Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Giant owls soared through the sky, and wargs galloped across the land.

The Warlock Legion’s sudden appearance plunged the rebel forces attacking the fortress into instant chaos.

Deprived of unified command, the rebels thought only of survival, their fighting spirit completely shattered as they fled in droves at the first hint of danger.

They transformed into marathon runners, moving at the fastest speeds of their lives, competing to escape the battlefield and vanish into the boundless desolate forest.

Like a cleaver through meat, the Warlock Legion split down the middle: some pursued the rebels to the forest’s edge, while others patrolled the battlefield, hunting down stragglers.

Those rebels too slow to flee attempted to hide among the corpses.

But it was all in vain.

Neither flight nor feigned death could spare them from annihilation.

The Giant Owls, with their keen eyes, took turns diving toward the earth, their massive wings stirring fierce winds as their talons effortlessly tore through fleeing targets.

Wargs gathered outside the fortress, their Warlock riders wreathed in eerie blue light. The wolf pack charged into the chaos, unleashing a torrent of blood.

At the center of the battlefield, dark crimson stained the earth.

A carriage stood at the heart of the bloodstains, its roof torn away, leaving only the bare frame. Cen Qing sat by the window inside, raising an arm to shield his eyes, his face a mask of shock.

The Giant Owl banked sharply, its talons reaching into the carriage.

A gust of cold wind followed, and Cen Qing was suddenly lifted from the carriage, the ground rapidly shrinking below as the sky filled his vision.

"Your Highness!"

Mo Li cried out in horror, lunging forward to grab Cen Qing. But she was too late—she only managed to snatch his cloak, her fingers grazing empty air.

The warhorses, too frightened to approach, compelled the Black Knight to dismount and rush toward the carriage on foot, hoping to intercept the airborne Warlock.

Thorn Maidens converged on the carriage, transforming into thorny growths as they ran, their torsos elongating unnaturally—yet still unable to close the distance to Cen Qing.

Never before had they known such helplessness.

They could only watch as the Giant Owl spirited Cen Qing away, disappearing beyond the clouds.

"Your Highness!"

"I’m fine—stay there!"

Cen Qing’s voice echoed from the sky just before he vanished, calming the maids and the Black Knight, preventing them from reckless actions in their desperation.

Even so, their fury remained, especially among the Thorn Maidens.

They glared at the sky, their eyes bloodshot, temples throbbing with rage.

A shroud of black mist coiled around them, the thorns beneath them twisting like vipers, their sharp tips gleaming with deadly intent, radiating boundless killing intent.

A Warlock, noticing the commotion and seeking to prevent conflict, quickly informed his companions before guiding his Warg forward alone.

"Do not worry for your prince—that is His Majesty."

The massive wolf’s head loomed close, its fangs sharp, gore still wedged between its teeth—remnants of the slaughtered rebels.

Upon learning the figure’s identity, the maids’ fury did not abate in the slightest—if anything, it flared hotter than before.

The Witch King, ruler of the Snow Dominion?

Truly living up to his name as a tyrant—no better than a highwayman, a thief!

Leaving aside the Thorn Maidens’ rage, Cen Qing was swiftly carried away by the Giant Owl, the battlefield dwindling beneath him as he ascended higher into the sky.

The keening wind whipped past him, carrying strange sounds that hammered at his eardrums, disrupting his hearing.

Reason told Cen Qing he must remain calm.

Having missed his best chance to break free, acting now would be unwise. While events had diverged from his expectations, the situation wasn't hopeless.

With this thought, Cen Qing’s mind grew even clearer.

He focused on more pressing matters.

The owl’s sharp talons gripped his waist, an awkward perch.

He glanced over his shoulder, seeing only snow-white feathers—no trace of the Warlock on the bird’s back. Shifting slightly within the limited space, he sought not to escape but to ease his discomfort.

His cloak had been left behind in the carriage, and he felt the chill seeping in.

Fortunately, his coat had thick lining, warding off hypothermia.

A vampire frozen in the sky.

The ridiculous notion occurred to him, and Cen Qing couldn’t suppress a smirk at the untimely humor.

The Giant Owl climbed higher, the cold becoming knife-edged until it felt like he could reach out and grasp the clouds.

The earth grew ever more distant—the endless barren forest, the scattered border fortresses, the frozen riverways—all shrinking beneath him.

The figures below swarmed like insects amid the chaos. Even the towering Corrupted Treants and Snow Giants were reduced to specks from this height, like mere matchsticks.

Cen Qing was familiar with the view from the Black Tower, yet this experience was entirely different.

A soaring, intoxicating, godlike perspective—everything beneath his feet, as if he could effortlessly command it all, dispensing life and death at will.

The feeling was addictive.

Just a fleeting glimpse was enough to stir one’s will, igniting a primal hunger for absolute power.

The Giant Owl did not fly much farther, hovering near the border above the desolate forest.

A raging river carved through the woods, its narrowest point still spanning a hundred meters.

In the depths of winter, the river lay frozen, the ice glass-smooth, thinning toward the center. Beneath, the water surged relentlessly, fish darting with the current, searching for pockets of air along the way.

The northern bank belonged to the Snow Dominion, the southern to the Vampire Kingdom.

The trees on either shore loomed like sentinels, like an honor guard of ancients guarding the kingdom’s borders for centuries.

Downstream, the river split into numerous tributaries. Over the ages, the capricious waters had sculpted multiple gorges, their ends stretching deep into the vast Snow Dominion.

The gorges, naturally formed, wound like serpentine passages, concealing a labyrinth of trails where even seasoned trackers might stray—inhospitable to permanent habitation.

Decades ago, a group of cave dwellers migrated here to escape the Barbarian tribe.

Together, they hollowed out the canyon floor, carving out caves of various sizes and widening some of the paths, completely transforming the environment at the bottom of the gorge.

Marauders stumbled upon this place by chance. They slaughtered the cave dwellers, seized the caves through bloody means, and used them as a stronghold to grow their power.

The slaughter left the canyon awash in blood.

Even now, the shattered bones of the cave dwellers still litter the canyon floor. On stormy nights, faint wails and cries of vengeful spirits still echo.

Grod allowed the marauders to thrive, solely to weaken the border nobility.

Blinded by self-interest, he sowed the seeds of instability for his own rule. Now, the consequences have grown beyond his control, threatening his Kingship and inciting darker ambitions—burdens he must bear alone.

Harming others without benefiting himself, wounding the enemy at the cost of his own losses.

Sheer idiocy.

And what choice should he make?

Ignore it and let it fester, or find a way to exploit it?

Surveying the land beneath him, Cen Qing’s thoughts drifted far and wide, tangled as knotted thread, impossible to unravel in a single moment.

The map and reality were starkly different.

Jagged peaks, plateaus choked with ancient trees.

The canyon, fractured into endless crevices, stretched endlessly, while the snowfield spanned thousands of miles.

A panorama of wonders unfolded before him, and Cen Qing stared in fascination. Comparing the sight to his own territory and the map in his mind, his eyes sparked with recognition.

He remained unusually quiet—no screams, no complaints.

Such a reaction was truly unexpected.

The Giant Owl began descending, landing on the branch of an ancient oak.

It was an oak, over a thousand years old.

Its massive canopy spread wide, creating a world of its own.

The trunk stood straight, plunging into the earth, its branches thick and sturdy. Yet even they trembled under the owl’s weight, snow cascading down with a rustle, the wood creaking incessantly before finally settling.

The Giant Owl retracted its claws, and the grip on Cen Qing fell away suddenly. Steadying himself against the trunk with one hand, he felt the rough bark beneath his palm, his tension dissipating as he grew calmer.

With the oak at his back and the Giant Owl blocking his front, he stayed still, tightening his coat as he waited for the owl’s master to appear.

The sky cleared, clouds dispersing above the forest.

Sunlight spilled across the land, its glow flowing over the treetops like gossamer, drifting past in graceful waves.

Beams pierced through the dense canopy, slanting into the gaps between branches, their ends dappling like scattered jewels, radiant and colorful.

One beam landed squarely on Cen Qing’s face, gilding his dark irises.

He instinctively narrowed his eyes, raising a hand to shield his forehead.

His skin, alabaster, appeared almost translucent in the light.

An icy gust whipped through, tangling the branches. The gem chain binding his hair loosened unexpectedly, and his black locks cascaded over his shoulders, spilling behind him like a waterfall.

The Giant Owl lowered itself.

A lithe figure drifted downward, landing opposite Cen Qing.

Like all Warlocks, he wore a long cloak, though the fabric was far more luxurious.

A wide hood obscured half his face, revealing only a high-bridged nose and crimson lips. His jawline was sharp yet not harsh, radiating icy elegance.

A strand of hair slipped free from the hood, catching Cen Qing’s gaze.

A luminous silver, like moonlight spun into thread.

The figure remained silent, stepping closer with light, soundless footsteps.

Without warning, the Witch King raised his right arm, slamming Cen Qing into the oak.

Vampiric reflexes were legendary.

But in this moment, that trait failed him. Cen Qing was outraced.

His back pressed against the rough bark, a pale hand planted beside his head. The chill pressed inward, shrinking his space, forcing him to tilt his head up and meet the Warlock’s gaze.

Very tall.

Cen Qing was not short, yet he still had to look up at the Witch King.

Wind rustled through the forest, leaves hissing like conspirators.

A beam of light skimmed past Cen Qing’s nose, briefly dazzling him, leaving him momentarily dazed.

The wide hood slipped in the wind, revealing the Witch King’s true face.

Elegant, noble, icy.

As if painted by a divine hand, a flawless work of art—mesmerizing, even maddening, yet lifeless as a statue.

Vampires were creatures of darkness, and Warlocks were no different.

If anything, they were even colder.

“The vampire’s offering—my betrothed.”

Cold fingers trailed downward, tilting Cen Qing’s chin up.

Their eyes met, and Cen Qing saw clearly—his eyes held the same metallic sheen, as mesmerizing as they were glacial.

“My future wife.” Wu Ying murmured, leaning closer, his fangs scraping the earring on Cen Qing’s right ear. His grip on Cen Qing’s chin tightened, as if trapping a beautiful, fragile bird.

Cen Qing did not resist. He allowed himself to be controlled, curving his lips in a radiant smile. “Your Majesty, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Wu Ying paused, studying Cen Qing up close, his palm cupping the side of his face. A shadow of doubt flickered in his eyes. “You are pleased?”

“Of course.” Cen Qing pressed into his touch, mimicking the affectionate manner of a snow leopard. His gaze was soft, amused, as if he were not facing the Witch King—a tyrant whose brutality was whispered across kingdoms.

“I have written you many love letters. I think you should have read them?” He reached out, twining his arms about Wu Ying’s neck, pulling them even closer.

“Ever since I learned you would be my husband, I have dreamt of you without cease. In waking hours and in dreams, I have longed to meet you, to visit your palace. Would you indulge me?”

Wu Ying lowered his head to study Cen Qing, as if trying to read his mind.

After a moment, a large hand lifted Cen Qing by the waist. The Witch King wrapped him in his cloak, raised his chin with his right hand, and sealed their lips in a cold kiss.

"You are clever, my golden rose."

In the sky, more clouds dispersed, and bright light streamed through the branches, falling upon the two of them.

The Witch King lifted Cen Qing with one arm and returned to the back of the Giant Owl. "By Warlock tradition, I should simply claim you by right and bring you back to my palace."

"I don’t mind." Cen Qing relaxed, resting his chin on the Witch King’s shoulder. "I'd be delighted to yield to you, my King. But I must confess—I despise my father. If you favor me, I do not wish for you to show him any favor in return."

When one is not yet strong, one must learn to play weak.

Before meeting Wu Ying, he had considered many possibilities. But after their actual meeting, he quickly adjusted, choosing the most advantageous path.

Honesty. Frankness.

The benefits were immeasurable for now, but there was certainly no harm in it.

"The pact must still be made." Wu Ying stepped onto the Giant Owl’s wing, lowering Cen Qing while keeping an arm around him. He held him like a prize—or perhaps not quite, but the novelty of it made him reluctant to let go.

"I do not oppose the alliance. Just don’t give him more benefits." Cen Qing showed no false modesty, his fingers brushing Wu Ying’s chin in a deliberately provocative gesture. He understood his situation perfectly—until he truly gained power, he needed to play the role of a gentle lover, one who catered to the other’s desires.

The Giant Owl took flight again, sweeping out of the woods and following their original route across the border back to the fortress.

The battle was already over.

Half of the rebel forces were dead or injured, the rest scattered in retreat.

The fortress gates stood open, and the surviving knights emerged in groups to clear the battlefield.

The envoy party, led by Zacks, found Cen Qing’s carriage. The wreckage of the carriage fueled rampant speculation, even the worst of assumptions.

"Are you certain it was the Witch King who took the prince?"

"That’s what the Warlock said!" Mo Li snapped impatiently, pointing at the nearby Warlock with undisguised contempt.

The Black Knights had pursued for a distance but lost the scent along the way, forced to turn back and wait for news of Cen Qing.

Their expressions were grim.

Faced with the nobles’ incessant chatter, they could barely suppress their fury. More than one hand rested on a sword hilt, fangs grinding as if itching to draw blood.

The Warlocks were perceptive.

Some stood in the sky, others lounged astride their Wargs. Even with their hoods drawn, the amused curves of their lips revealed their amusement—as if eager to witness infighting among the vampires.

Buyete arrived with his knights just in time, interposing between the factions and preventing a clash.

"Is that it?" A Warlock sprawled lazily on his Warg’s back, drawled.

"Don’t stir trouble for the sake of it," another Warg rider chided, his companion seated beside him.

"The vampires’ combat prowess is pitiful now. A few thousand rebels were enough to throw them into chaos. A century ago, they were nothing like this." A third voice chimed in, guiding his Warg closer. A collar of beast bones hung around its neck—trophies from the wildlands, won in his rite of passage.

"Incompetent royalty, useless aristocracy, a decayed order of knights—no wonder things have come to this." The voice came from above, belonging to Frank, who steered the Giant Owl.

The Warlocks on the Wargs looked up, their hoods slipping back to reveal sharp, striking features, as if carved by blade and axe.

As they spoke, a shadow appeared in the sky.

The Warlocks abandoned their lax demeanor, swiftly forming ranks.

Numerous Giant Owls took flight, whipping up a bitter wind. The Wargs howled, gathering from all directions.

The disturbance drew the vampires’ attention.

The bickering ceased as all eyes turned upward.

Across the azure sky, a snow-white Giant Owl shot like a silver bolt piercing the heavens.

Two figures stood upon its back.

The Witch King stood silhouetted against the light, his broad hood slightly lifted. A dazzling circlet rested on his brow, reflecting in his eyes—a momentary gleam.

In his arms, he held the dark-haired vampire, clutched like spoils of war—none other than Cen Qing, who had been taken earlier.