Cen Qing’s words were no trivial matter; the maid, Moli, was deeply shaken.

As she left the room, her gaze was vacant, her steps unsteady. The echoes collided in her mind, shattering her composure and threatening to ignite her emotions at any moment. Shadows lengthened beneath her feet; her sharp nails scraped against the wall. The flame in the niche flickered wildly, bursting into a thousand sparks in an instant. Rage blazed within her heart; the Thorn Maiden’s eyes turned crimson, filled with murderous intent toward Gorod.

“Damn Gorod!”

If it weren’t for Gorod, His Highness wouldn’t have to worry about any of this! He wouldn’t have to strain his mind—he should have had it all!

The thorn vine maiden strode through the corridor, a surge of murderous intent spreading out before her, heading straight for the brightly lit palace.

Outside the Black Tower, thorn vines grew wildly, twisting and coiling in the night. A shrill, grinding sound rang out ceaselessly, blending with the wind like the roar of a malevolent dragon, stirring the deepest fears within living beings.

Inside the Black Tower, the goblins huddled together, crammed into a corner, trembling uncontrollably.

“She’s furious.”

“Who has angered her?” 

“Good heavens!”

The goblins spent the entire night in panic, none of them sleeping a wink. The next day, the terrifying aura finally dissipated, and the thorn vines outside the Black Tower returned to calm. The maid, Moli, stepped out of the Black Tower, followed by several goblins.

Due to lack of sleep, the goblins all had dark circles under their eyes and looked listless, like cacti that had lost all their moisture.

Carrying the order issued by Cen Qing, Moli headed to the dungeon guarded by the Hunchbacks to release the Thorn Maids imprisoned there. They had been imprisoned for over a century.

Gorod had declared them guilty, kept them imprisoned for a long time, and even ordered them to be tortured, yet he could never make them submit. Now, as part of a deal with Cen Qing, the king had no choice but to release these maids and allow them to leave their cells. The dungeon was built beneath the palace and put into use after Gorod came to power.

Above, it is a world of glitz and glamour, with feasting that lasts all night long; below, the air is thick with blood, filled with resentment and curses—a strange and ironic contrast.

The entrance to the dungeon is narrow, and the corridors are winding and deep. The flickering light illuminated the ground, revealing moss-covered walls.

The stone walls are mottled with stains, mostly blood left behind by prisoners. Twisted shadows drag across the walls, their tips touching the ceiling, like malevolent spirits snarling and clawing—eerie, sinister, and ferocious.

The sound of keys grinding against locks rang out as the goblins deftly unlocked the cell doors, releasing the prisoners held inside. They were imprisoned here solely because of an assassination attempt on Gorod.

In full view of everyone, they had attempted to kill the king. Unfortunately, they had failed.

Imprisoned in the dungeon, they have no regrets.

If given another chance, they would do it all over again. They would simply be more cautious in their actions and ensure they never slip up.

“Come out. His Royal Highness the Prince needs you.”

Moli stood with her hands clasped in the glow of the fire, watching the ten women emerge.

Their long imprisonment had left them disheveled and filthy; their tangled hair resembled dry straw, and their clothes were tattered and had long since lost their original color.

“Once you leave here, you’ll have time to tidy yourselves up. As Thorn Maids, you must always maintain your appearance—you can’t go out looking like this.”

The maids raised their arms to shield their eyes, as if unable to bear the glare of the firelight, and squinted in unison. Stepping back into the light, they felt unaccustomed to it and needed time to adjust.

However, it wouldn’t take long. Finally, a hoarse voice rang out: “Why?”

“His Highness traded himself for Gorod, demanding that he pardon you and grant you your freedom.” Moli’s voice dropped slightly, and a sense of oppression hung heavy in the cell.

“An exchange?”

“The vampire clan has sent envoys to the Snow Domain with the intention of forming an alliance. Your Highness is about to embark on a long journey to marry the Witch Spirit King.”

Upon hearing this, the maids’ expressions shifted.

Though they had lost their freedom, they hadn’t lost their wits; they all understood exactly what this meant. To lose their rights, to be reduced to concubines, to become expendable pawns.

“Gorod, he deserves to die!”

A hoarse curse cut through the corridor like a venomous snake striking out, brimming with hatred and murderous intent toward Gorod—more intense than ever before.

“We can discuss this later. For now, you must leave immediately.” With that, Moli turned and led the way out.

The dungeon where the maids were held was built a hundred meters underground, with an extremely complex internal layout. To escape the prison, one had to pass through several narrow corridors. The corridors were winding and narrow, with the floor rising in a looping pattern.

The walls and ceiling were covered in moss—a dark green variety that secreted a colorless, odorless liquid every few hours. This substance contained hallucinogenic toxins that inflicted the most terrifying nightmares upon the prisoners, striking fear into even the most ruthless criminals.

The corridor is lined with multiple gates, each guarded by Hunchbacks.

They are short in stature, with exceptionally thick limbs. Their spines curve upward like snail shells.

Having lived underground for years, their eyesight has deteriorated, while their hearing and sense of smell have become exceptionally keen. Standing guard behind the gates, they can discern the faint rustle of dust in the air; not even an invisible person can escape their ears.

The goblins carried kerosene lamps and held torches aloft, their distorted shadows trailing along the walls as they glided upward. The maids moved forward by the light of the flames, passing through one gate after another.

Moli held Cen Qing’s orders, and the hunchbacks dared not obstruct her.

After taking the prisoners’ headcount and verifying it matched the parchment, they cleared the way. Strong arms yanked at the chains, lifting the heavy bars. With a creak, the black bars rose upward.

The hunchbacks stood behind the gate, their sparse hair unable to cover their bald heads. Their bulging eyes darted about, fixated on the maid emerging from the prison. Their nostrils flared, their expression sinister; their rough tongues licked their lips in a manner both lewd and repulsive.

Whoosh!

A gust of wind swept in; the hunchback dodged backward swiftly, yet was still slashed across the corner of his eye and had half an ear sliced off. Had it been half an inch closer, he would have lost an eyeball.

The goblin grinned triumphantly at him, his pointed ears flapping in the wind, his mouth full of sharp fangs. He raised the kerosene lamp to his forehead and spoke in a rough, raspy voice: “Pay attention. Watch your head.”

The hunchbacks raised their fists toward the goblins, but before they could swing, another gust of wind swept in, forcing them to stumble backward until their backs pressed against the wall. A patch of moss suddenly began to grow wildly.

Light gray thorn vines burst from the moss, stretching at an astonishing speed to dangle behind the Hunchbacks. Before he could react, his entire body was wrapped by the thorn vines, leaving him hanging upside down on one side of the gate.

“Let me go!”

The hunchback struggled desperately, but the thorn vines tightened their grip.

Suction cups appeared on the surface of the thorns, clinging to his body as firmly as octopus tentacles. Spikes emerged from the suction cups, piercing his skin and injecting venom.

The toxin wasn’t lethal; it wouldn’t kill him instantly.

Unfortunately, the toxins would cause excruciating pain, tormenting him for hours and making his life a living hell.

“I warned you, out of rare kindness.” The goblin walked up to the hunchback, poked him on the top of the head with his finger, and maliciously sliced open his scalp.

The hunchback was furious.

He tried to open his mouth to retort, but not a single sound came out.

In the end, he could only watch helplessly as the group walked away—first the goblin, then Moli, and finally the maids, their clothes in tatters and her body covered in dust. Cobwebs still clung to their hair, and they looked completely grimy, with not a trace of their former elegance remaining.

The footsteps gradually faded, accompanied by the sound of the gate rising and falling, quickly vanishing from the hunchback’s ears. He forced his eyes wide open, but his vision grew blurry.

The pain intensified; his eyes began to bleed, his breathing grew rapid, and a sudden sense of suffocation overwhelmed him, as a fear of impending death engulfed his entire body.

He desperately told himself it was an illusion, that he wouldn’t die—that if he could just hold on for a few more hours, he would be free.

Yet his instinct for survival overpowered his reason.

The fear broke through all boundaries, and the hunchback fell into a panic.

He struggled to twist his body, trying to break free from the thorn vines. But despite using every ounce of strength, the thorn vines barely budged. After much struggle, he had only wasted his energy.

In the end, it only accelerated the depletion of his mind and body; a wave of dizziness washed over him, and he finally passed out. The same scenario played out behind different gates.

The hunchbacks were foolish and lustful; the consequences of their overconfidence had sealed their fate. The exit from the dungeon lay on the western side of Golden Rock Fortress, facing the towering Black Tower.

The group stepped out of the dungeon gate to find snow falling from the sky.

A bitter wind swept through the city, whipping snowflakes and bringing an endless chill capable of freezing everything in its path. Moli glanced back at the castle, but her vision was obscured.

“We need to hurry,” she said. The maids raised no objections.

They were still wearing the dresses they had on when they were imprisoned.

A century had passed; the once-vibrant fabrics had completely faded, and their tattered gowns offered no protection against the bitter cold. Half of them had no shoes and walked barefoot through the snow; their toes soon lost all sensation, and their calves and knees turned blue with frostbite.

The goblins led the way, and the maids moved swiftly.

Along the way, they encountered patrolling knights, who were fully armed. Their sharp gazes locked onto the group, and they gripped their sword hilts tightly with one hand. The two groups met head-on, neither uttering a sound.

The knights’ faces were hidden by their helmets, so their expressions were impossible to discern. The maids paid them no mind; clutching their blouses tightly, they continued forward, passing the knights by.

The two groups passed each other, close yet distinctly separate. Like two parallel lines, they would never intersect across the infinite expanse of time.

The Black Tower stood isolated in the biting wind, its outer walls overgrown with thorn vines and encased in snow, from which hung rows of translucent icicles.

The tower’s doors stood wide open, and behind them waited the goblins, ordered to stand guard. They were of similar stature and bearing, all clad in thick robes that effectively shielded them from the cold.

The moment Moli and the others climbed the steps and passed through the doorway, the snow on their shoulders melted, leaving behind irregular dark stains.

“Hot water is ready.”

“Clothing and food are also in your rooms.” 

“If you need wine, we can bring some as well.”

The goblins were wary of Moli, speaking cautiously and keeping their remarks brief—a stark contrast to their usual chattiness.

“Very good.” Moli commended their diligence, then turned to instruct the maids to go wash up first. “Change into clean clothes and have something to eat. I’ll take you to see His Highness.”

“Alright.”

The maids didn’t hesitate; in their current state, they certainly weren’t fit to meet Cen Qing.

They nodded obediently and followed the goblin’s guidance to the room set aside for them on the fourth floor of the Black Tower. Moli continued up the stairs, preparing to report back to Cen Qing.

As she passed by a window, her keen senses picked up something amiss.

The thorn vines maid stopped in her tracks and turned her head toward the window. Several dark shadows flashed before her eyes, appearing to be approaching with great force.

“Blood Owls,” Moli narrowed her eyes. She recognized these birds.

The current Queen’s pets—ferocious in appearance but utterly useless—were incapable of breaching the Black Tower and could only circle outside it. If they came too close, they would end up as nourishment for the thorn vines.

Just as she was thinking this, a piercing scream rang in her ears. Clearly, a Blood Owl had fallen into a trap.

“Useless creatures,” Moli snorted derisively. She quickly crossed the room and reached the end of the corridor, raising her hand to knock on the tightly closed door. “Come in.”

A voice came from inside, and the door swung open on its own.

Moli stepped into the room and looked up, but did not find Cen Qing on the bed. Her gaze shifted to the side, where she spotted a figure seated at the desk.

Noticing the half-open window, she hurried over to shut it tightly. Turning back, she bowed slightly to Cen Qing: “As per your orders, I have retrieved all the thorn vine maids and settled them within the tower.”

“Are they all right?” Cen Qing looked up from the desk, a crystal pen clutched in his hand. Five or six crumpled balls of paper lay at his feet, and the sheet of paper before him was blank—nothing but a respectful salutation, not a single word beyond that.

“Not very well,” Moli sighed.

Imprisoned in darkness for a century, tormented day and night by hallucinations and nightmares, their bodies aside, their minds have been particularly ravaged. Those with even slightly weaker resilience would have long since descended into madness.

Worse still, they would have succumbed to death.

The thorn vine maidens were resilient enough; they had gritted their teeth and endured the suffering. Yet the torment they had endured was difficult to erase and would inevitably leave its mark. Both their physical and mental states were in poor shape, and it would take some time for them to fully recover.

Alas, what Cen Qing lacked most was time.

Cen Qing set down his pen, paused to consider for a moment, then said to Moli, “In three days, take them to the palace and take inventory of the jewels Mother left behind. I suspect most of them have already changed hands. Compare them against the registry and retrieve as many as possible.”

“If we encounter resistance, may we use force?” Moli asked tentatively.

“Of course.” Cen Qing twirled the pen between her fingers, her tone tinged with concern. “Letting them regain their spirits and vent their anger is the quickest way. As for the rest, there’s no need to worry—I won’t let anything happen to you again.”

Moli paused for a moment, a wave of warmth surging through her heart.

She bowed again and said respectfully, “Everything will be done exactly as you wish.”