The Wraiths visited Golden Rock Fortress, bringing the good news that the Snow Domain had agreed to an alliance. They had come on a mission and presented the terms for signing the alliance treaty in person.

The most critical condition was that Cen Qing must arrive in Storm City unharmed before the wedding—no mishaps were permitted.

“This is His Majesty’s demand, and the vampire clan must comply.” The Wraiths’ voice echoed through the hall—detached and icy, making the threat explicit and leaving no room for negotiation.

With only one step left to go, it was impossible to back out now.

Gorod seethed inwardly, yet he forced a false smile and nodded in agreement, feigning magnanimity.

“It is only right.” He feigned benevolence, his act nearly flawless. Yet his voice was taut, betraying a hint of gritted teeth. “My son—the bloodline of Zhu Yin and me—is the jewel in the vampire clan’s crown. Only by having him forge the bond between our two clans can we demonstrate our sincerity.”

“I see.”

“You are a wise king,” Fran drawled, his tone light and slow—seemingly complimentary, yet laced with sarcasm. The faces of the vampire clan members darkened.

They heard it clearly—the Wraiths weren’t paying them a compliment at all.

But reality left them no choice; even though they recognized the sarcasm, they had to turn a deaf ear and a blind eye to avoid jeopardizing the alliance. For the remainder of the meeting, the Wraiths restrained their demeanor and refrained from further provoking the vampire clan king.

After brief negotiations, both sides finalized the departure date for the delegation and agreed on a meeting location: the border between the Vampire Kingdom and the Snow Domain, which was also the area where the rebel forces were most active.

Gorod may have been a negligent ruler, but he was by no means lacking in intelligence.

He had dispatched Skeleton Knights in advance to clear certain areas, opening up the main passageways and paving the way for the delegation’s journey—a promising start, to be sure.

“I hope everything goes smoothly!”

Bashir, who had been inclined to send troops, now realized that the overall situation was set in stone and could not be suddenly reversed.

He could only suppress his unease and hope that the peace talks would proceed smoothly, that the Wraiths would not suddenly change their minds and demand even harsher terms. With their mission complete, the Wraiths rose to take their leave.

Fran spoke on behalf of the group, politely declining the vampire clan’s invitation to a banquet: “I’m afraid we must return to Storm City as soon as possible.” A vampire clan banquet held no appeal for Wraiths; they would only find it tedious.

Rather than waste time on alcohol and flirtation, polluting their eyes with all manner of debauchery, it was better to set out immediately for the Snow Domain.

Hidden beneath his cloak, Fran clutched the exquisitely carved wooden box. He hoped to return to Storm City as soon as possible and deliver the gift to the Wraith King.

“It is a pity,” they said, though their expressions betrayed not a shred of regret.

The Wraiths rose to take their leave of Gorod, their manners elegant and proper, their demeanor beyond reproach. Even if someone wanted to find fault, there was no way to do so at this moment. Especially since the vampire clan was in need of their assistance.

Despite having his face saved by a direct refusal, Gorod showed no sign of anger.

He and his ministers were extremely understanding; they let the Wraiths take their leave without forcing them to stay, much less pursuing them.

“Zax, see our distinguished guest out,” Gorod said.

“As you command, Your Majesty.” The foreign minister rose from his seat, followed by several of his supporters. Acting as the king’s representatives, they escorted the Wraiths out of the palace to the castle steps.

The carriage was already prepared, with servants waiting at the front. The Wraiths did not board.

Goya half-lifted his hood, curled his slender fingers, and pressed his knuckles against his red lips, letting out a loud whistle. The sound pierced through the curtain of snow and cut through the howling wind.

Four dark shadows flew out from behind the clouds. The giant owls, which had been circling for some time, flapped their wings and descended, creating a terrifying gale as they dove, as if meteors were falling from the sky. A strange screech rang out, reverberating in everyone’s ears.

Their massive wings flapped, sending waves of biting cold sweeping through the air. Zax and his companions lost their footing and were nearly knocked off their feet on the spot.

Ignoring the vampire clan’s plight, the Wraiths leapt into the air, landing one after another on the giant owl’s back.

The giant owl flapped its wings and soared into the sky. The wind shifted direction, causing the Wraiths’ cloaks to billow backward, revealing pale robes and glittering gem-encrusted sashes.

Once they had steadied themselves, the giant owl accelerated, transforming into a white ribbon as it shot toward the clouds. The gale struck again, even more fiercely than before.

The same scene played out once more: Zax and the others were struck by the gale, their hair being torn backward from their scalps; even with their arms shielding their eyes, they could not keep them open.

They stumbled backward, leaning against a pillar to keep from falling.

After a moment, the wind subsided. The group cautiously lowered their arms and found the area in front of the castle completely empty; the giant owl and the Wraiths had long since vanished. Swirls were etched into the remaining snow, radiating outward in concentric circles and covering the area in front of the steps.

Dark clouds filled the sky, and four white figures shot through the air like arrows, leaving scars in the clouds. The gaps were quickly obscured by the clouds again, leaving no trace.

Snowflakes fell on his face, bringing a chill.

Zax turned his gaze away, abandoning his search for the Wraiths’ whereabouts.

Clearly, the other party did not wish to be pursued, regardless of whether there was any ill intent.

“Let’s return and report to His Majesty.”

With that, Zax turned on his heel and headed toward the resplendent hall.

As he passed through the corridor, he spotted a servant peering from the wall and suddenly recalled the message Zuona had sent: she wished to see him, and as soon as possible.

“Don’t let anyone notice, especially the King.”

Zuona’s attitude was quite peculiar, exuding an unusual aura, and Zax couldn’t help but feel suspicious. He began to seriously consider how he could avoid attracting attention and meet with her in secret.

This was by no means an easy task.

Most crucially, why had the Queen made such a request?

What had the Queen gone through without his knowledge? What had caused her to change? Lost in thought, Zax walked with heavy steps, remaining silent the entire way.

Upon reaching the entrance to the hall, the group paused before the exquisite relief carvings.

Zax quickly composed himself. He raised his hand, cautiously placed it on the door panel, and pushed the door open.

As he stepped into the hall, the foreign minister resumed his fawning manner, his face wearing a humble expression that betrayed not a single flaw.

“Your Majesty, the Wraiths have departed.” 

“You did well, Zax.”

With that matter settled, Gorod relaxed completely.

His passion was hosting banquets, feasting through the night, and reveling with beautiful women—and today was no exception. The Wraiths had declined the invitation, but the banquet would not be canceled because of it.

He extended an invitation to his many ministers, asking them to stay at the palace that night to share fine wine and delicious food with him and indulge in the pleasures of the flesh.

“Now that matters have been settled, it’s time for everyone to relax.” Naturally, the ministers would not refuse Gorod’s invitation.

At the king’s command, attendants deftly served fine wine, and beautiful women glided into the room. The banquet hall was filled with laughter and merriment; amid the clinking of cups and the clatter of cutlery, a scene of extravagant luxury unfolded.

“Gentlemen, here’s to the alliance!”

Wine mingled with blood, and the air was thick with a decadent, sweet-sour scent.

Seductive beauties whirled through the hall, dancing barefoot to the rhythm. The anklets and bracelets on their ankles and wrists clinked against one another, while the bells at their waists trembled and jingled incessantly.

Gorod and his ministers raised their glasses throughout the festivities, drinking themselves into a stupor until they slumped in their seats.

Before passing out, some muttered incoherently, their voices slurred, and their words cut short, making it difficult to discern what they were trying to say. The beauties flitted among the guests, their sheer, flowing gowns billowing like flower-adorned butterflies—enchanting and intoxicating, yet elusive.

Queen Zuona was deeply uneasy and frequently sent messengers to gather intelligence.

The answers were all the same: the banquet hall was filled with drunks; Gorod and the ministers were all dead drunk, fast asleep. “What about Zax? Is he drunk too?” Zuona sat before her dressing table; the half-length mirror cast a cold, flickering light, clearly reflecting the anxiety on her face. Unfastening her elaborate gown, she wore a loose nightgown that still failed to conceal her exquisite figure.

Her thick, long hair fell over her shoulders. A maid knelt on the floor, holding a comb, carefully combing through her hair with meticulous care. A servant who had been gathering intelligence stood at the doorway.

He was a mixed-blood member of the vampire clan and the Beastmen, possessing the physical traits of both, though unfortunately, he had inherited few of their abilities.

Weak of constitution and lacking in intelligence, he was unlikely to achieve much and was rejected by both his father’s and his mother’s families. To survive, he had no choice but to enter the court, becoming a lowly servant.

He was fortunate to be chosen by Zuona to become the queen’s attendant.

He cherished this position, always carrying out his duties with utmost diligence, never daring to be the slightest bit careless. “Answer me, Habuke,” Zuona said in a deep voice.

Habuke bowed deeply, his forehead lowered, and answered cautiously, “Yes, Your Majesty. The Count is also drunk.” As he moved, his overly long arms draped onto the floor, giving him a somewhat peculiar appearance.

His mother was a beastman, and his father belonged to a vampire clan; their aesthetic sensibilities were worlds apart. Had his parents not been drunk and ended up sleeping together by accident, he would never have been born.

Though he wasn’t sure whether he should count himself lucky to have been born.

“What a waste of time!” Zuona complained discontentedly. She knew full well that Zax couldn’t be blamed for this. With the king hosting a banquet and all the ministers in attendance, if he acted out of line, he would inevitably arouse Gorod’s suspicion.

Besides, Bashir was there too.

The chancellor held opposing political views to her brother and was constantly looking for ways to find fault with Zax. If she were to inadvertently give him ammunition, things would get quite complicated.

“Never mind.” Zuona tossed aside her hair ribbon and suddenly stood up from her chair.

The maid failed to notice her movement and, unable to react in time, accidentally yanked out a few strands of her long hair.

Seeing the strands of hair in her hand, the maid turned ashen with fear, prostrating herself on the ground and trembling so violently she didn’t even dare to beg for mercy.

Zuona turned to look at her and caught sight of the strands of hair dangling from her hand.

“Your Majesty…” A court lady standing nearby felt a pang of pity and was about to plead for the maid’s mercy when she saw Zuona extend her right hand, her fingers clamping down on the maid’s scalp. Her nails, stained with cinnabar-stained nails sliced through the maid’s scalp and savagely pierced her skull.

Agonizing pain surged through her; the maid opened her mouth wide but could not utter a sound.

Her eyes, bloodshot and bulging strangely, reached their limit and suddenly burst, spraying a spray of crimson. Thick blood slid down her eye sockets, overflowed her cheeks, and dripped in a stream down her chin.

Drip.

A drop of blood hit the floor.

The maid’s complexion quickly turned ashen; the flame of life extinguished, and the room fell into a deathly silence. Zuona released her grip, and the maid’s body slumped to the floor, like a soulless rag doll.

“How disgusting.” Zuona squeezed the blood between her fingertips, rubbing them together, and scowled in revulsion. The maid’s blood was too heavily mixed with foreign blood; the smell was foul, and she didn’t even want to taste a single drop.

The lady-in-waiting standing nearby finally snapped out of her daze. She hurried forward and wiped Zuona’s palm with a handkerchief. “Your Majesty, please calm down,” she said.

“I’m in a terrible mood, my dear Diya.” Zuona’s right hand was taken, while her left cupped the lady-in-waiting’s face, her icy lips pressing against the corner of her mouth. “Stay with me tonight.”

The lady-in-waiting lowered her eyes and replied obediently, “It is my honor, Your Majesty.”

The maid’s body was dragged away, a trail of blood winding through the corridor and down into the basement. There, the Hunchbacks were waiting.

They were skilled at disposing of any corpse, ensuring not a single bone remained. 

In contrast to the clamor of the palace, the Black Tower was unusually quiet that night.

The Black Knights did not remain in the bedchamber; they went in groups to the stables

to select their warhorses. The cold weather could not dampen their enthusiasm.

Thirty men stood in tight-fitting armor, their sturdy calves encased in riding boots, their trousers outlining perfect muscular contours. Wide belts cinched their waists; their lean, muscular backs, powerful arms, and broad shoulders were enough to set anyone’s blood racing.

The knights filed through the stables one by one, leading out the warhorses they had chosen. There were enough horses to effectively prevent any scramble.

Even if two riders shared the same preference, they could resolve the matter through negotiation when faced with more options, so conflict rarely arose. Mino selected a group of chestnut-colored warhorses.

This horse had a broad chest, a thick neck, and four strong, powerful legs. Its red mane flowed like silk, and its teeth were perfectly aligned. He had no doubt that it could easily kick a wolf to death.

Penorte had a particular fondness for a gray horse. He pulled some sugar cubes from his pocket and quickly befriended the steed. He gently stroked the horse’s neck, running his fingers through its mane, and easily won the horse’s trust.

By the time he swung himself into the saddle and led the horse on a trot around the Black Tower, most of the other knights were still wrestling with their new mounts, trying to subdue them by brute force.

Among them was Mino.

Conquest by force was the Black Knights’ customary method, ensuring they could select the most compatible partner.

Penorte, on the other hand, stood out from the crowd, his approach markedly different from the others. Even if one wished to imitate him, it would be futile without his natural rapport. Several Thorn Maids appeared at the stables. They did not rush to speak but remained where they were, watching the Black Knights’ movements with interest. Only after all thirty had tamed their warhorses and were trotting along with their mounts did they step forward.

One maid held a box; when she opened the lid, it revealed rings of identical design.

There were thirty in total, each ring face engraved with ancient, mysterious script, every stroke concealing a hidden power. “A gift from His Highness, symbolizing your status as knights,” Yuanwei said, holding the wooden box with both hands as the Black Knights gathered around her. They served both as rings and seals, symbolizing the Black Knights’ status.

Cen Qing had made a promise to the Black Knights: to grant them status, honor, and wealth.

He was now fulfilling his promise.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

The Black Knights made no pretense of modesty; each stepped forward to take one, slipping it neatly onto their finger.

The material of the rings was unique; the bands adjusted automatically to fit snugly around the knights’ fingers, remaining secure no matter how vigorous their movements.

“Mithril?” Even the Black Knights couldn’t help but be surprised upon recognizing the material of the rings.

“Why are you surprised? You know His Highness’s identity and are well aware of the legacy he has inherited.” With that, Yuanwei closed the lid of the box with one hand and nodded to her companions. The maids did not linger, turning to leave together.

Watching their retreating figures, the Black Knights exchanged glances, unconsciously turning the rings in their fingers and running their fingers over the engraved inscriptions.

“Pure-blooded royalty.”

Heirs to the oldest bloodline—black hair, black eyes, noble and mysterious, inseparable from the kingdom. The Black Knights looked up toward the heights, piercing the vast night to fix their gaze on a specific window.

There, a light shone brightly, spilling through the window and piercing the gaps in the thorn vines. Enveloped in that light was the one to whom they had sworn their allegiance.

“We’ve encountered a truly remarkable prince.” Penorte affectionately rubbed against his warhorse, running his fingers over its forehead before feeding it another sugar cube.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Ribella looked at him, holding the reins of a chestnut-red warhorse. She loved vibrant colors; even when choosing a mount, color was one of her primary criteria. “I respect Queen Yin, but she is too kind, indecisive in her actions, and she sheds too many tears. She once came to her senses, but the tide had already turned; she was destined to fall at the hands of the usurper. His Highness Cen Qing is clearly different.”

“Quite so.” Mino walked over to them, rotating his left wrist to ease the pain from his bruise. “I would rather follow the darkness and sacrifice my soul to slaughter than endure such a tragedy again.”

Recalling the past, the Black Knights fell silent together.

They were born killing machines, destined to fight on the battlefield until their last drop of blood was spent. They were certainly not meant to cower in exile, counting the sun’s rise and fall day after day, wasting their lives in endless waiting.

“To stand with sword in hand and fight until the very end—that is the true destiny of Black Knights.”

Where the Black Knights’ gaze fell, in the warm room, Cen Qing’s hand was once again furiously scribbling.

While studying the Wraiths script, he had stumbled upon a collection of poems, and suddenly, inspiration struck, and his thoughts flowed like a spring.

Lyrical words flowed ceaselessly from the tip of his pen, spreading like a stream of tenderness across the paper, eventually weaving a web of love, every knot of which made one blush.

After writing the final character, Cen Qing set down his pen.

“I really do have a knack for this.”

He admired his work with satisfaction, confirming there were no grammatical errors or ambiguities in the text. With one hand, he opened the box on the desk and placed the parchment inside.

He began to look forward to his journey.

According to intelligence sent by Bashir, the Wraiths’ visit has brought forward the departure date.

Gorod would love nothing more than to send him away as soon as possible and then announce the revocation of his right to the throne. Cen Qing would never let that happen.

He must make it clear to Gorod that even if he leaves Golden Rock City, he remains the first in line to the throne of the Vampire Kingdom. This will never change.

To that end, he needed to accelerate the consolidation of his relationship with the Wraith King.

“My future husband, dear Lord of the Snow Domain, I truly look forward to meeting you.” Cen Qing snapped the wooden box shut, stood up, and stretched lazily. It was getting late, and he was ready to rest.

As he walked toward the large bed, he bent down to scoop up the snow leopard cub, thwarting its plan to slip away quietly. Pulling back the bed curtains, Cen Qing lifted the thick blanket and sank into the soft mattress.

Holding the fluffy bundle in his arms felt like cradling a small heater, bringing him comfort.

Sleep came as expected. Cen Qing closed his eyes, pushed aside his complicated thoughts, and drifted into a deep slumber, enveloped in warmth.