The castle’s staircase was paved with crystal stones, its steps carved with exquisite patterns. The hem of his gown trailed behind him, making the silver thread embroidery and gemstones stand out even more brilliantly, like a flowing Milky Way.

The murals on the vaulted ceiling came to life, with countless flowers blooming in competition, their vibrant petals scattering across the corridor—a floral path leading to the Wraith King’s bedchamber.

Moonlight streams in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Through the bright glass, one can see the bonfires burning within the city, yet no sound can be heard—neither the rustling of the wind, nor the clamor of the crowd, nor the harp played by wandering poets.

The poets, instruments in hand, strummed skillfully as they sang new ballads among the crowd.

They sang of the great ruler of the Snow Domain and his dark-haired bride from the vampire clan.

“O great lord of the Snow Domain, O black-haired Queen of the vampire clan, the stars rise over the snowy plains, and the moon’s radiance bathes the land…”

At the end of the corridor, two doors stood wide open.

Unlike Cen Qing’s room, the doors were not adorned with floral motifs, but instead featured a relief carving of a giant owl.

The giant owl spread its wings, spanning both doorways. Its feathers shimmered with crimson gold, and its two eyes, set with gemstones, emitted a faint, cold glow—just like the room’s owner.

As the Wraith King stepped inside, the first thing Cen Qing saw was a golden frame hanging on the wall—a portrait of himself, painted by a court artist.

In the painting, he wore a vampire clan formal gown, with Dragon Blood Stones dangling from his ears.

The deep red hues dominated the canvas, making the subject’s porcelain-white skin, jet-black eyebrows and eyes, and raven-black hair stand out all the more. The stark contrast of colors struck the viewer’s eyes with such intensity that it could almost be described as breathtaking.

“Your Majesty, this is my portrait,” Cen Qing said as they passed the gilded frame.

The Wraith King paused in his tracks. He did not set Cen Qing down but continued to hold him, as if he had obtained a rare treasure he had long dreamed of—cradling him in his own hands, unwilling to let go.

“The moment I saw this painting, I was captivated by you and resolved to have you.” Wu Ying turned his head; the light from the crystal chandelier bathed him, his crown shimmering with golden radiance, and the embedded gems sparkled with dazzling brilliance—yet none of it could compare to his eyes. “A golden rose stained with blood—only my palace is worthy of housing such a treasure.”

His words were brimming with intense emotion, yet the hidden darkness within them was equally terrifying.

Cen Qing met his gaze, and after a moment, the corners of his mouth turned up.

“It is my honor, Your Majesty.”

Wrapping his arms around Wu Ying’s neck, he leaned into the Wraith King’s shoulder of his own accord, gently biting his earlobe. His fangs brushed against the skin beneath his ear, inadvertently exuding a seductive allure.

“I am more than happy to belong to you, Ruler of the Snow Domain, my husband.”

The arms wrapped around his waist suddenly tightened.

In the blink of an eye, the two were in the inner chamber. Before Cen Qing could even react, his back touched the soft mattress; a hand pressed down on his shoulder, and with the grace of a predator, he was pushed deeply onto the bed.

“My golden rose, you shouldn’t tempt me like this.”

Wu Ying propped himself up with one hand, dark flames igniting in his eyes, the flowing Mithril taking on a scorching heat. With one hand, he tore open his collar, sending the ornate gemstone and pearl buttons scattering to the floor.

Cen Qing felt no fear. He was smiling.

Before him stood the tyrant of the Snow Domain, the Wraith King who struck terror into the hearts of the surrounding kingdoms. Yet he could so easily manipulate the other’s emotions.

It was a rather strange sensation.

The dark-haired vampire clan allowed itself to be restrained. Within the confined space, he propped himself up on his elbow, placed one hand on Wu Ying’s neck, and slowly slid his fingers downward until they rested on the other’s chest, his palm covering the spot where the heart lay.

“Your Majesty,” Cen Qing tilted his head back, his sharp fangs peeking from the corners of his lips—their tips so sharp they could easily pierce the Wraith King’s blood vessels. “I want to experience firsthand just how much you love me and how captivated you are by me.”

Wu Ying seized his hand and lifted it to his lips.

His icy lips pressed against the inside of his wrist, his breath slowly trailing upward as he buried his face deep into the palm of his hand.

“I will let you know—with everything I have.”

As the words fell, the bed curtains were torn away.

The tassels swayed gently, muffling the sound of the fabric tearing.

In the dimly lit space, dark red Dragon Blood Stones, purple garnets, colorful jade, transparent crystals, and lustrous pearls lay scattered in disarray, sparkling with flecks of light.

Silver threads and black hair were intertwined, like day and night.

The bed canopy suddenly fluttered open; a pale hand gripped the edge tightly, snapping several tassels.

In an instant, another hand covered it, enveloping the first; slender fingers closed around it, interlocking with the other’s, leaving no chance for escape. Moonlight, like water, cast a clear glow across the floor.

Inside Storm City, the air was filled with the clamor of voices, and laughter and merriment rang out around the bonfires.

The celebrations continued, the atmosphere growing ever more lively. Everyone indulged in fine wine and delicacies, lost in music, songs, and dance, until dawn three days later, when the Wraith King and his queen emerged from their bedchamber.

Under the same night sky, while the Snow Domain welcomed their new queen and was immersed in a joyful atmosphere, the northern borderlands of the Vampire Kingdom were on high alert, with the flames of war about to ignite once more.

The wedding in Storm City proceeded smoothly, and news of the alliance between the vampire clan and the Wraiths was confirmed, sending the rebel forces into a panic.

“The vampire clan and the Wraiths have formed an alliance!”

“The Wraiths have sealed off the borderlands; many outposts have been abandoned—we can no longer hide.” 

“Golden Rock City is amassing a massive army; all noble lords are mobilizing.”

“Is the vampire clan about to launch an attack?”

“We can’t just sit here and wait to die!”

With Gorod’s tacit approval, the rebel forces grew ever larger. While they wore down the nobles of the borderlands, they also placed considerable pressure on the Vampire Kingdom. However, as the ranks swelled, the rebels’ problems became increasingly apparent.

The rebel forces were a loose coalition, lacking unified command; they were perpetually divided and preferred to fight their own battles. Internal brawls and bloody clashes were a constant occurrence.

Faced with the threat of the vampire clan’s massive army, panic and arguments were to be expected.

However, everyone was well aware of one fact: continuing to argue would lead to no good outcome; they had to make a decision.

“Gather all our forces, bring the slaves, and launch a joint attack on the borderlands!”

“Let’s march out of the Wasteland Forest and capture the fortress ahead!”

“Once we take that land, we can stand on our own and establish a formal alliance!”

Land, power, and an alliance.

This idea set everyone’s hearts ablaze.

“Let’s do it!”

Several large hands clasped together as the leaders of the rebel forces reached an agreement. A massive army began to assemble.

With the Rock Giants, the Underground People, and the Fallen Treants leading the way, the Savage beastmen, the Featherfolk, and the Wandering Vampires joined their ranks. The Snow Giants brought up the rear, driving the slaves forward as they surged ahead.

They no longer concealed their movements or operated in secret; instead, they gathered openly and marched toward their designated battlefield.

The rebel army’s procession was a mighty sight; banners of various designs were raised one after another, guiding the masses through the Wasteland Forest as they spread out along the way, advancing in a massive, overwhelming force toward the northern borderlands of the vampire clan.

Along the way, several savage tribes joined the ranks.

The members of these tribes were a mixed lot; seeing an opportunity to profit from the war, they had temporarily chosen to join forces with the rebel army. The tribal chieftains appeared rough and careless, but were in fact extremely cunning.

They pounded their chests and swore they would stand shoulder to shoulder with their allies to capture the fortress in the borderlands. In reality, however, they had already made up their minds: they would fight when the tide was in their favor, going all out to seize the spoils, but would retreat immediately if the battle turned against them.

“We don’t want the land—we’re only after the loot.” 

“There’s no need to risk our lives fighting the vampire clan.”

The moment things went south, they would immediately abandon their allies and flee, without a second thought.

With the addition of the savage tribes, the size of the rebel army grew dramatically. They surged forward like a flood, seemingly poised to sweep across the borderlands and destroy everything the Border Knights had defended.

There was no need to send out scouts; from their vantage points high within the fort, the defenders could see enemies covering the mountains and plains.

The main body of the rebel army was still some distance away, but the vanguard had already been dispatched.

A group of colossal figures formed a long line, advancing as if through an uninhabited wilderness. They strode forward in long strides, ready at any moment to charge straight ahead and attack the fortresses in the borderlands.

“The Royal Capital has sent troops, but it’s too late. With only the men we have now, we may not be able to stop them.” 

“Even so, we must fight them.”

“Do everything in our power—we cannot let them breach the borderlands!”

Origin and Buyete climbed onto the ramparts, flanked by the remaining nobles of the North.

It was an unfortunate turn of events—or perhaps a stroke of luck—that the plan to rebuild the Borderlands Knights had been put on the agenda. With the fort’s interior cleared, Buyete extended an invitation, and they formally gathered to discuss their next course of action.

Halfway through the meeting, they received the grim news that the rebel forces were attacking.

“They’ve come prepared and won’t retreat easily.” 

“This battle is bound to be grueling.”

“We must return immediately to reinforce the borderlands fortifications.”

“Before we consider anything else, we must hold the Northern Frontier and repel these rebel forces!”

Even though they are at odds with Gorod and harbor many grievances against the Royal Capital, they never forget their mission or the important duties their family has shouldered for generations.

They are the guardians of the kingdom’s borderlands.

Armed with longbows and sharp swords, they have sworn to defend this land until their last drop of blood is shed and their souls are forever consigned to darkness. The situation is extremely urgent and allows for no delay; they must return to their lands as quickly as possible.

“We need to leave immediately.”

Buyete and Origin did not stop the group.

The two opened the gates of the fortified settlement, pointed out a shortcut for the group, and did their utmost to provide the necessary assistance.

“Once you’re out of the stronghold, follow the west bank of the Falling Leaves River. There are several trails there that will shorten your return journey.” 

“I’ll have knights escort you to keep you safe from wolf packs and spotted tigers.”

“Look at those creatures—we must race against the clock; this is bound to be a race against time.”

Relying on their sheer numbers, the chaotic horde didn’t even bother to hide.

The massive column moved across the ground like a terrifying swarm of bloodthirsty ants. Among the ranks were the silhouettes of colossal beasts, as well as makeshift siege engines—a sign of the savage tribes’ sincerity.

“Let’s set out immediately!”

There was no time to waste.

The borderlands nobles assessed the situation and decided to implement a joint defense along the borderlands, watching each other’s backs and helping one another. They aimed to reinforce their fortifications at the last minute, prevent the pressure from concentrating in one place, and buy as much time as possible for each other.

“We’re leaving.”

“I hope you’re all still alive when we meet again.”

More than twenty men parted ways in front of the fort, slapping each other on the shoulders and chests. Even through their gloves, they could still feel the cold, hard metal of the armor. They had known each other since childhood and understood one another well.

Having grown up in harsh conditions, they had begun defending their clan’s territory and honor the moment they could wield wooden swords; they had long since grown accustomed to life and death, and faced with great battles and death itself, they felt little sorrow.

They felt only regret.

The loss of knowing that hope lay ahead yet remained out of reach—the likelihood that they might die with that regret.

“The true royal line intends to restore order. Unfortunately, we may not live to see that day.” 

“But we will do everything in our power to protect this land.”

“For the future of the vampire clan!”

A cold wind blew in from the north, carrying the foul stench of the fallen treants.

The borderlands nobles tightened their reins, bid each other a final farewell, then pulled up their cloaks and galloped off in separate directions, heading straight for their respective garrisoned territories.

Clad in armor, with horns hanging from their chests, swords at their waists, and bows slung over their shoulders, they stood ready to engage in battle at a moment’s notice. The chaotic enemy forces advanced in great numbers, their main assault direction unclear, and the borderlands were in a state of emergency.

Though the lord had not yet returned, defensive preparations were already in full swing throughout the domain.

The retinue was busy reinforcing the fortifications, operating the battering rams, and inspecting the gates and bolts of the fort. Slaves carried timber and stones back and forth, working nonstop.

The villages, horse pastures, and settlements outside the city were completely evacuated; everyone was summoned into the fortified settlement to join the construction crews. The knights, while awaiting the lord’s return, stood at the ready within the city.

Patrols met head-on, passing each other shoulder to shoulder. Faced with terrifying pressure, not a trace of fear showed on their faces. They never expected to leave alive.

From the day they entered the stronghold, they were destined to be buried there.

The night passed, the sun rose, but its rays were blocked by dark clouds; the sky remained gloomy, shrouded in an inescapable shadow. The knights stopped in their tracks, standing still in the morning breeze.

They were all waiting—waiting for the lord’s return, waiting for the horns and war drums to sound, and for the head-on clash with the vast enemy forces.

“War is coming.”

“We praise the darkness; we are destined to return to death.”

“Pride in slaying our enemies, our bodies drenched in blood—this is the eternal destiny of the vampire clan Knights.”

Either be swept away by the torrent of the enemy, or cut through that tidal wave with their own hands. These are the only two answers; there is no third option.

In the borderlands, amid the biting cold wind, numerous knightly orders were hastening their march.

Different banners flew within the ranks; some moved swiftly, others slowly; some marched in orderly formation, while others were in disarray—revealing the relative strengths of the various armed forces. The newly emerging factions ultimately lacked depth and substance, while the established nobility led by Bashir clearly held the upper hand.

Passing through a stretch of rocky hills, several columns stopped simultaneously to rest.

A river wound through the center of the hills; the servants were ordered to break through the ice to draw water from the river for the horses to drink and to fill the leather water bags. The noble commanders knew one another but had no intention of exchanging pleasantries.

They remained with their own groups, each lost in their own thoughts, and all remained silent.

Some gazed northward with grave expressions, seemingly deep in thought; others opened their wine skins while still in the saddle, tilting their heads back to take a large gulp, exhilarated by the impending battle; still others looked up at the sky, clearly waiting for something.

The wind grew colder, and the dark clouds overhead grew ever thicker. The cloud cover hung heavy overhead, casting a sense of oppression over everyone.

A piercing cry rang out, and a small peregrine falcon swooped down from the sky, caught by a knight commander. The falcon brought news from the borderlands—the situation was dire.

“The rebel forces have arrived, and their numbers are vast.”

The knight commander’s heart sank, and he decisively ordered the troops to end their rest and set out immediately, rushing toward the borderlands at top speed.

“Tell everyone—we must pick up the pace!”

The various contingents were not far apart from one another. Whether they were newly risen nobles, established aristocrats, or groups formed by the imperial in-laws, they all received the intelligence in succession. Realizing the gravity of the situation, they set aside their political intrigues, quickly reorganized their ranks, and spurred their horses northward toward the border.

“His Majesty intends to crush the rebel forces. If the borderlands are breached instead, we will all be held accountable!”

A heavy sense of pressure descended, and everyone felt a strong sense of urgency.

Not since Gorod ascended the throne had the knights of the Royal Capital fought so fiercely. They spurred their horses ever faster, charging head-on against the rampaging enemy. The wind swept through the borderlands, carrying away the remnants of snow that littered the ground.

Hundreds of fortified strongholds formed a barrier; ice had frozen the outer walls of the fortresses, and the steps leading upward were covered with a layer of ice. The heavy gates were tightly shut, the bolts securely fastened, and behind them lay stacks of logs and boulders.

Soldiers gathered on the ramparts, their armor reflecting the cold light as they held spears and bows, all poised for battle. Tension filled the stronghold; though the horns and war drums had not yet sounded, the air was already thick with the scent of gunpowder. A flock of crows flew over the borderlands, soaring higher mid-flight as they continued northward, swiftly disappearing into the snowy plains.

They flew over the fort, crossed the borderlands, and passed overhead the chaotic ranks of the army, briefly causing a stir. Given the ravens’ reputation, they were most unwelcome.

“Omen bird.”

“What a bad omen.”

Some beastmen, noticing the flock, immediately spat into the air. Their actions were reckless and foolish; when the wind shifted, they ended up with their faces smeared with their own spit.

The ranks of the fallen treants passed by on the side, while the gloomy wandering vampire clan hid in the trees, completely concealed by the branches.

There were also several hundred Featherfolk in the trees; they remained silent, but when they caught sight of the beastmen, they frowned and quickly looked away, their disgust and discomfort plain to see.

“A bunch of pretentious jerks,” the beastmen muttered.

It was obvious that they, too, disliked the other group—in fact, they detested them quite intensely. The flock of ravens continued flying north, crossing the vast snowy plains day and night.

The bitter winter was drawing to a close, yet the Snow Domain remained frigid, with not a hint of spring in the air.

While the Vampire Kingdom faced an invading army, the Wraiths’ Royal Capital remained immersed in the atmosphere of the wedding celebrations.

Today was the final day of the festivities. The guests gradually began to leave the bonfire; they had stayed too long and needed to pack their bags. They offered their blessings as the Wraith King and Queen stepped out of the palace, then set off on their journey.

The Black Knights remained wide awake—a rare occurrence for them. They were exhilarated.

While everyone else raised their glasses and reveled in the graceful movements of the foreign dancers, the Black Knights gathered to study maps, envisioning what their first move would be.

“We can take a detour here and enter the Thousand Lakes Fief directly,” Penorte said, drawing a dagger and using its tip to etch a simple sketch of a map on the table.

Mino leaned closer to him, furrowing his brow as he asked, “You mean taking a detour around the edge of the Wasteland Realm?” 

“Right,” Penorte nodded.

“That’s very risky. The Wasteland Realm is no peaceful place. We haven’t ventured near there for over a hundred years, and now the Wraiths and the Demon Clan are fighting over control of that land,” Mino continued.

As the two spoke, the Black Knights gathered around them, remaining silent and refraining from speaking out of turn.

They were currently in a separate courtyard, away from the noisy crowd, planning their future course. Since Cen Qing’s orders were at stake, everyone remained solemn.

“They’ve been fighting over it for a long time, and no clear winner has emerged yet. The Wraiths effectively control this area; the Demon Clan can’t interfere. We’re just passing through, so there shouldn’t be any major problems,” Penorte insisted on his position.

Mino pondered for a while, then sought the opinions of the others before finally accepting his proposal.

“Your plan is feasible. But before we set out, we need to obtain His Highness’s approval,” he said.

“Of course.” Penorte flipped his dagger, executing a graceful flourish. “I intend to offer my intellect to His Highness—not to cause him trouble.”

That night, the lights in the annex never went out.

The bonfires within the city continued to burn, sparks flying above the blue flames. The smoke rose, blending into the vast night sky, and soon vanished without a trace. At dawn, the crowd gradually dispersed.

The elevated platform where the wedding had been held sank into the ground, and the stone bricks rose to close the gap once more, fitting together so tightly that not even a needle could be inserted between them. Unless one had seen it with their own eyes, it would be hard to believe that just a few minutes earlier, a platform had stood there.

Inside the palace, in the Wraith King’s bedchamber, the curtains were drawn tight, and the bed canopies hung low. Several tassels had been torn off by an unseen force, scattered on the floor, and lay atop the folded ceremonial robes.

A pale hand pulled back the bed curtains.

Through the gap, Cen Qing saw only darkness; the dim light blurred the sense of time, making it impossible to tell whether it was day or night.

A chill swept over him as soft lips pressed against the nape of his neck, and a cold, large hand clamped down on his wrist, slowly applying pressure. Fingertips traced the inside of his wrist, pressing precisely against his artery.

“Your Majesty?” Cen Qing turned his head; his voice had grown hoarse, tinged with a languid quality, no longer as clear as it once was. Wu Ying turned Cen Qing’s chin toward her, her icy breath brushing against the corner of his mouth.

Strands of silver hair fell, brushing against Cen Qing’s spine—cool and smooth as silk, sending a slight tingle down his spine.

“My golden rose, my Queen.”

Wu Ying gripped Cen Qing’s wrist, completely enveloping him, pinning him down with his own hands. Possessing him did nothing to diminish his desire.

On the contrary, every touch made him more and more obsessed, unable to control himself, as if under a spell.

His fingertips traced Cen Qing’s collarbone—the spot where the blood curse had once been—which had now returned to its original skin tone, with not a trace of its former outline remaining. Wu Ying propped himself up and gazed intently at the dark-haired vampire.

He kissed the spot where the blood curse rune had once been—devoutly, passionately, almost ferociously. He needed not to restrain himself.

This beautiful golden rose belonged to him; he could cradle it in the palm of his hand, give it everything best, and keep it safe from anyone’s covetous gaze. Any intruder would be torn to pieces.