Foreign Minister Zax—his status and title were not acquired through honorable means.

Having risen through the ranks via nepotism and fully aware of who held the reins of his power, he always managed to accurately gauge the king’s darkest thoughts. He acted without scruples, specializing in eliminating rivals, and firmly held the top spot among the king’s favorites.

Successfully arranging the marriage alliance with the Snow Domain was the first step in paving the way for his sister and the young prince. To avoid any delays, he demonstrated remarkable decisiveness.

“We must dispatch an envoy immediately to deliver the letter of alliance.”

Having secured full authorization from the king, he eagerly drafted the terms. Through heated debates with Bashir and others, he secured the majority of positions in the diplomatic mission.

The lengthy meeting concluded with a tentative consensus among all parties.

The ministers began making preparations for the mission, while also deploying troops to reinforce the borderlands at a moment’s notice. Should the alliance fail to materialize, they would be ready with a contingency plan.

The king reverted to his old ways, once again immersing himself in pleasure.

Fine wine and delicacies were brought into the banquet hall, surrounded by beauties of every kind. Joyful music flowed in his ears, and beneath the lights, the scene was one of debauchery and extravagance.

“Sing and dance, my beauties!”

Gorod rose from his throne and strode onto the dance floor.

He wrapped his arms around a beauty, cupping her full breasts, and brushed his lips against her slender neck, leaving bloody teeth marks. The hall doors closed, sealing in the scene of debauchery.

Except for a few who remained to join the feast, the rest dispersed, fleeing the extravagance of the moment.

Numerous carriages left the palace, streaming through the city.

The wheels spun rapidly, whipping up a gust of wind along the way, while a jumble of hoofprints spread out in all directions, only to be quickly buried by the snow. The ministers who remained were mostly members of the emperor’s in-laws; they were skilled at reading people’s expressions and were exceptionally adept at winning Gorod’s favor.

Zax was the foremost among them.

When the song ended, Gorod returned to his seat and raised his cup to drink heartily.

The dark red liquid spilled from his lips, winding its way down his chin and neck in serpentine trails—a sight that was truly shocking.

Zax seized the opportunity to step forward, his manner obsequious, his words brimming with flattery, utterly unconcerned that his sister was alone in her chambers within the palace.

“Your Majesty, you are truly admirable. Just look at those beauties—they are utterly captivated by you.” Gorod burst into laughter, the gloom vanishing instantly.

“Zax, you always know how to please me.”

He gripped Zax’s shoulders tightly, leaning in suddenly, a sinister glint flashing in his narrow pupils: “You’re clever—perhaps too clever.” 

“Your Majesty, everything I am is a gift from you; my very soul exists for you.” Zax suppressed his panic and expressed his loyalty as fervently as possible.

“Is that so?”

“I swear by the honor of my ancestors!”

Gorod stared at him, finally releasing his grip and holding out a cup of wine: “Show me.” 

“As you command.”

“Go to the Black Tower and bring the good news to my son. Tell him to come see me with the humility befitting a subject—not like his mother, who died young.”

Gorod’s words left Zax frozen in place.

He could scheme against the king’s eldest son, find a way to banish him, or even send him to his death. But when it came to facing him directly, he lacked the courage. Pure royal blood, the rightful heir to the throne.

According to the traditions of the vampire clan, he was more suited to the throne than Gorod.

He had been imprisoned in the Black Tower for a century, seemingly forgotten by everyone. Yet no one had truly forgotten him, nor would anyone dare to underestimate him.

Zax was caught in a dilemma, torn between conflicting emotions.

Gorod did not press him, as if he were watching a good show; he found the other’s anxiety highly amusing, which put him in a splendid mood.

“Well, my loyal Zax?” Gorod leaned back in his chair, propping his chin with one hand while swirling a wine glass with the other.

A beauty lay sprawled across his lap, her long, curly hair cascading down her shoulders, the ends draping over her supple waist and tangling intimately with the tassels on her sash.

She was the king’s new favorite, with a pair of watery almond-shaped eyes and an innocent, childlike appearance that always evoked a sense of tenderness. Zax was acutely aware that the king was issuing him a warning.

Perhaps it was his unmasked self-interest, or perhaps a mere whim; whichever it was, he could not refuse the king and was bound to obey.

“As you command, Your Majesty.” Zax bowed deeply, suppressing his inner turmoil, striving to appear as humble and respectful as possible. “I like your humility, Zax. Keep it up; don’t let me down,” Gorod said.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Zax bowed once more, lowering his head even further.

Once permitted to rise, he said nothing further, simply turned on his heel and left the hall. The king had issued his command; he must carry it out.

The banquet hall doors opened and closed. Gorod stared straight ahead; a flash of sharpness flickered in his eyes, only to be quickly concealed, turning into a murky haze. The beauties surrounded him once more.

Soft lips, slender wrists, silky hair.Whispered words, charming smiles.

Gorod lost himself in the moment, drinking heartily until he was thoroughly intoxicated. Outside the banquet hall, Zax strode down the corridor.

He fastened the buttons of his coat, his bearskin cloak flung over his shoulder. His long boots were polished to a high shine, but while they looked impressive, they offered little warmth—serving more as adornment than practical wear.

This was a common flaw among the nobility.

Beautiful but impractical, a tradition passed down through generations—they knew the problem but never changed it.

Stepping out of the castle, Zax passed the patrolling knights and set foot on the snow-covered stone path. The cobblestone road stretched straight ahead, branching into several paths midway, radiating out like the points of a star.

At the intersection of the roads, there had once stood a statue—in his memory, it was the city’s founder and an ancestor of Queen Yin. After Gorod ascended the throne, the statue was toppled, smashed into pieces, and discarded, reduced to rubble in the wilderness.

Zax rode against the wind, letting the swirling snow strike his face. His spirits suddenly lifted, and his mind grew unusually clear. He summoned his squire and took a squad of knights with him, specifically to ensure his own safety.

As they drew closer to the Black Tower, he dispatched a servant, ordering him to go to his sister: “Tell the Queen that if I have not emerged from the tower by sunset, she is to go immediately to the King. She knows what to do.”

“Yes, my lord.” The attendant acknowledged the order, turned, and jogged off, quickly disappearing at the end of the road.

Zax took a deep breath as the cool breeze filled his lungs. He continued forward, eventually coming to a halt before the gates of the Black Tower.

“Knock,” he said. “Yes.”

A servant climbed the steps and slammed his fist against the door.

Perhaps to curry favor with Zax or to express his contempt for the prince within the tower, when his knocking went unanswered, he actually raised his foot and began kicking the door. Bang, bang, bang…

The sound continued unabated, accompanied by the attendant’s shouts, all of which echoed inside the tower.

“Open the door!”

“The foreign minister has come by royal command—open the door at once!” No matter how loudly he shouted, the tower remained utterly silent.

The thorn vines outside the wall suddenly came to life, all awakening overnight.

Thorn-covered branches crisscrossed and tangled together, emitting a terrifying scraping sound. Several of them fell from the sky, coiling around the attendant like serpents and hoisting him into the air.

“Ah!”

The servant let out a scream, only to have his mouth gagged the next moment.

Poisonous thorns pierced his skin, binding his limbs. Blood flowed from the wounds, and a faint gurgling sound could be heard. Dark red stained the thorn vines; droplets of blood flowed backward, forming lines, and were all absorbed.

The attendant’s skin shriveled, his eyes bulged, and his cheeks turned ashen; his life was rapidly withering away.

More thorns drooped toward the ground, and Zax and the knights instinctively stepped back to avoid being struck. They recalled the legends of the Black Tower.

A dark aura pervaded the tower; every stone brick carried a curse—it was a veritable realm of death.

Shortly after Queen Yin’s death, the Crown Prince was confined within the tower. He could not leave, nor could outsiders enter. Rather than a confinement, it was more like a delicate compromise reached with the King.

Freedom in exchange for death—conspiracies could no longer reach him, not until today. As he watched the dying servant, Zax’s heart suddenly began to race.

An ominous shadow loomed over his mind; he had a terrible premonition. Behind the tightly shut door lurked a beast. He shouldn’t have pushed open that door, and he certainly shouldn’t have let that beast out!

Alas, he had no chance to change his mind. Squeak.

Behind the hanging thorn vines, the heavy stone door slowly swung open.

Dim light seeped through the crack, colliding with the sunlight. Tiny dust particles danced in the light, silent and still, momentarily coalescing into colorful patterns. Behind the glow, the hem of a long skirt came into view.

Everyone’s gaze shifted upward as a graceful figure stepped out from behind the door—voluptuous and tall, with skin as white as snow. Her light-colored hair was pinned up at the nape of her neck, revealing a smooth forehead.

Her features were delicate and refined, with a few freckles scattered on either side of her nose. Her slender neck was encased in a high collar, the neckline adorned with a circle of plump pearls.

Moli stood on the steps, surveying the group gathered before the tower, and finally fixed her gaze on Zax’s face. The foreign minister.

The elder brother of the King’s ninth wife.

A staunch supporter of the alliance with the Snow Domain, and the one who proposed the marriage. That damn man.

Moli narrowed her eyes, her pupils flashing red. Her sharp nails were hidden in her palms, sharp enough to easily slit Zax’s throat.

“By His Majesty the King’s command, the First Prince is summoned.” Zax cleared his throat, unwilling to show weakness to a mere maid. Unfortunately, his bluff failed. His voice was too strained, easily betraying his nervousness.

“His Majesty the King wishes to see his highness?” 

“Yes.”

“Follow me.” Moli turned and walked away, not the least bit concerned whether Zax would keep up.

Before leaving, she waved her hand casually, and the thorn vines at the door receded like a tide, leaving the unfortunate attendant sprawled on the ground. He was still breathing, but his suffering was worse than death.

The thorn vines’ poison would haunt him for the rest of his life; pain would be his constant companion, and even death would be a relief.

The footsteps faded into the distance, and the maid’s figure was about to vanish.

Zax had no time to hesitate; he hurried up the steps and rushed into the tower.

The knights tried to follow, but the gate slammed shut before their eyes. No matter how hard they pounded and shouted, the door remained firmly shut. A dull thud sounded behind him, and Zax stopped in his tracks.

The footsteps ahead also stopped. Moli turned her head; the light from the torch fell upon her face, like the line of twilight, half in light, half in shadow.

“My master permits only you to enter the tower, esteemed Count Zax.” Moli’s voice drifted faintly through the air. The flame flickered in the niche, casting shadows that stretched across the walls and at his feet, snarling and clawing like demons lurking beneath the light.

Zax’s nerves were on edge. He forced back the question on the tip of his tongue, nodded to Moli, and let her lead the way up the spiral staircase. It was a wise decision.

Moli turned with a hint of regret; she had lost her excuse to strike. The two climbed the stairs without exchanging a word.

Zax noticed that at every turn of the staircase, rustling sounds came from beneath every shadow—those were the goblins working in the Black Tower. They served only true members of the royal family.

Hiding in the darkness, the goblins’ bulging eyes followed Zax’s movements. Their leathery fingers clutched their ears, and their sharp teeth gnawed at their nails, looking decidedly unfriendly.

Ever since entering the Black Tower, Zax had felt an overwhelming sense of oppression.

A fear stemming from the deepest recesses of his soul nearly crushed him, making his heart race and sending shivers down his spine at every moment. Upon reaching the center of the Black Tower, the view suddenly opened up.

The strange sounds vanished, the shadows receded, and the goblins were nowhere to be seen. At the end of the corridor was a door, ajar, with a warm light spilling out.

The light spread across the floor, its edge touching the ground beneath Zax. Just one step forward, and he could leave the gloom behind, the oppressive feeling vanishing in an instant. It was an extraordinary sensation.

Zax looked up at the door, as if trying to see through the space to the master of the Black Tower. “The master is waiting for you,” Moli’s voice rang out, flat and indifferent, devoid of any inflection. Zax quickly gathered his composure and instinctively smoothed his appearance.

He checked the ornaments on his person and ran his fingers through his hair. Only after confirming that everything was in order did he take a step forward and enter Cen Qing’s room.

The room was warm and bright.

The bed curtains were fully drawn back, yet Cen Qing was not at the head of the bed. He stood at the window, his slim-fitting pants and shirt outlining his tall, slender figure. The collar of his shirt was open, revealing a sliver of his delicate collarbone.

His black hair fell loosely over his shoulders, and a single gemstone adorned one earlobe—its blood-red hue seemed as though it had been formed from fresh blood. The windows were tightly shut, and the wind pounded against them, producing a series of rhythmic sounds.

Cen Qing stared absently out the window until Zax entered the room, at which point he turned his head. A handsome face met his gaze—pale lips, yet eyes as deep as the night sky.

Black hair, black eyes—the purest lineage. Supreme and one of a kind.

For a moment, Zax’s ears rang, and his brain felt as if it had been struck by a heavy blow, buzzing with a dull hum. He suddenly understood why the king had imprisoned this prince.

The true heir to the throne—one capable of shaking the very foundations of Gorod’s rule—was indeed a figure to be feared. “Your Excellency?” Cen Qing spoke first, his voice soft and seemingly frail.

At that moment, Moli stepped forward and draped a long coat over his shoulders. She didn’t say a word, but her gaze was unwavering, and her movements were decisive and swift, leaving him no room to refuse.

Zax snapped out of his shock and hurriedly bowed. His gesture was not exactly dismissive, but it revealed no further sign of respect. He scolded himself for being so suspicious.

He was merely a captive prince. Even with noble blood, without power in his hands or a faction to back him, he could stir up no trouble.

Besides, he was about to be sent to the Snow Domain, destined to become a pawn to be discarded. He was nothing more than a tribute—there was nothing to worry about.

He must have lost his mind just now.

“Your Highness, His Majesty the King summons you and requests your immediate presence.” Having convinced himself, Zax adopted a stern demeanor, his tone unusually firm. “Am I permitted to leave the Black Tower?” Cen Qing pulled his coat tighter, seemingly unconcerned by the other’s attitude.

This gave Zax a false sense of security.

He looked at him with derision, his voice laced with sarcasm: “His Majesty is merciful. But I must remind you that humility is a virtue. You ought to be grateful, bow your head, and bend your knees. For heaven’s sake, don’t be like your mother—take this as advice.”

Contempt, sarcasm, provocation.

Cen Qing remained calm, while Moli was already seething with rage, a fleeting shadow passing over the hem of her skirt.

Sensing danger, Zax instinctively stepped back. Soon, he regretted his reaction.

“Your Highness, please leave immediately!” he said firmly. Moli had finally had enough.

A gust of wind swept past as she closed in on Zax with astonishing speed, one hand clenched into a claw reaching for his throat, the other lunging toward his eye.

Zax sidestepped the fatal blow but couldn’t evade the hand before him; his eye was slashed open by a fingernail, the wound gaping to reveal stark white bone.

“You’re asking for death!” he roared, reaching out to grab Moli’s shoulder.

Before the attack could land, a distorted shadow flashed before his eyes. In an instant, the maid transformed into Cen Qing, leaving him utterly stunned. Just as the claws were about to touch her shoulder, Zax hastily withdrew his hand.

Cen Qing raised her arm to shield Moli, and before Zax could speak, she suddenly swung her right arm.

A sharp slap echoed through the air. Zax turned his head—first in shock, then feeling the burning pain on his cheek. He spun around abruptly, baring his fangs in fury.

Cen Qing, however, remained unhurried. He took the handkerchief from Moli, wiped his palm with it, and casually tossed it to the ground.

“Your Excellency, you are being quite insolent.”

The words were icy; the slap, filled with contempt. He wasn’t worried about Zax’s reaction.

Either kill him, or endure it. The former was clearly impossible.

Therefore, even if it meant gritting his teeth, he had to swallow his pride.

Cen Qing tightened his collar and said calmly, “Since His Majesty has summoned me, I will obey the royal decree and proceed to the palace immediately.”

As he brushed past Zax, he lifted the corner of his mouth slightly; the smile was as cold as his voice: “I will keep your advice in mind, Your Excellency.” With that, he paid Zax no further heed and walked straight out of the room.

Moli followed behind him, cradling a wooden box in her hands. Inside lay a thick stack of parchment scrolls, clearly documenting Cen Qing’s assets—including the lands, jewels, maidservants, and knights left behind by the late Queen Yin.

Zax covered his cheek and glared fiercely at Cen Qing’s retreating figure. His lips twitched, but he finally unclenched his fists and strode after him. A man doomed to die can only be arrogant once.

He could bide his time for now, but once the pact was sealed, he would make the other pay—a hundredfold, a thousandfold!