The Black Knights always keep their word.

They swore a solemn oath right then and there to protect Cen Qing with their lives and honor, determined to keep their promise and never break their word.

“As long as we are alive, no one will be able to harm you,” Mino said solemnly.

“Not even the king?” Cen Qing asked, feigning nonchalance, though his gaze was intensely serious. The fingers resting on the snow leopard’s back tightened slightly before relaxing just as quickly, unnoticed by anyone.

“Even the king,” Mino replied, his gaze unwavering and his tone unyielding. His comrades felt the same.

The Black Knights’ loyalty had once belonged to Queen Yin, and now it extended to Cen Qing.

As for Gorod—the man who had killed their friend and exiled them, the usurper—the Black Knights’ feelings toward him were entirely negative. Loathing, contempt, hatred, and a burning desire to see him dead.

If given the chance to place a sword against their neck, they would not hesitate for a moment; they would strike down with ruthless ferocity.

“We will not bow to a usurper, even if he holds the Ring of Power.” Penorte took a step forward and naturally lowered his gaze to meet Cen Qing’s.

He had long, ash-gray hair, neatly tied at the nape of his neck.

His straight eyebrows swept into his temples, and his eyes were the same color as his hair; even amidst the carnage of the battlefield, they always radiated a gentle warmth.

Setting aside his glorious battle record and the souls who fell by his sword, he resembled a scholar more than anything—gentle, refined, dignified, and elegant. He belonged in a well-lit room reading poetry, not on the battlefield wielding a blade as a battle-hardened member of the Black Knights.

This deceptive appearance often led to misunderstandings.

Only those who have truly fought him know what a terrifying man he is. His ferocity and violence rival Mino’s—perhaps even surpassing it. His oath of loyalty to Cen Qing is sincere, yet not without a touch of exaggeration.

Regardless, his attitude toward Gorod is genuine; his loathing comes from the depths of his heart. He would swing his sword at Gorod without hesitation, even if a king stood before him.

“If you have any doubts, you may brand us with the Curse of Truth.” Penorte took another step forward, drawing even closer to Cen Qing. His gray eyes were veiled by a layer of mist, as if veiled in gauze. “We will not resist.”

As he spoke, he raised his gaze to Cen Qing’s left, where a tree-shaped bird perch stood. On the gleaming golden perch, a raven was preening its feathers.

Two rings were slipped onto the bird’s legs; the inscriptions on them were ancient, capable of being awakened and used only by royalty of the purest bloodline.

“It would be unrealistic for me to say I’ll place my complete trust in you,” Cen Qing said frankly, his directness never coming across as off-putting. “But I’m willing to try to believe in you.”

He paused, then smiled faintly, crossing his legs and propping his chin on his right hand, looking quite relaxed.

“As for the curse, I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“Thank you for your trust.” The Black Knights bowed once more, their gesture carrying twofold more sincerity than before.

Vampire clans are creatures of darkness; cold-bloodedness and cunning are in their nature, and the Black Knights are no exception. Yet there are two sides to every story.

Once they pledge their loyalty, unless their souls dissipate and their lives are utterly extinguished, their promises will never waver. The conversation ended there, and both parties were satisfied.

Cen Qing’s schedule was tight; he couldn’t linger. He immediately beckoned to Moli and said, “You’ll handle everything from here on out.”

“As you command, Your Highness.” Moli accepted the order with a smile, then nodded to Mino and the others, signaling for everyone to leave the room. In the corridor, several tailors were waiting patiently.

Behind them were more than twenty goblins, who had replaced the attendants who had accompanied them into the tower.

The tailors and goblins held formal gowns in their hands, along with matching belts, boots, capes, and a wide variety of accessories.

The tailors’ craftsmanship was exquisite, and driven by a sense of urgency, they had finished all the ceremonial robes ahead of schedule and had come as a group to present them to Cen Qing. The thorn vines walked through their midst, followed by the Black Knights.

Their towering stature exuded a heavy sense of oppression; even without armor and with their weapons in tatters, they could not hide their terrifying aura of murder.

This was a group of bloodthirsty creatures.

More terrifying than the knights within the Royal Capital. The tailors thought this, and shuddered in unison.

The next moment, the maid waiting at the door beckoned to them: “His Highness has time now. You may enter.” 

“Yes.”

The tailors dared not take this lightly; they quickly pulled themselves together and hurried into the room. Each carried the formal attire they had completed, hoping to win Prince Cen Qing’s favor.

“I hope His Highness the Prince will be satisfied.” 

“This is a job that requires skill.”

“Pull yourselves together!”

Across the hallway, Moli informed the Black Knights that she would be leaving the Black Tower temporarily.

“I’m going to receive a shipment of supplies, including armor and weapons. Perhaps you’d like to accompany me,” she said. 

“Where to?” Mino asked.

“Bashir’s mansion,” Moli replied.

The Black Knights scratched their ears, unsure if they’d heard correctly; they almost thought their ears were playing tricks on them. “Bashir?”

“That opportunist?” 

“Would he willingly provide this?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

The Black Knights wore expressions of scorn, their opinion of Bashir plain for all to see.

“He’s more than happy to help.” Ignoring their expressions, Moli snapped her fingers. A dark shadow flashed behind her, and immediately afterward, the window swung open. Thorn vines dropped from the sky, swiftly reaching through the window to wrap around her body, their tip resting gently on her shoulder.

The Black Knights fell silent.

The group huddled to discuss the situation and decided that Mino and Penorte would take the lead, while the rest would remain at the Black Tower.

“While we’re gone, keep an eye on the situation outside the Black Tower at all times,” Penorte said. 

“Understood.”

With everything settled, Moli didn’t take the stairs; instead, she stepped onto the thorn vines and leaped out the window.

Before Mino and Penorte could react, the thorn vines wrapped around their legs one after another, dragging them out into the corridor, and with two whooshes, they vanished outside the window.

“Captain!” 

“Deputy Captain!”

The Black Knights were taken aback. They rushed down the corridor and crowded at the window, nearly breaking the frame in their haste.

Mid-air, the sharp thorn vines twisted and swayed, like mischievous children celebrating a successful prank. Moli grabbed a thorn vine with one hand, her body swaying lightly as her skirt briefly flared out, and she landed smoothly on the ground.

After the initial shock, Mino and Penorte quickly regained their composure.

The two slid down the thorn vines, using their exceptional jumping ability to plant their feet on the wall, then pushed off to land on the ground. The tall knight knelt on one knee, palms pressed against the ground, feeling the chill of the lingering snow.

“Let’s go.”

Without giving them a moment’s pause, Moli led the way toward a carriage, gesturing for them to follow. The driver was a goblin, and the carriage was pulled by two porcupines.

They were massive, with pointed heads and tails, resembling flattened date pits. Their bulging backs were covered in long quills, and they had an exceptionally violent temperament; only goblins could tame them.

The carriage was mottled with age, and charred marks remained around the door.

The carvings on the roof had been worn smooth by time, but one could still faintly make out a blooming rose. “This carriage belongs to Queen Yin.” 

Recognizing the emblem on the carriage, the Black Knight’s expression shifted slightly. “I thought it had been burned,” said Mino.

Moli opened the door, glanced back at him, and said calmly, “Actually, it wasn’t. It was hidden inside the castle, along with its owner’s jewels. At one point, the King’s new wife claimed it as her own.”

Penorte frowned at this: “That blonde woman?”

“No, that was Gorod’s third wife, whom he personally sent to the guillotine.” Moli bent down to enter the carriage, sat near the window, and urged the two men outside, “Time is short. Get in quickly; we have important business to attend to.”

“Is it Wingit?” Mino stepped onto the front footboard and continued to speculate.

“She was the fifth. She ended up thrown into prison and eventually died there.” Moli remained expressionless as she simply revealed the answer. “I’m talking about Zuona, Zax’s sister, the king’s ninth wife.”

“It’s actually her!” Mino and Penorte both clicked their tongues in unison.

“Doesn’t she know that anyone who usurps the royal inheritance will be cursed?” Penorte sat down across from Moli, raised his hand to touch the roof of the carriage, and felt a petal-shaped indentation. A gemstone had once been set there, but it had been pried out—judging by the remaining marks, the process must have been extremely violent.

Mino sat down beside him, idly running his fingers through his hair as he glanced around. “I don’t believe she was the only one to lay a hand on it. I’m sure Gorod’s previous wives all had the same idea—and their fates are the best proof of that.”

As for this new queen, he would wait and see what became of her. Once the three of them were seated, the carriage doors closed.

The goblin at the front of the carriage snapped the reins, and the porcupines, which had been curled up in a ball, immediately sprang to life.

They stretched their bodies, shook out the long quills covering them, and began running through the snow, picking up speed with every stride. The carriage’s wheels spun rapidly, lifting off the ground in an instant, almost as if it were about to take flight.

Inside the chancellor’s residence, over a hundred servants were bustling about in a flurry of activity. Cursed as he was, Bashir dared not refuse Cen Qing’s request.

He ordered his confidants to prepare armor and weapons and gather suitable warhorses. He also ordered men to gather various supplies, including long-lasting rations, wine and beverages mixed with blood, thick blankets, tents capable of withstanding wind and snow, as well as tools for lighting and heating.

He also made a special effort to gather several jars of badger oil.

A cold snap had swept across the entire Vampire Kingdom, and the Snow Domain in the north would only grow colder. This badger oil could treat frostbite; though seemingly unremarkable, it could prove extremely useful.

The vampire clan does not fall ill in extreme cold, but it does develop frostbite. This phenomenon is quite peculiar, yet it is an inescapable reality.

“Hurry, move quickly.” 

“Be careful!”

The steward directed the procession from the front, holding a ledger in his hands and occasionally jotting down notes or making corrections to ensure everything was perfect and no mistakes were made. The carriage arrived just then.

Thanks to the sudden visit of Wraiths, the king’s attention was focused on the palace, and the ministers had gathered at Golden Rock Fortress. The Royal Capital was unusually empty today, and they arrived without incident, encountering no checks along the way.

The carriage pulled up in front of the main gate, and the butler, having received word, hurried forward to greet them.

“The chancellor instructed in advance that if you arrived, you could take the supplies yourself.” The steward handed over the neatly organized ledger, every entry recorded with crystal-clear precision.

Moli took the ledger, skimmed through it quickly, and passed it to Mino and Penorte. The three wasted no time; after verifying the contents, they immediately began packing and loading the supplies.

Their warhorses were temporarily put to work as pack animals, laden with box after box and bulging sacks. They formed a line behind the carts, led by goblins toward the Black Tower.

On the return journey, a strange screeching sound reached their ears.

Intrigued, the three leaned out their windows to look, and, as expected, saw dark shadows in the sky: four giant owls circling overhead. The owls cut through the clouds, their white feathers glinting in the light.

Their bellies and backs were snow-white, and the edges of their wings were lined with black feathers, like two sharp blades that could part the gale with ease.

“Giant owls?”

“Only Wraiths can tame them.”

Mino and Penorte had fought in the northern borderlands and were no strangers to the giant owls. And the wolves—they always appeared alongside the Wraiths. Moli narrowed her eyes and urged the goblin driving the carriage to speed up. “Return to the Black Tower immediately.” 

“Yes!”

The goblin flapped his arms vigorously, and the porcupines sprinted forward. They rolled across the ground like spiky fur balls, whipping up a gale in their wake.

The warhorses had to stretch their legs to keep up, falling behind at one point—a testament to just how astonishingly fast these “pets” were. When the party returned to the Black Tower, they came face-to-face with a stranger.

He was tall, his entire body wrapped in an elegant cloak. The hood covered the upper half of his face completely, revealing only a delicate chin and thin lips.

“Wraiths.”

He stood before the tower gates, like a magnificent sculpture.

The goblin guarding the gate was under immense pressure; his ears drooped, his hands clenched the door panel, and he trembled visibly. The Black Knights emerged from the Black Tower and lined up on either side of the entrance.

Their hands gripped the hilts of their swords, the blades half-drawn, as they watched the stranger warily, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. Fran stood at the bottom of the steps, his hands clasped in front of him.

Ignoring the Black Knights’ vigilance, he slowly tilted his head back, gazing up at the middle of the Black Tower. He knew that the offering to the Wraith King—that beautiful vampire from the vampire clan—was behind one of those windows.

He should have been at Golden Rock Fortress, seated within a magnificent palace, witnessing the vampire clan leader’s extravagant performance. Yet, his overwhelming curiosity had driven him here.

He slipped silently out of the hall, leaving behind only a false shadow. Aside from his companions, no one knew of his whereabouts. Once, the vampire clan was invincible, capable of standing toe-to-toe with the Wraiths.

Now, the ancient bloodline was withering away, usurpers held power, and extravagance and decadence were rampant—decline was inevitable.

Fran sighed, feeling a pang of regret for his former enemies.

Just then, a figure emerged from behind the tower gates—it was a Maiden of Thorn Vines, holding a wooden box.

She wore a dark red gown, her slender waist barely a handspan wide. Her long hair was styled into a bun, adorned with a string of small flowers that exuded a faint, subtle fragrance.

“Juandan.” Upon seeing her, Moli’s eyes flickered slightly. She then looked at the wooden box in her hands; if she wasn’t mistaken, it was the letterbox Cen Qing had specifically ordered to be prepared.

As she approached the Wraiths, Juandan stopped in her tracks.

“You are an envoy from the Snow Domain, a loyal follower of the Wraith King,” she said. “Yes,” Fran nodded.

Noticing the pattern on the box and surmising that the maid had been sent on a mission, he lifted his hood, revealing a handsome yet devilishly bold face—a high, straight nose, slanted eyes, and pupils that appeared nearly transparent in the light.

“His Highness is very much looking forward to the journey to the Snow Domain,” the maid, Juandan, spoke again. “He has long admired the Lord of the Snow Domain. Here is a token of His Highness’s regard; we hope you will deliver it to the Lord of the Snow Domain on our behalf.”

“A gift from His Highness the Prince?” 

“Yes.” Juandan nodded.

“Did he know I would be here?” Fran found it hard to believe.

“I’m afraid I cannot answer that.” Juandan’s voice remained calm as she handed the box to Fran. Fran studied her for a moment before taking the wooden box with one hand.

Judging by the weight, it contained neither jewels nor any metal objects, such as a dagger. It must be a letter or some kind of document?

He hopes it hasn’t been coated with poison.

Fran thought this, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Wraiths are immune to all toxins, whether plant, animal, or mineral. Unfortunately, there are always those who refuse to believe it, foolishly attempting to assassinate the Wraith King with poison. Their fate is to be thrown into a beast cage, where they are devoured until nothing remains.

Watching Fran accept the gift, Juandan took his leave and turned to return to the tower.

Knowing he wouldn’t see Cen Qing today, Fran had no intention of lingering and turned to leave immediately. As he brushed past Moli and the others, he didn’t forget to raise his hand and pull down his hood.

The moment his face was concealed, the surrounding space warped, and the Wraiths’ forms became transparent. Just as he had appeared, he vanished abruptly from everyone’s sight.

With the alarm lifted, the goblins instantly relaxed.

Seeing the returned supplies, they spontaneously stepped forward to help, moving with crisp, decisive efficiency.

The Black Knights sheathed their weapons and strode toward the warhorses behind the carts. Each placed a hand on a horse’s neck and, feeling the vibrant vitality, couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Fine horses!”

In the central chamber of the Black Tower, a room adorned with carvings of golden roses, Cen Qing stepped away from the window and picked up the ancient, hardcover book once more. As his gaze fell upon the yellowed pages and his fingertips traced a line of text, the corners of his mouth curled upward.

“Wraiths—it truly is better to see them once than to hear of them a hundred times.”

At his feet, a snow leopard cub had buried its head in a large bowl, eating so intently it didn’t even look up. Its furry face was smeared with thick goat’s milk, making it look particularly comical.

Inside Golden Rock Fortress, Fran had merged with the Phantom, undetected by any of the vampire clans. The letterbox he’d brought back was concealed beneath his cloak and went unnoticed as well. Goya leaned in close, his crimson lips parting as he whispered, “Did you go to the Black Tower?”

“Yes,” Fran replied.

“Did you see him?” one of the Wraiths on the other side asked.

“Unfortunately, no,” Fran answered truthfully. Just as the other felt disappointed, he changed the subject. “He had a maid send a box, claiming it was a gift for His Majesty.”

“A gift?”

“According to the maid, the prince has long admired His Majesty and is very much looking forward to the journey to the Snow Domain. It seems he wasn’t forced into this marriage; he should be quite willing to wed Your Majesty.”

“That’s not what my intelligence reports say.” Goya frowned upon hearing this. His handsome features were hidden beneath his hood, skillfully concealing his emotions.

“Hearsay is unreliable; seeing is believing. Our Majesty will embrace a clever beauty. As for them,” Fran swept his gaze over the gathered vampire clans, his eyes dark and his tone contemptuous, “they are nothing but a bunch of fools being played like puppets, yet they think so highly of themselves.”

Fools?

The Wraiths present raised an eyebrow, nodded imperceptibly, and let a playful smile spread across their faces. A fitting description—and a true one at that.