, it is time to rise. Breakfast is ready.” 

Breakfast?

The Black Knights sat bolt upright, their hair a tangled mess. They flung aside the thick quilt and stepped barefoot onto the floor. A chill crept up from the soles of their feet, banishing their drowsiness completely.

A person walked to the window and pulled back the curtains with both hands.

A flood of sunlight poured into the room, stinging the person’s eyes so sharply that their pupils contracted instantly, taking a full ten seconds to return to normal.

“It’s morning. Get up!”

Penorte turned away from the window and frowned in displeasure as he saw everyone roll back over. He strode toward the beds, his large hands gripping the covers and blankets firmly as he pulled them off the knights one by one.

The Black Knights’ protests were futile; they could only grumble a few complaints as they struggled to leave the soft bedding. Ribella was not in the room; she was sleeping in the bedroom next door.

The Sunset Mountains were a harsh, barren wasteland.

Exiled there, survival was the top priority. The Black Knights disregarded gender boundaries and often huddled together for warmth.

Now that circumstances had changed, though Ribella didn’t mind, she still accepted the Thorn Maiden’s kindness and slept alone in a separate bedroom.

To be honest, having a bedroom all to herself—free from snoring and teeth-grinding, and spared from all manner of unspeakable odors was a pleasant experience.

While her comrades struggled to crawl out of their beds, reluctant to leave the warmth behind, Ribella was already fully dressed and appeared in the corridor, looking refreshed.

As the goblin knocked on the door, she stood with her arms crossed against the wall, her right foot lightly tapping the floor, a strip of dried wolf meat clenched between her teeth. Not to satisfy her hunger, but simply to grind her teeth. She was exactly two hundred and twenty years old this year, going through yet another molar change.

Her new fangs were pushing through her gums, replacing her worn-down canines. The process was long and uncomfortable, so she always tried to chew on something to ease the strange sensation in her mouth.

The goblins were diligent in their duties, persistently knocking on the door until all the Black Knights had awakened, dressed themselves, and stepped out of the room.

“Good morning.”

The group opened the door, each displaying a different demeanor.

Some were full of energy, clearly having had a good night’s sleep; others yawned continuously, likely not having slept enough; still others wore serious expressions, huddled together whispering—led by Captain Mino and Vice Captain Penorte.

Spotting his target, Ribella stood up straight, pulled the jerky from her mouth, and strode toward him.

All thirty men were wearing fresh outer garments; their shirts and trousers smelled crisp and clean, and their boots were polished to a shine, clearly having been treated with shoe polish. All of this was thanks to the goblins.

“Breakfast is ready in the dining hall at the end of the corridor.” The goblins were very polite; unlike their relatives in the wilderness, they had received a good education and undergone rigorous training under the thorn vines.

In contrast, the Black Knights, despite their noble lineage, seemed more like a band of barbarians. The group walked down the corridor to the dining hall set up by the goblins.

The Black Knights pulled out their chairs and sat down, enjoying a hearty breakfast in the spacious room. Bread, roasted meat, vegetables.

The selection was somewhat limited, but the portions were more than ample, and the food tasted quite good. More than two- thirds of them ate until they were stuffed, having to hold their stomachs as they left the table.

“His Highness summons you all,” a voice called from the doorway.

While the Black Knights were eating, several Thorn Maids appeared without a sound.

Their footsteps were light; they could move without making a sound. They could appear and disappear at will, materializing anywhere without being detected by anyone.

The Black Knights immediately stiffened and turned their heads in unison.

“Very vigilant,” Moli said approvingly. She stood with her back straight, her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze sweeping over the group. “I hope you will all remain vigilant and guard His Highness the Prince with the utmost caution.”

Mino pushed back his chair without a word, and Penorte followed suit.

One by one, the Black Knights rose to their feet. In the blink of an eye, their demeanor shifted from relaxed to solemn, undergoing a dramatic transformation.

“Please lead the way,” Mino said on behalf of the group. “I’d be delighted,” Moli replied with a cheerful nod.

The group left the dining hall and ascended the spiral staircase toward Cen Qing’s room. The corridor was unusually empty, with the occasional gust of wind whistling through it.

Behind a door adorned with a relief of golden roses, Cen Qing leaned back in a high-backed chair. On the table before him lay a fluffy bundle—the snow leopard cub brought by the Black Knights.

Thanks to the goblins’ skilled hands, its fur was fluffy and smooth, its white coat several shades lighter than before.

Its large eyes were glistening with moisture, and its broad forepaws clung to the tabletop as it occasionally curled its lips to let out a puff of breath. More than a leopard, it resembled a cat. Cen Qing had never kept a pet.

Not in this life, nor in his past one.

Not having kept one didn’t mean he didn’t like them.

As the snow leopard cub exhaled another puff of breath, he finally couldn’t resist. He cradled the fluffy little creature in both hands, buried his face in its belly, took a deep, intoxicated breath, and let out an ambiguous sound.

You couldn’t call him a pervert, but he was certainly a bit different from most people.

Unfortunately—or perhaps all too conveniently—the door hadn’t been closed properly, and the Thorn Maiden and the Black Knights appeared in the doorway. Their exceptionally keen eyesight allowed them to clearly see everything inside.

The expressions on their faces were indescribable—in short, it was hard to put into words.

“It seems Your Highness is quite fond of this gift. It is our honor,” Penorte chuckled dryly, trying his best to maintain his composure. Mino nodded stiffly, confirming his point.

The Black Knights remained silent, their impression of Cen Qing slightly skewed— though it was nothing serious. Moli took a deep breath and raised her hand to knock on the door.

The knock interrupted Cen Qing—just in time.

He was just about to slide off his chair, and there was no telling if he might end up rolling around on the floor with this furball in his arms.

“Come in.”

Cen Qing released the snow leopard cub, which, surprisingly, didn’t run away. It sprawled out on his lap, its eyes vacant, looking as if it had lost all will to live. It was hard to imagine such an expression appearing on a snow leopard’s face.

The Black Knights filed into the room one after another. The room was spacious enough that even with thirty men standing inside, it didn’t feel crowded.

“Your Highness, the Black Knights offer their greetings.” A greeting, not an oath of allegiance.

Cen Qing sat back down in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly on the tabletop, paying no heed to the group’s attitude.

“I am about to embark on a long journey and require your protection.” He cut straight to the point without preamble. “I will provide you with weapons, armor, and necessary supplies. Your duty is to escort me out of the Royal Capital and ensure my safe arrival in the Snow Domain. We will make a brief stop at the borderlands along the way.”

His directness was unexpected.

Mino and the others looked up in surprise, their expressions filled with confusion. Their first meeting had been anything but smooth.

It was hard to form a clear impression of Cen Qing; his personality and behavior were impossible to predict or fathom. “Furthermore, I will compensate you for everything you’ve lost due to your exile,” Cen Qing continued. “Including a title?” Mino ventured.

“Including a title,” Cen Qing replied, running a hand through the snow leopard cub’s fur, his fingers gliding over the soft, white fur and smoothing out the black markings. “The Thousand Lakes Fief is my fiefdom—one of the conditions for my journey north.”

The Thousand Lakes Fief was vast; at its peak, it contained over twenty cities and hundreds of villages.

Today, the Thousand Lakes Fief lay in ruins: cities in decline, villages in ruins, and with few subjects remaining, it was known throughout the kingdom as a desolate wasteland. Had it not been for this, Gorod would not have so readily agreed to grant the fief to Cen Qing.

Queen Yin possessed vast territories, all of which should have been inherited by Cen Qing. Gorod was greedy and shameless; it was clear he had no intention of giving them to him. Cen Qing was in no hurry.

What was rightfully his must be returned to him.

Gorod could hold it in trust for now, but one day, he would make the other party pay back a hundredfold, a thousandfold.

“The Thousand Lakes Fief?” The Black Knights were no strangers to this region; they began whispering among themselves, murmuring in low voices. Cen Qing did not stop them.

“The Thousand Lakes Fief is desolate and in dire need of reconstruction. I need to govern this land and restore its prosperity. I have the authority to grant official posts and titles within the scope of my authority.”

His words were well-reasoned and resounded with authority.

“Will you return to Golden Rock City?” Penorte suddenly spoke up, asking a seemingly unrelated question.

Hearing the subtext in his question, Cen Qing did not hesitate to answer: “I will. It may take a long time, but I will definitely return—in a different capacity.” Penorte let out a long sigh of relief.

Without further hesitation, he clasped one hand over his chest, pressing his palm against the spot where his heart once beat. Even though his heart no longer beat, the gesture still signified an oath of loyalty.

“Penorte, the Black Knight, swears allegiance to you!”

The Black Knights were a unified whole, yet each member was independent. They were all of noble birth, with ancient bloodlines; their first ancestors could be traced back to the founding of Golden Rock City.

Penorte swore the oath alone; though it seemed somewhat abrupt, there was nothing amiss with it. He was a good start.

Following him, the Black Knights took their places one by one, swearing allegiance to Cen Qing. They are swords, they are shields, they are the most valiant warriors.

“I swear allegiance to you, to defend you with all my heart and soul, until my blood runs dry and my spirit returns to the earth!”