Chapter 33

Chapter 33

When Cen Qing awoke, his eyes met a dazzling silver.

For a moment, his mind was blank, unsure of his whereabouts.

The brilliant light rippled like water, too blinding to behold. Unconsciously, he grasped a strand—cool and silken, as if he held a handful of moonlight.

“You’re awake?”

The voice reached his ears, and Cen Qing snapped to full awareness.

Reason flooded his mind, dispelling the last vestiges of drowsiness.

He blinked, maintaining his grip on the hair, and turned his head to see Wu Ying lying beside him, propped on one elbow. Silver hair cascaded over his shoulders and the pillow.

The collar of his sleeping robe was slightly open, revealing a long, elegant neck and delicate collarbones.

Morning light seeped in quietly, filtering through the bed curtains to fall upon his shoulders, softening his inherent coolness. It made one yearn to reach out and confirm whether he was truly real, or merely a beautiful illusion born of the dawn.

“Did you sleep well?” Wu Ying leaned closer to Cen Qing, his fingertips brushing his earlobe before tilting his chin upward.

A cold breath drew near, ghosting over Cen Qing’s neck. Sharp fangs slowly traced his skin, a provocative and tantalizing touch.

From the books he had read, Cen Qing was certain that Warlocks harbored no craving for blood. Yet at this moment, Wu Ying, with his teeth grazing Cen Qing’s neck, seemed more like a vampire than Cen Qing himself.

“Your Majesty, what are your plans for today?” Cen Qing compliantly arched his neck, surrendering to the other’s control. His arms looped around Wu Ying’s shoulders, fingers threading through the shimmering silver hair, playfully lifting strands and watching them slip away like scattered starlight.

“I will be heading to the hunting grounds,” Wu Ying replied, clasping Cen Qing’s hand and intertwining their fingers. His tone was gentle, but his grip was unyielding.

“Hunting grounds?” Cen Qing couldn’t help but feel curious.

“It’s a Warlock wedding tradition,” Wu Ying murmured, lifting Cen Qing’s fingers to his lips for a soft kiss, then gently nipping at his pale knuckles. “Have you forgotten my words?”

As he spoke, he pressed closer, his gaze deepening, locking onto Cen Qing with an intensity that thrummed with boundless danger.

Fickleness, it seemed, was another hallmark of a tyrant.

Cen Qing showed no trace of panic. Instead, he pulled Wu Ying closer, his fingers tracing the edge of his collar, guiding the other’s hand to his own neck. “Your Majesty, I remember every word you’ve spoken—I’ve never forgotten. It’s simply that I’ve never seen a Warlock’s hunting grounds before, so naturally, curiosity stirs within me.” He paused deliberately, his dark eyes clouding over, his voice calm yet tinged with sorrow—even if feigned, it was heartbreaking. “Before meeting you, my life was spent in confinement. For a hundred years, I never left the Black Tower, because my father forbade it.”

“Until I became your betrothed,” Cen Qing met the Witch King’s gaze, pressing his soft lips to the corner of the other’s mouth, his voice firm and filled with gratitude, “You granted me freedom. I am grateful to you, I adore you, and I wish for you to become my husband—to reign over all that I am.”

Wu Ying stared at him, his fingers slowly tightening before lifting the back of Cen Qing’s neck and deepening the kiss with a ferocity that threatened to consume him entirely.

Cen Qing did not push Wu Ying away. Instead, he intertwined his arms behind Wu Ying’s head, pulling him even closer.

“Would you do me the honor of accompanying me, my gilded rose?” Wu Ying murmured, one hand gripping Cen Qing’s wrist as he slowly lifted his head, his eyes holding a fleeting, unreadable emotion.

Cen Qing had no reason to refuse—nor did he intend to.

“The honor would be mine, Your Majesty,” he replied with a smile.

Outside the bedroom door, the Thorn Maids and several Snow Spirits unexpectedly met in the hallway.

Both parties halted, then simultaneously turned their gazes toward the closed door—the maids there to awaken Cen Qing, the Snow Spirits to seek an audience with their master.

“His Majesty is here too.”

“All night.”

The Snow Spirits were intrinsically linked to Storm City. As long as the Witch King remained in the palace, they could always pinpoint his location.

The Thorn Maids exchanged knowing glances, their expressions inscrutable to outsiders, yet they understood each other’s thoughts perfectly.

Yet, none of them spoke up. They had no intention of commenting on the Witch King spending the night in Cen Qing’s chambers.

Before anyone could knock, the door swung open from within.

The Witch King emerged from the room.

He wore a silver robe, his long hair loosely draped over his shoulders like a flowing waterfall. A gem-studded chain was wrapped around his waist, its clasp missing two stones—likely left behind in the room.

“Your Majesty,” the Snow Spirits bowed respectfully.

The maids retreated to the side, watching as the Witch King strode down the hallway, his silhouette vanishing beyond the crystal pillars.

As he passed, the walls reflected a faint glow, and the frescoed ceiling above seemed to come alive, as if boasting of the most perfect being in the snow-locked realm.

This palace was alive.

Over the long years, it had gradually developed its own consciousness, capable of expressing itself at any moment. In the Four Kingdoms, such a phenomenon was exceedingly rare.

The Thorn Maids stood stunned, rooted to the spot.

The Snow Spirits, accustomed to such sights, ignored the changes in the hallway and hastily bid the maids farewell before hurrying after the Witch King.

“Your Majesty, please wait!”

“Your Majesty, the elders are about to arrive—you cannot appear like this!”

They were perpetually vexed by the Witch King’s occasional impulsive acts.

The maids shook off their daze, quickly composed themselves, and raised a hand to knock on the door.

Upon receiving permission, they filed in one by one.

Led by Mo Li, the maids carried trays bearing Cen Qing’s formal attire, matching belts and jewelry, as well as newly tailored gloves and a cloak.

The room was bathed in bright light.

The morning breeze stirred the curtains, bringing a slight coolness—but not enough to feel cold.

A large bed stood against the wall, its headboard flush with the surface, the bedposts adorned with carved wings.

Cen Qing sat on the edge of the bed, one hand holding back the bed curtains, the other adjusting his collar.

The Thorn Maids’ keen eyes spotted a red mark through the open collar—undoubtedly not from sleep.

“Your Highness, did you sleep well last night?” Mo Li stepped forward first. Though doubts lingered in her mind, she voiced none. Instead, she carefully observed Cen Qing, confirming that his Blood Curse was diminishing and showed no signs of a toxic flare-up.

It seemed Yuan Wei had been telling the truth.

She thought to herself.

“Quite well,” Cen Qing rose from the bed, stretching his arms in the morning light.

He turned to the Thorn Maids, his handsome face breaking into an uncharacteristically relaxed smile—radiant and untroubled—that even made Mo Li smile unwittingly.

By the time she realized it, she couldn’t suppress the upward curve of her lips.

Seeing Cen Qing’s appearance, Juan Dan and Yuan Wei exchanged glances, the same speculation forming in their minds. But with Mo Li standing in front, they dared not act rashly.

Heaven knew how strict this head maid was, allowing no vulgar words to taint Cen Qing’s ears.

“I know what you’re worried about.” Before Mo Li could ask, Cen Qing spoke up. He returned to the bedside, bent down to scoop up the sleepy snow leopard cub, cradling it with one arm while stroking its ears with the other. The more the cub batted at him, the more he delighted in it. “The poison in my body is subsiding. I believe it won’t be long before it’s completely purged. And my Blood Curse—it’s dissipating too.”

His slender fingers brushed his neck as he recalled the moment the cold blood slid down his throat, sparking an unfamiliar thirst.

This sensation was extremely rare.

Before yesterday—to be precise, before drinking the Witch King’s blood—he had never experienced it.

“You and the Witch King…” Mo Li seemed to struggle with her phrasing, a sight that made Juan Dan and Yuan Wei fidget impatiently, wishing they could speak for her.

Even without her voicing the question, Cen Qing could guess what she wanted to ask.

“He slept here last night. Aside from that, nothing happened.” Cen Qing released the snow leopard, which, surprisingly, didn’t dart away immediately but instead circled his legs, clearly unwilling to stray far.

“Just that?”

“He gave me some of his blood.” Cen Qing shrugged, admitting a twinge of regret in his heart.

The Witch King was more traditional than he had imagined.

A dominant tyrant, yet he displayed restraint and consideration.

An unexpected contrast.

Hearing Cen Qing’s words and seeing his expression, Mo Li struggled to articulate her feelings.

It was as if a carefully nurtured seed had finally sprouted, filling her with pride yet leaving a trace of melancholy. Regardless, she leaned toward optimism.

The Thorn Maid quickly adjusted her mindset.

Cen Qing changed into a shirt on his own, the fabric sliding over his shoulders, his shoulder blades rising with the motion. His back was smooth, his waist supple—straddling youth and adulthood, blurring the lines between innocence and maturity, radiating a peculiar allure.

The next moment, buttons were fastened, and a coat covered the shirt.

A gem-studded belt cinched his waist, banishing the seductive aura. The Vampire Prince regained his gentle composure, bearing no resemblance to a creature of darkness, his demeanor verging on saintly.

“Goblins are temporarily banned from the castle. Your breakfast was prepared by the mountain folk,” Mo Li said as she combed Cen Qing’s long hair, tying it into a loose tail that rested against his back.

“Mountain folk?”

“They live beneath the castle,” the Thorn Maid tapped her foot lightly, her shoe producing a crisp sound against the floor. “Generations have served in Storm City, exclusively for the Witch King—according to the Snow Spirits.”

“I see.” Cen Qing adjusted his collar, the facets of the gems grazing his fingers, stirring something inside him. Suddenly, he turned and rummaged by the pillow, unsurprised to find two gems—missing from the Witch King’s waist chain.

Recalling how they had fallen, Cen Qing felt his ears grow unexpectedly warm.

Avoiding the Thorn Maid’s puzzled gaze, he slipped the gems into his pocket smoothly.

“From what I know, some mountain folk have joined the rebels?” He grabbed his cloak with one hand, heading for the door as he spoke, successfully diverting the maids’ attention.

“Mountain folk have different clans, numbering in the thousands. Their customs, lifestyles, and even appearances vary greatly,” Mo Li hurried ahead, opening the door for Cen Qing and stepping aside respectfully. “The rebels hail from the western hills near the Barbarian tribes, completely unrelated to the mountain folk of the Snow Realm.”

“Like the rogue vampires?” Cen Qing stepped into the hallway, remarking casually.

“A completely different matter. Though both are rebels, rogue vampires are far more dangerous. They swear allegiance neither to Grod nor your mother. With nowhere to belong, they act recklessly. They must be killed on sight—show no mercy.” Mo Li spoke gravely.

Cen Qing paused briefly, glancing at the floor-to-ceiling window beside him.

A beam of colored light streamed through, landing in his palm. As his fingers closed, it vanished without a trace.

“I understand.”

The hallway was long, cold, and empty.

Between the towering pillars, his footsteps echoed clearly, his silhouette reflected on the walls.

This environment, so starkly different from the Black Tower—so bright—left Cen Qing uneasy. Adjusting fully would likely take time.

Cen Qing had accepted the Witch King’s invitation to hunt, and the plan stood unchanged. Before departure, he had a few hours of free time to visit the annex.

Though the timetable seemed generous, it was actually quite tight.

Not wanting to be late for the rendezvous, Cen Qing picked up his pace. Midway, he encountered waiting Snow Spirits, who guided him to the dining hall.

The dining hall was on the castle’s first floor. Pushing open the doors revealed a grand, lavish hall.

A five-tiered crystal chandelier hung from the center of the dome, flanked by towering pillars that made him feel small, like walking through a vast forest.

“Your Highness, this way.” The Snow Spirit led him forward, pulling out a high-backed chair for Cen Qing to sit.

Once seated, the Snow Spirit clapped her hands.

Steaming dishes appeared on the table as if by magic, their rich aromas instantly making Cen Qing’s mouth water.

“Please enjoy,” the Snow Spirit said.

Cen Qing picked up his utensils, starting with the vegetables.

The mountain folk’s culinary skills were impressive. Their seasoning differed slightly from the goblins’, yet pleased his palate just as much.

They adhered strictly to the maids’ recipes, avoiding improvisation—a cautious approach that produced excellent results. Cen Qing was pleased with the first meal.

The snow leopard cub had also been brought out.

After being set down by the maids, it was given a large bowl of goat milk and a fresh cut of venison.

By the time Cen Qing finished breakfast, the Witch King still hadn’t appeared.

As he left the dining hall, he encountered several unfamiliar figures—tall, handsome, and radiating refinement, their demeanor carrying the weight of years, distinctly different from Frank and the others.

From a distance, they gave courteous nods, their faces friendly.

After Cen Qing returned the gesture, they ascended the stairs toward the council chamber on the castle’s second floor—where the Witch King convened his ministers and handled state affairs.

“They are the Warlock Elders, overseeing the wedding rites and security during the ceremony,” the Snow Spirit explained to Cen Qing, revealing the reason for the Witch King’s absence. “His Majesty has urgently summoned the Wargs and the Giant Owl Legion. Unrest has emerged in the wildlands, requiring vigilance.”

Cen Qing stood at the stairway, a hand resting on the polished banister, his eyes fixed on the opposite hallway as more Warlocks gathered.

“Isn’t this sensitive military information? Should it be shared so freely?” he asked.

“You are not an outsider,” the Snow Spirit clasped her hands, her face dreamy. “You are His Majesty’s bride, the Witch King’s consort, the Snow Realm’s future queen. There are no secrets before you.”

“Has it always been this way for past queens?” Cen Qing asked curiously.

“I can’t speak for predecessors, but I know how His Majesty regards you,” the Snow Spirit suddenly turned solemn. “The Witch King rules the Snow Realm—he embodies it. His word is law. You might not understand now, but after the wedding, you’ll come to understand.”

Cen Qing pondered the Snow Spirit’s words, his mind flashing with a flurry of thoughts.

The embodiment of the Snow Realm?

Glancing once more toward the council hall, he lowered his gaze, took the cloak from the maid, and descended the stairs, passing through the main hall as he prepared to depart for the annex.

“Mo Li, I don’t have much time. I need to leave early and return soon.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

Knowing Cen Qing was about to leave, the Snow Spirit volunteered to help prepare the carriage.

The carriage was pulled by two white wolves, their fur pure white without a single blemish. Their streamlined bodies were adorned with silver collars, symbolizing their lineage as descendants of the snow wolves guarding the castle.

“Rest assured, they are very gentle,” the Snow Spirit said, stretching an arm to threateningly tug at one wolf’s collar, startling it into bristling but not daring to whimper.

The Snow Spirit appeared deceptively innocent-looking, seemingly harmless, yet inherently savage. When they roamed the snowy plains in packs, they were the most terrifying nightmare for all races.

As Cen Qing stepped into the carriage, the snow leopard cub suddenly broke free from the maid tending to it and lunged into his arms, clinging to his coat with its claws, refusing to let go no matter what.

“Mrow—”

Its pitiful expression moved Cen Qing, and he ultimately didn’t push it away.

“If you don’t want to let go, then you can come along.”

“Your Highness, you spoil it too much,” Mo Li said sternly, glaring at the cub until its ears flattened.

“Just this once, it’s alright,” Cen Qing chuckled, scratching the cub’s chin. “When it’s young, it should be allowed to be playful.”

These words resonated with Mo Li.

Recalling Cen Qing’s life in the Black Tower, she said nothing more, casting a complicated glance at the snow leopard cub before allowing it to be brought along into the carriage.

With everything arranged, the Thorn Maid took the driver’s seat herself—two seated at the front, two standing at the back.

The ornate carriage left the courtyard, the white wolves moving with astonishing speed as they raced against the wind through the streets toward the annex.

At the annex, the Black Knights had finished breakfast and gathered in the ground floor parlor, awaiting Cen Qing’s arrival.

The meeting hall was brightly lit, its floor covered with intricately patterned carpets. Sheer curtains draped beside the windows, complementing the golden candlesticks in the wall niches.

The room was spacious, easily accommodating thirty people without feeling crowded.

Waiting always felt interminable. With nothing better to do, the Black Knights found card games too dull and instead gathered to compete in arm wrestling.

“Salei, take him down!”

“Maili, show him your muscles aren’t just for show!”

On either side of a low table, two Black Knights sat facing each other.

Rolling up their sleeves, they gripped each other’s hands tightly, their free hands gripping against the table’s edge as they pushed with all their strength amid their comrades’ cheers.

“Push harder!”

“Almost there!”

“Pin him down!”

The Black Knights crowded around, shouting encouragement and whistling.

The noise carried out the door, causing a passing Birdman to pause briefly, glance at the closed door, then continue on as if nothing had happened.

A bunch of overly energetic vampires.

That was his assessment of the Black Knights.

Finally, the contest reached its conclusion.

One-Eyed Salei emerged victorious.

With a roar, Maili’s arm was forced down, his knuckles hitting the table, leaving a large bruise. The table nearly splintered under the impact.

“I won!”

Salei stood, stretching his shoulders and grinning with sharp fangs like a ferocious shark.

His victory hadn’t come easily—he’d nearly been overturned at the last moment.

But a win was a win, regardless of the struggle.

Maili, though reluctant, unbuckled the dagger at his waist and tossed it to Salei. “Use it carefully. I’ll take it back one day!”

“You won’t get the chance,” Salei retorted, gripping the hilt and smoothly drawing the blade. The dagger was no longer than his palm, its edge thin as thread yet sharp enough to cut through black iron—no wonder Maili was reluctant to part with it.

As their match ended, others immediately took their places.

Every contest had its stakes, and the Black Knights reveled in it, working off their excess energy in boisterous clamor.

The room was alive with excitement, the noise growing louder until it could be heard halfway down the corridor.

Cen Qing’s carriage pulled up before the annex.

The goblins working in the courtyard, looking up and seeing Cen Qing step out, quickly formed a line and bowed in greeting.

“Your Highness.” The goblins had been feeding the porcupines—large creatures well-adapted to the Snow Realm’s cold, their quills shiny as if oiled, appearing even more formidable.

Cen Qing nodded to the goblins before going up the steps, where he encountered the Birdmen serving the annex.

“Your Highness.” The Birdmen were tall and slender, their features delicate. Their calm demeanor set them apart from the aggressive clans that had attacked the northern forts.

The Thorn Maid raised her right hand, and a vine slithered around the Birdmen’s feet before vanishing down the corridor.

Soon, footsteps echoed from within.

Thirty Black Knights emerged from the parlor, buttoning their coats as they ran. Halting before Cen Qing, they came to attention and saluted, their appearance barely presentable enough to avoid major criticism.

Even so, the Thorn Maid frowned in disapproval.

Her scrutinizing gaze swept over the knights, making even these battle-hardened knights shiver, making their hair stand on end.

Fortunately, the maids remained silent.

“To the parlor. We have matters to discuss,” Cen Qing said.

“At once, Your Highness.” The Black Knights bowed, their expressions instantly turning solemn. They pressed a hand to their chests, the rings on their fingers glittering gold in the sunlight.

The group made their way down the corridor and entered the parlor.

The Birdman inquired if drinks and snacks were needed, but the Thorn Maid declined on their behalf. They retrieved a rattan box from the carriage, divided into five layers, containing pastries baked by the subterraneans following recipes provided by Mo Li.

“His Highness has no further instructions. You may attend to your duties; there’s no need to remain here,” Mo Li said to the Birdman.

“Very well.” The Birdman nodded, bowed once more to Cen Qing, and swiftly exited the parlor, disappearing around the staircase corner.

The parlor door closed, and the Black Knight cleared the cluttered low tables, repositioning the furniture.

Cen Qing took his seat at the head, with the Thorn Maid standing silently, loyally, and with silent menace behind him.

The knights seated themselves on either side of Cen Qing. Mino and Penault occupied the first positions to his left and right, with Libera seated below Mino, while Salei took his place beside Penault.

The knights chose their seats in a strict hierarchy, reflecting their ranks within the order—a symbol of their individual martial prowess.

Might makes right—this was the creed the Black Knights upheld.

Once everyone was seated, Cen Qing surveyed the room and spoke: “I presume you are all aware of the date for my wedding with the Lord of Snow. As of today, only four days remain.”

The Black Knights had already learned of this from Yuan Wei, but hearing it directly from Cen Qing, they remained solemn, holding their tongues as they waited for him to continue.

“The wedding is not the end, but the beginning.” With this transition, Cen Qing laid out his plans to the group.

He intended to develop his territory, ensuring the Thousand Lakes Territory would no longer remain barren.

From the ground up, laying the foundation was paramount.

“I need you to split your manpower and dispatch them to the Thousand Lakes Territory and the northern border forts after the wedding. I will assign you attendants, including goblins and slaves.”

“The Thousand Lakes Territory has been desolate for too long; everything must be rebuilt. Your primary task is to survey the territory, take a census, and confirm whether they are my subjects.”

As he spoke, Cen Qing retrieved a pouch, opened it, and poured out a few flecks of gold dust.

“This was brought back by the ravens—there is Mystic Gold within the Thousand Lakes Territory. You must follow the ravens’ guidance to locate the gold mines within the territory, stake their locations, and secure all approaches for future mining.”

Building a territory and arming an army required vast funds.

Though he had brought jewelry and gold coins from the royal city, they were but a drop in the bucket compared to the immense demand.

Thus, he needed new revenue streams.

“The team heading to the border must proceed with utmost caution. Deliver my letter to Sir Buyete, keep tabs on the movements of the border rebels closely, and confirm when the royal city will deploy forces.”

Throughout Cen Qing’s speech, the Black Knights remained silent, refraining from interruption.

Only when he mentioned the rebels and the royal city’s actions did their expressions shift.

“Your Highness, do you believe a great war will erupt in the north?” Penault asked cautiously, his gray eyes flashing, his pupils tinged with a shade of blue-gray.

Cen Qing turned his ring on his finger and gave a firm answer: “I despise my father, but I must admit that his insistence on allying with the Snow Realm was not for short-term appeasement—his ultimate goal remains the eradication of the rebel forces.”

Grod had allowed the rebels to grow, primarily to weaken the border nobility.

Now, with the situation spiraling out of control and signs of usurpation among the nobility, he would no longer handle this perfunctorily. Even for the sake of his crown, he would send a massive army.

“The earlier attack on the fort exposed the spies within the envoy. Zacks will not conceal this—he will surely send word to Goldrock Keep. This will hasten the royal city’s mobilization.”

One other matter Cen Qing did not disclose.

Bashir would vigorously push for this war, uniting the majority of the high nobility to raise a formidable army.

“Are we to join this war?” Libera suddenly spoke. Her seat faced away from the window, the winter sunlight spilling over her shoulders. The knight’s eyes gleamed, her pupils burning with battle lust.

“Not directly.” Cen Qing’s tone was calm, yet his words stunned the group. “I want you to operate on the periphery of the battlefield and scavenge from rebel casualties.”

Plunder?

The rebels?

For a moment, the Black Knights’ expressions went blank.

Forgive them for failing to grasp the prince’s intent.

“Building a territory requires vast manpower. With my current resources, I am at my limit.” Cen Qing did not mind explaining his predicament, clearly outlining his intentions. “Barbarian orcs, Corrupted Treants, Snow Giants, subterraneans—regardless of species, without spending a single coin, no concern for their lives or health. They are an excellent source of slaves.”

The Black Knights were stunned silent.

Mino hesitated before speaking: “Your Highness, they are rebels. Employing them risks rebellion.”

“High risk, high reward.” Cen Qing leaned back in his chair, tapping a finger at his loyal knights.

He turned his right hand, and a luminous orb materialized in his palm.

The light hovered, shifting colors, with crimson tendrils swirling at its core.

The threads intertwined, forming a distinct sigil identical to the one beneath Cen Qing’s neck.

“Blood Curse!” the Black Knights exclaimed in unison.

Cen Qing flashed a sharp smile, though the warmth did not reach his eyes.

His obsidian-black eyes were as dark as an abyss, a true testament to his race—a creature of cold instinct, a vampire.

The Blood Curse came from his mother.

After reading Queen Yin’s diary, he had learned many useful things. This Blood Curse, after experimentation, was now completely mastered.

“Under the Blood Curse’s binding, no one can resist my will.”

He showed the Black Knights both mercy and his darker side.

Only by balancing mercy and severity could he tame these rebellious knights, securing their loyalty and ensuring they upheld their oaths—becoming his sharpest spear and strongest bulwark.