The Sunset Mountains lie on the western border of the Vampire Kingdom, composed of endless peaks. The mountains are steep and jagged, rising and falling in a jumble that, at a glance, resembles a forest of spearheads.

The climate in the western frontier is harsh; vegetation is sparse in the mountains, and the foothills are riddled with ravines, forming gorges of varying widths.

The valley floors are strewn with rocks of every color, and scattered among the crevices lie countless skeletal remains, suits of armor, and weapons of various races—all relics of ancient battlefields.

At dawn and dusk, mist rises from the canyons.

The toxic gray mist swells rapidly, enveloping the undulating mountain ranges and devouring vast swathes of the valley. In such a harsh environment, a small squad of knights has taken up camp.

The unit consists of thirty men, all battle-hardened knights. Born of noble lineages and possessing exceptional skills, they have repeatedly distinguished themselves in battle yet have never been given positions of authority; instead, they were exiled and have lived far from the Royal Capital for a century.

It was deeply unfair, yet no one interceded on their behalf.

All because they remained loyal to the late Queen Yin—Cen Qing’s mother—and never swore allegiance to Gorod. Given the suspicious circumstances surrounding Queen Yin’s death, they harbored a deep hatred for Gorod.

Led by Captain Mino, the knights would rather go into self-imposed exile than stand under Gorod’s banner, much less swear an oath to fight for him.

The blizzard that had raged for days finally subsided. The wind remained cold.

A piercing howl carried on the wind—it was a Gray-backed Wolf.

Agile and swift, they moved through the valleys like the wind. The wolves always roamed in packs, causing great trouble for the knights living at the foot of the mountains.

Whoosh!

A piercing whistle cut through the air as a streak of light sliced through the gale. A Black Iron Arrow arced through the sky and struck the ground, its tip shattering the rock and driving itself viciously into the earth. The arrowhead sank into a crevice, the shaft angled into the ground, and the tail quivered and shook, emitting a distinctive sound.

The wolf pack was startled, but did not flee; they continued to prowl nearby.

The wolf king climbed onto a boulder, his crimson eyes fixed ahead. He bared his sharp fangs and raised his head to howl. The howl grew higher and higher, and the pack responded in unison.

The sound swept across the bare ground, creating ripples that appeared out of nowhere and rapidly expanded outward. The outer edges struck the snowdrifts, forcing out the figures hidden behind them. Two Black Knights.

Tall and imposing, with broad shoulders and long legs. Their arms were thick and powerful, their large palms, webbing, and fingertips covered in calluses.

They wore boots made of wolf hide, and their cloaks were pieced together from gray squirrel fur. Wide hoods covered half their faces, revealing only their resolute chins, each sprouting a ring of blue stubble.

As their target appeared, the wolves’ howls grew ever more shrill.

The ferocious beasts bared their fangs, their eyes bloodshot with hunger, foul- smelling drool dripping from the corners of their mouths. They pricked up their ears, sensing the scent of fresh blood coursing through veins.

Lured by the scent of fresh flesh, they knew the danger yet dared to take the risk, hoping to capture the powerful knight before them.

“The Winter Pack.” A knight lifted his hood, his thumb hooking the brim as brown curls spilled out, revealing eyes of the same hue. Another raised a longbow, drawing the string taut once more.

An iron arrow nocked against the bow. He had only one eye, yet this did not hinder his masterful archery. He aimed at the wolf king dozens of meters away.

In the bitter cold of winter, with terrifying blizzards and barren mountains, any food was a precious commodity.

This was true for the wolf pack and for the knights as well. Howl—

The wolf king raised his head and gave the order to attack first.

The pack transformed into a whirlwind, their sharp claws shattering the rocks as they lunged at their prey.

They had gone without food for days; their bellies were hollow. As they ran, the shape of their spines was clearly visible. Hunger made them ferocious; only by killing their prey and devouring it would they have a chance to survive until spring.

One wolf was the fastest; after closing in, it leaped suddenly, a stench of blood sweeping toward the knight on the left, its sharp fangs aimed at his throat. Three other wolves attacked from different directions; they were more cunning, intending to separate the two and strike them from behind.

The knights emptied their quivers with remarkable accuracy, and several wolves fell instantly. As the vicious wolves pounced, the two drew their swords simultaneously and stood back-to-back.

A cold gleam swept sideways; amid a gurgling sound, blood spattered as the ambushing wolf was cleaved in two at the waist.

Their fur was torn, their bones snapped, and their front paws were bent at grotesque angles. Before they hit the ground, their entrails spilled out of their wounds and rolled into the snow.

The battle had been fierce from the very start. A struggle for survival, a tug- of-war with death.

Both the wolf pack and the knights fought with everything they had, with not an inch of room to retreat. Howl—

The howls rang out once more.

The wolf king leaped down from the rock, joining the hunt. The pack, with everything on the line, launched an even more ferocious assault.

The two knights worked in perfect sync, their defense impenetrable. Unfortunately, without their warhorses, their combat effectiveness was inevitably diminished, leaving them unable to mount an effective counterattack. A wolf bit into the knight’s shoulder, coming within a hair’s breadth of tearing his neck open.

The knight quickly twisted his body and tilted his head to the side, dodging the fatal blow. The armor beneath his cloak protected him well; the wolf’s fangs clattered against the metal, leaving dents of varying depths, but ultimately failed to pierce through.

“Sarei!” 

“I’m fine!”

His companion’s worried voice rang out. The one-eyed knight grabbed the wolf’s jaws with one hand and clamped his left arm around its neck, trying to choke it to death. More vicious wolves charged forward, attempting to overwhelm the two with sheer numbers.

At the critical moment, the whistling sound of arrows pierced the air from all directions.

Caught off guard, the wolf pack was instantly engulfed by a hail of arrows, leaving them no chance to dodge.

Several figures emerged from the snow; the thick snow gave way as the knights in ambush appeared one after another.

They were all clad in wolf-skin boots and gray squirrel-fur cloaks. Due to mediocre sewing skills, the furs were patchy and mismatched, far from attractive. For ease of movement, the knights had tied the hems of their cloaks tightly around their waists with leather cords, making their upper bodies look particularly bulky.

Their weapons were diverse and varied. Without exception, everyone was honed to a razor’s edge. “The wolves are here—kill them!”

“Our dinner!”

The knights had lain in ambush for hours, enduring not only the cold but also allowing the wolf pack to trample over them. Now that their prey had all fallen into the trap, the moment of harvest had finally arrived.

The wolves sensed the danger and instinctively tried to retreat, but it was too late.

The knights and the wolves had clashed many times before; the two sides were locked in a bitter, no-holds-barred struggle. Now that the encirclement had closed in, they would not let a single prey escape; they were determined to wipe them all out, rooting them out completely.

“Attack!”

Maili and Sarei, acting as decoys, successfully completed their mission.

Seeing their comrades appear, the two wiped the blood from their chins and swung their long swords with all their might, coordinating their efforts to launch a pincer attack on the wolf pack. One by one, the Gray-backed Wolves fell, their blood blooming like crimson plum blossoms, staining the snow a deep red.

The wolf king fought until the very last moment.

It bared its fangs ferociously at the knights, showing not a shred of fear. Even though its body was drenched in blood and its flanks and forelegs were covered in wounds, it refused to fall. Surrounded by the corpses of its pack, it let out a piercing howl.

The sound wave stirred up a mist of blood, and the corpses of the Gray-backed Wolves floated to the surface one after another, bursting open in succession as fragments rained down on the surrounding knights.

“Trouble! Spread out!”

Captain Mino roared, and the knights quickly retreated. Three of them were unable to dodge in time and were struck by the wolf carcasses, sent flying several meters away in an instant. The Wolf King seized the opportunity to charge forward, lunging directly at Mino.

A gust of wind swept past as Mino crouched low and raised his heavy sword. The wolf king collided head-on with the blade, splitting cleanly down the center of his head and being cleaved in two from head to tail, his corpse crashing to the ground.

Blood spurted out as the Wolf King died, and the strange phenomenon came to an abrupt halt.

The shattered wolf carcass fell to the ground; the blood instantly congealed, and a layer of blood-red ice crystals formed on the surface of the fragments.

“A bountiful harvest!”

The knights cheered loudly. Without pausing to wipe the blood from their faces or tend to their wounds, they scrambled toward the spoils, each grabbing a piece. Sharp fangs pierced their gums, easily cutting through the tough wolf hide as they sucked the remaining blood and tore at the still-warm wolf meat.

Screech!

A piercing cry suddenly rang out, interrupting the knights’ feast.

Everyone froze, gazing warily at the sky. Hoods slung over their shoulders, their narrowed pupils locked onto a target: a flock of pitch- black ravens.

“Omen birds?”

Mino ran his hand over his chin, a flicker of something strange passing through his narrow eyes. The crows circled several times before one broke away from the flock and flew straight toward him.

A golden ring encircled the raven’s legs; its talons clutched a letter written on special material, rolled into a cylinder, and sealed with wax. Half a meter above Mino’s head, the raven released its talons.

The paper tube drifted gently downward and was caught by Mino with one hand.

He recognized the pattern on the wax sea,l and his pupils contracted slightly. Eagerly, he sliced through the wax, untied the string, and unfolded the letter to read it.

“Captain, whose letter is it?” 

“What does it say?”

The knights, filled with curiosity, gathered around.

Mino clutched the letter, his fingers tightening to reflect his current state of mind—tension, excitement, disbelief—which finally gave way to overwhelming joy.

“It’s from His Highness!”

He looked up from the letter, a smile lighting his handsome face.

The letter was passed from hand to hand through the crowd. The Black Knights forgot their hunger, scrambling to get a closer look at the contents, their reactions all the same.

“Has His Highness left the Black Tower?” 

“He’s summoning us!” 

“The Snow Domain?”

“To the north?”

“An alliance—with Wraiths?”

After the initial excitement and fervor, the knights regained their composure and began to consider the practicalities. Mino raised his hand, cutting off the crowd’s discussion.

“The letter says the matter has been settled, and His Highness will be setting out shortly.” Mino took the letter back, carefully rolled it up, and tucked it into his bosom. “What we need to do now is not argue, but pack our bags immediately and make our way to the Royal Capital as quickly as possible. No matter what, we must join His Highness in the shortest time possible.”

Mino’s gaze swept over the group as he raised his voice; every word rang out with force, carrying the weight of an oath: “Whether in the east or the north, if His Highness needs us, we will follow him loyally, defend him, and fight for him until our last breath!”

The knights’ expressions were solemn, their pupils tinged with crimson.

Their ears pricked up, sharp fangs bared at the corners of their mouths. Their long years of exile had not dulled their resolve, nor had they grown despondent or disheartened.

“For His Highness!”

At Mino’s command, the knights swiftly returned to the foot of the mountain.

Before leaving, they made sure to take the wolf carcass with them. It was both a trophy and a precious source of food to sustain them on their journey; naturally, not a single scrap could be wasted.

“We need a means of transportation.” Deputy Captain Penorte appeared at Mino’s right side. The group ran through the snow at an astonishing speed.

The scenery on either side rushed past, yet it did not hinder his speech, nor could one detect even a hint of labored breathing. “There’s a military camp behind the mountain. They have warhorses there. They’re not as good as our old companions, but they’ll do,” Mino remarked offhandedly. 

“Rob the camp?” 

“Are you against it?”

“No, I’m all for it,” Penorte said, adding, “We shouldn’t just take the warhorses—food, warm clothes, and boots, and other useful items—we need them all.”

“Penorte, my second-in-command, that’s a most welcome suggestion!” Mino burst out laughing, curling his fingers to his lips as a whistle carried on the wind.

The Black Knights received the signal and let out excited howls.

The sound tore through the gale, spreading across the wilderness and lingering long after, heralding yet another battle to come. Ravens began to descend, searching the knights’ hunting grounds.

They found no more scraps of meat, but they did discover a few wolf cubs among the hidden rocky peaks. These wolf cubs were still weak; huddled together, they bared their teeth at the ravens, issuing a fierce warning. The flock circled the rocky outcrop, and a few landed, tilting their heads to look at them.

Just as the wolf cubs were on the brink of despair, a harsh cry rang out. The flock received the signal, swiftly flapped their wings, and flew away, paying no further heed to the lives within the rocky peaks. The wolf cubs had narrowly escaped death, but that did not mean they would survive unscathed.

Harsh environments, terrifying natural disasters, and greedy predators—there were too many uncertainties. Deprived of the protection of their pack, they could only struggle to survive in these harsh conditions.

Those fortunate enough to survive to adulthood might form new packs; those unfortunate enough to perish from hunger and cold would vanish along with their pack, lost in the boundless mountains.

None of this concerns the ravens.

The dark mass of birds, having completed their mission, began to turn back along the same route.

Along their flight path, frozen corpses were a common sight—both birds of prey and knights who had died with their eyes wide open. They had been ordered to track this flock, intending to intercept it.

Unfortunately, not a single one succeeded.

They became souls lost in the snow, all swallowed by death, falling into hell in the biting wind. At dusk, a poisonous mist rose again from the mountains, snarling and lunging toward the log cabin at the foot of the mountain.

Unlike before, the log cabin’s doors and windows were no longer shut tight; they stood wide open, allowing the mist to seep inside.

The inhabitants had already departed, carrying torches; they had ventured into the mountains, determined to scale the sheer cliffs and raid the military camp on the other side of the peak to replenish their supplies before continuing their journey to the Royal Capital.

As night fell, the crows ceased their journey and settled in a vast forest.

Sheltered by the forest, a cluster of lights shone in the heart of the wilderness, like sparks of starlight falling to the earth, illuminating the ancient Royal Capital of the vampire clan. Tonight, the royal palace was ablaze with light; Gorod was once again hosting a banquet, inviting the nobility to indulge in revelry.

The Black Tower, however, stood silent, towering silently beneath the night sky.

In a lavishly decorated room in the middle of the tower, Cen Qing sat at his desk, writing furiously.

Holding a crystal pen in his hand, he searches for inspiration. After scribbling a few lines, he is dissatisfied, crumples the paper into a ball, and tosses it aside.

“This is just too hard!”

He twirled the pen between his fingers, occasionally biting the nib—clearly stumped.

It wasn’t any serious subject that stumped him, but words of love—a love letter intended for a specific recipient. “What do Wraiths like?”

Cen Qing muttered to himself, finding no answer.

He liked to plan ahead.

To make his life more comfortable and ensure his plans went smoothly, he needed to curry favor with the Lord of the Snow Domain. Given their future status, a love letter would be a good start.

A knock sounded at the door. Moli pushed it open and stepped inside, followed by several goblins.

“Your Highness, where is the mirror?”

The maid and the goblins hadn’t come empty-handed.

Under Moli’s direction, the goblins carried in two life-sized mirrors. The surfaces were smooth, and the frames were inlaid with tortoiseshell; the craftsmanship was exceptionally fine, a rare sight even in the Royal Capital.

And Moli had them bring two at once.

“Place them against the wall,” Cen Qing said to the maid, setting down his brush.

Moli directed the goblins to adjust their positions, ensuring they were placed with absolute precision. Once the mirrors were in place, the goblins bowed and left the room.

Moli closed the door and turned around, only to see Cen Qing standing before the mirror, seemingly practicing the curve of her smile. “Your Highness?” The maid looked puzzled, her face full of confusion.

Cen Qing motioned for the maid to approach, pressed his finger against the corner of his mouth, and lifted it into a slight curve. “Moli, what do you think is the standard accessory for a tyrant?”

The question seemed to come out of nowhere.

Moli thought for a moment before tentatively answering, “Power, wealth, an army?”

“Yes, but not entirely.” Cen Qing withdrew his hand, cupping the mirror with his palm. His smile grew more perfect, yet not a trace of it reached his eyes. “A tyrant ought to have a seductive concubine.”

A tyrant, a demonic concubine.

Realizing what Cen Qing meant, Moli’s eyes widened in shock, and she froze in place.

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

T/N: Hiii guyss, with all new stories uploaded, we are gonna be consistent with the schedule now. Bonus chapters on Sunday, regular updates on Monday and Tuesday, Patreon uploads on Saturday. Side note, with the way the site is built, uploading chapters is a bit of a hassle for the way the site was built, so the Milou’s Archive admin handles the uploading, not us, so we may see comments late. You can chat us up on Discord for issues. I heard that the channel is coming up this week. Also, since we (TKA and the Site Admin) are not from the US, which makes ad views payment low and inconvenient, we are looking for a way to resolve it, but MLA activated their Patreon using a similar way to ours, so check it out if you want, their seven-day free trial is open until the end of June.

That is all. As usual, Tokki’s Archives is thankful for every reader and supporter with us.