Chapter 34

Chapter 34

The Black Knights looked at Cen Qing, understanding his intent without a hint of resistance.

Born of darkness, forged in blood, and existing for slaughter, they preferred Cen Qing’s shadowed depths to any semblance of light.

The one they swore fealty to might appear pure and harmless, even compassionate, but at his core, he remained ruthless and decisive.

The oldest and purest bloodline, with night as his cloak, gathering all shadows into his grasp, treading on blood, crushing his enemies' souls without a moment’s hesitation.

Mino and Penault exchanged a glance before pushing back their high-backed chairs.

The Black Knights followed suit, rising from their seats in unison.

Thirty men faced Cen Qing, clenching fists over their hearts, striking where their hearts lay, the muffled impacts echoing in the air.

“The Black Knights swear fealty to you, Your Highness.”

“Where your blade points, none shall oppose.”

“Your will shall be done!”

An oath held power.

The words of the oath transformed into bonds, entwining around the wrists of Cen Qing and the Black Knights, a bond eternal and unbreakable, lasting until death claimed them and the flames of their souls returned to darkness.

The parlor door, closed for nearly an hour, finally opened again.

The Black Knights marched out, escorting Cen Qing as he left the estate and entered the royal carriage back to the palace.

Four of them broke from the group, saddling their steeds to accompany Cen Qing, honoring their knightly vows.

The white wolf kept its guard up against the Black Knights but did not attack. The silver collar around its neck shimmered, inscribed with elegant characters—ancient Warlock runes.

As the carriage moved through the city, the streets were now alive with activity, a stark contrast to the earlier quiet.

Drawn by the noise, Cen Qing pushed open the carriage window, gazing out with interest.

The wide avenue swarmed with travelers—not just the Warlocks of Stormwind, but also many foreign faces.

They came from different lands: envoys of kingdoms, tribal representatives, merchants of the Free Alliance. Their appearances varied, their attire distinct, their languages diverse. Some spoke loudly, their greetings sounding like quarrels.

“Your wedding with the Lord of Snow is a momentous occasion. Anyone who hears of it will send envoys to offer congratulations.” Mo Li spread a blanket over Cen Qing’s lap. She did not need to drive, sitting beside him in the carriage. “Your mother’s wedding was similarly magnificent, the talk of the realm for years.”

“My mother’s wedding?”

“Yes.” Mo Li leaned back in her seat, lost in memory, her fingers unconsciously tightening. “The celebrations lasted days, with many races coming to offer blessings. Your mother wore a crown and held a scepter—she was the jewel of vampirekind.”

That final glorious display, the height of magnificence.

After that day, the vampires never saw such glory again.

After Queen Yin’s death, Grod took many more wives, but like the decline of the vampires, the wedding ceremonies became mere formalities, as if rushed and perfunctory.

“The Warlocks rarely open Stormwind’s gates. This wedding is a rare chance to understand them. Whether enemies, vassals, or those wishing to maintain the status quo—none will miss it.” Mo Li’s tone shifted, turning serious.

“I see.” Cen Qing leaned an elbow on the window frame, propping his chin as he continued gazing outside.

The world flashed by. He caught glimpses of dozens of races.

Some were common, seen frequently throughout the realms; others were rare, naturally withdrawn, even more so than the Warlocks.

The cave-dwellers, diminutive with disproportionately large hands and feet. Frail in appearance, yet possessing immense strength, capable of digging through frozen earth and mountain rock with bare hands.

The long-haired folk, as their name suggested, covered in thick fur like walking yarn cones, their faces nearly impossible to discern.

Orcs, Birdmen, treefolk—all common sights.

The fishmen, rumored distant cousins of the Merfolk. They retained fish-like traits even in their transformed state, some still sporting tails, yet somehow walking on land?

A fish atop a mountain—what a strange notion.

As the carriage rolled on, he gradually relaxed, his thoughts wandering freely. A random thought drew a laugh from him.

Mo Li glanced at him, her spirits lifting in response.

Since arriving in the Snow Dominion, the prince had changed noticeably, far more relaxed than he had been in Goldrock City.

What had caused this shift?

The ruler of the Snow Dominion?

Before the Thorn Maid could ponder further, the carriage arrived at the palace.

The coachman drew rein, bringing the carriage to a stop.

Just as Cen Qing prepared to rise, the carriage door flew open from the outside. In a silver flash, he was swept into an icy embrace.

Seeing who it was, Cen Qing gasped, “Your Majesty?”

“The time has come.” The Witch King held Cen Qing with one arm, turning without pause toward a waiting beast.

This time, it was not a Giant Owl but a massive snow wolf.

Awooo—

The wolf howled, calling forth a pack of Wargs, their backs bearing accompanying Warlocks.

With the hunting party assembled, the wolves surged forward like a streak of light, streaking through the streets and bursting past Stormwind’s gates.

Wind whipped past their ears, bearing snowflakes, but Cen Qing remained shielded within Wu Ying’s cloak, cradled safely against him, untouched by the cold.

The wolf pack raced along the mountainside.

The group sped into the snow sea, heading toward the hunting grounds in the western frontier.

Bordering the wildlands, it teemed with countless Wraiths—a terrifying, frigid domain, the Warlocks’ exclusive hunting grounds.

Whenever the Witch King took a bride, the hunting grounds opened.

The sovereign of the Snow Dominion would hunt the Wraiths himself, refining them into rare dark crystals, a gift for his future consort.

The snow wolf charged through the wind, the Witch King holding Cen Qing atop its back.

His hood slipped, silver hair streaming like liquid moonlight.

“This gift—I hope you will like it.”

Wu Ying lifted Cen Qing’s chin with one hand, his icy breath grazing the prince’s lips.

Cen Qing did not close his eyes.

He reached out his arms, encircling Wu Ying's neck. Gazing at him closely, he then pressed down on the back of his head, actively deepening the kiss.

The hunting party traveled westward, crossing the vast expanse of snow, and arrived at a snow-covered mountain range by evening.

The mountains were steep and towering, sheer cliffs rising like a thousand blades.

The range stretched across the north and south, cleaving through the snow plains.

The pack of Wargs arrived at the foot of the mountain. Cen Qing pulled back his cloak and looked up, feeling the sheer steepness of the slopes. The highest peak pierced the heavens, its summit shrouded in mist, like some divine or demonic realm.

Awooo—

The snow wolf howled at the sky, and the pack answered in unison.

Their howls reverberated through the wilderness, an invisible energy swirling and crashing with the mountain walls. Snow layers midway up the slopes cracked, massive chunks sliding down the incline with a thunderous roar, crashing at the base and sending up billowing clouds of snow.

The snow cloud surged like a tidal wave, expanding along the foot of the mountain, its sound deafening, the sight magnificent.

Cen Qing stared transfixed, spellbound, when suddenly his waist was gripped tightly.

"Hold on."

The Witch King's voice sounded above him.

Sensing the unusual atmosphere, Cen Qing instinctively grabbed the arm wrapped around his waist.

The Wargs fell silent, their agile limbs stretching out as they transformed into blurs of motion, charging into the rolling mist and heading straight for the mountain.

The Warlocks on the wolves' backs lowered their bodies, their forms shimmering between corporeal and ethereal, as if ready to dissipate and reform at any moment.

Just before colliding with the mountain wall, the wolf pack swiftly changed direction, their sharp claws digging into the snow. With a few leaps, they effortlessly scaled the slopes, scaling near-vertical slopes.

The higher they climbed, the colder the wind grew.

The scenery on either side blurred past, passing in a blur.

Wrapped in the goldwoven cloak, Cen Qing was pressed tightly into the icy embrace, yet a strange warmth blossomed within him.

Arousal, exhilaration, wild excitement—emotions he had never felt before enveloped him, setting his ears ringing. His fangs pierced his gums, stirring a desperate craving.

"Your Majesty..." He opened his mouth, revealing sharp fangs. His voice dropped to a husky whisper, unexpectedly laced with an alluring tone.

His Warg moved with astonishing speed, each leap covering hundreds of meters.

The Witch King held Cen Qing with one arm, his gloved hand gripping his shoulder. The gloves, made from the hide of a mystical beast, were soft and cool to the touch, like deep-sea mermaid silk.

"What?" Wu Ying lowered his head, meeting a pair of pitch-black eyes.

Unable to express himself in words, Cen Qing hooked his arms around Wu Ying's neck and claimed his lips hungrily, his urgency mirroring his emotions.

The closer they got to the summit, the colder it became.

At the peak, wisps of cloud drifted lazily with the wind, while plumes of white vapor shot upward, spearing through the cloud layers like arrows piercing the sky.

Upon reaching the highest point, the Wargs collectively halted.

After their intense sprint, their chests heaved violently, their labored breathing magnified by the mountain winds, growing louder until it rivaled thunder.

"We're here." Wu Ying released Cen Qing, turning his chin to direct his gaze toward the back of the peak.

An expanse of glacial blue unfolded before him.

The slopes remained steep, covered in a thick layer of solid ice, like some colossal glacial fortress.

The surface of the ice was uneven, like cascades frozen in time.

The foot of the mountain dipped, forming a vast canyon.

A thousand feet deep, the canyon floor was filled with towering blue trees, as if carved from crystal.

Among the trees, cerulean springs of all sizes welled up, some pooling into ponds, their frozen surfaces catching the dying light.

"Is this the hunting ground?" Cen Qing couldn't help but feel puzzled. It looked more like a hidden utopia than a place for hunting.

"Patience. It won't be long now." The Witch King embraced Cen Qing from behind, his arms encircling his waist as he murmured against his ear, "Be patient."

Patience?

Cen Qing continued to gaze down at the canyon, his fingers resting on the arm around his waist, idly tracing patterns on the cold skin. Suddenly, he froze.

His eyes widened as he witnessed something unbelievable.

As daylight faded, the light receded like a tide, retreating to the horizon's edge.

Night enveloped the land, storm clouds crowding the heavens, yet a few beams of moonlight remained, falling vertically into the canyon.

The blue trees swayed gently, their canopies spreading, their foliage glowing faintly.

The light scattered, glistening like scattered stardust, forming transparent ribbons that floated above the springs and ponds. Then, as if frozen, countless specks of light slowly descended, their luminescence dancing across the water's skin.

The transparent ice began to melt.

Not cracking or splitting, but dissolving around the light, forming perfect circular voids. The edges of the holes continued to erode until the ice shattered, vast plates of ice surrendering to the depths.

Boom!

A subterranean groan reverberated, and the remaining ice vanished without a trace.

The water was preternaturally still, not a single ripple or whirlpool in sight.

His instincts prickling with warning, Cen Qing remained silent, focusing intently on the water, seeking the secrets beneath the glassy surface.

Boom!

Another strange sound followed, accompanied by an ear-splitting wail, needle-sharp enough to pierce eardrums, reverberating through the entire canyon.

Countless transparent figures burst from the water, phantasmal shapes rippling the surface.

Different races, different forms, different ages, different faces.

Their bodies were translucent, their faces void of all humanity, cerulean fires smoldering in hollow eyes as they hung motionless in the frigid air like specters in the night.

"Wraiths, the most soulless of entities. They gather and hide deep in the snow plains. When the barren realms tremble, they emerge in full force, consuming all living essence within reach." The Witch King's voice was clear, devoid of emotion, yet chilling to the bone. "They have no self-awareness, driven only by malice and greed."

"Are they your prey?" Cen Qing asked.

"Distilling their spectral energy forges the purest obsidian gems. I will use them to adorn you, my beautiful bride." Wu Ying gazed down at Cen Qing, his eyes deep and intense, his primal obsession and ravenous possessiveness barely leashed.

As they spoke, a cold wind swept through the valley, lifting thick azure mist.

The Wraiths suddenly became agitated.

Their vacant expressions vanished as their faces and bodies twisted simultaneously, mouths gaping unnaturally wide, shadowy flames swirling in their eye sockets.

They began attacking one another, greedily devouring each other, the frenzied scene resembling a nightmare made flesh.

"It's time."

Wu Ying raised his right arm and swept it forward.

The accompanying Warlocks emitted sharp, eerie cries—sounds unlike anything human.

The Wargs bared their fangs, bladed claws extended.

They descended the mountainside, gathering momentum until they transformed into streaks of gray light, crashing viciously into the canyon below.

The Snow Wolf surged ahead effortlessly, overtaking the pack and reaching the valley floor first.

Only upon standing at the bottom did one truly know true cold.

Though Cen Qing was unafraid of the chill, he couldn't help shivering.

The sudden intrusion of the Warlocks brought the Wraiths' slaughter to an abrupt halt.

Countless hollow eyes turned toward them, ghost fires flickering within, malice palpable. Beyond their unnatural forms, they undeniably posed a threat to Cen Qing.

The Snow Wolf entered the spring, splashing water that froze midair into ice crystals.

Wraiths by the water's edge closed in—some clad in ancient chainmail, wearing dented iron helmets, their once-handsome faces now twisted into ugliness.

Lethal wounds marred their bodies, though no longer bleeding.

Their weapons were distinctive: slender swords, thinner than those of the Warlocks, blades glinting frostily, sharp enough to slice through metal.

Roaring, the Wraiths surrounded the Snow Wolf, attacking from all sides.

An icy aura abruptly descended, deflecting every attack, rendering them unable to advance.

The Witch King turned his right hand, golden light converging into an ornate longbow gripped firmly in his palm.

"My golden rose, what color gemstone do you prefer?" His voice whispered against Cen Qing's ear as a white arrow shot forth, exploding midair into countless shards like needles that pierced the encircling Wraiths.

Like fire meeting oil, the Wraiths ignited with blue ghost fire, flames lashing and howling as they burned fiercely in the air.

The Witch King continued firing, more Wraiths engulfed in the inferno, their unearthly wails filling the canyon.

The accompanying Warlocks weaved through the canyon, arrows raining down.

Flames erupted across the valley floor, forming blazing barriers that offered no warmth.

Ghostly blue fire chains coiled around the trees, illuminating the water's surface, intensifying the cold. Even Cen Qing, a vampire, felt the cold seep into his bones.

He turned his head, catching the Witch King's predatory smile in the firelight.

He reveled in destruction, exhilarated by slaughter—the bloodlust did not diminish his beauty but rather enhanced it with its darkness.

This was the Lord of the Frozen Wastes.

Cen Qing averted his gaze, spotting a falling ember nearby. Acting on impulse, he reached out, capturing the blue flicker in his palm.

Ice crystals formed between his fingers, bringing a biting cold.

Opening his hand, he found a white crystal resting there, starkly different from the colorful shards scattered around.

He lifted it, peering closely—silvery hues swirled within, identical to the Witch King's Mithril.

A slender hand cradled his wrist, fingertips brushing his skin as it took the crystal.

"Silver crystal." A spark of surprise flickered in the Witch King's eyes as his lips brushed Cen Qing's ear. "You have healing abilities?"

Only such a gift could purify a Wraith-forged gem, leaving behind its purest form.

"Yes. Hindered by the poison and Blood Curse within me, it never progressed beyond healing minor wounds—nearly useless." Cen Qing withheld nothing, confessing his ability.

Mo Li, Queen Yin's bonded briar, had cared for him since birth, knowing all his secrets. Yet even she couldn't explain why a dark creature, a pure royal descendant, possessed such a gift.

The cruelest irony was that blessed with healing, he was yet powerless against his own affliction, surviving only through his mother's Blood Curse.

"All things exist for a reason. Do not despair." The Witch King opened Cen Qing's palm, returning the silver crystal.

Then, guiding Cen Qing's grip on the longbow, he let fly a last arrow.

It pierced the air, a Wraith consumed by flames.

Wu Ying released the bow, its form dissolving into stardust, melting like snow into the valley's icy wind.

"You'll suffer no more from poison, nor be bound by the Blood Curse. I'll grant you freedom, everything you desire, my golden rose."

His voice, laced with honeyed promises, coiled through Cen Qing's mind.

Cen Qing lowered his gaze to his palm, then took Wu Ying's hand, placing the silver crystal within, folding his fingers one by one.

"Your Majesty, you said hunting is a Warlock tradition. I offer this to you—please accept it." He tilted his head up, yielding beneath Wu Ying's stare, his future husband.

Wu Ying studied him, fingers tracing his throat before tilting his chin up, a smile unfurling like a banner.

"You continue to astonish me."

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to Cen Qing's.

An icy gale screamed through the canyon, the Wraiths vanished, and scattered crystals rose like luminous tendrils, encircling them both.

Wu Ying led Cen Qing from the Snow Wolf to a blue tree.

Moonbeams kissed the waterside crystals, surrounding them with a galaxy of glittering reflections.

Taking Cen Qing's right hand, Wu Ying brushed the ring on his finger before lowering himself in fealty, gazing up at him.

"My golden rose, by Warlock tradition, I offer all this to you." Silver hair cascaded over his shoulders, gaze soft yet unyielding. "Will you marry me? Become my Queen?"

This was no political union—it was a true proposal.

As promised, his golden rose deserved only the finest.

Not tribute, nor a gift, but his bride, his wife, his hothouse jewel—a prize beyond stealing.

Cen Qing was stunned.

An unprecedented emotion filled his chest, on the verge of overflowing. He was acutely aware that his heart had been seized, trapped beyond escape.

Perhaps it was a few seconds, or perhaps minutes—he gave up resisting.

"I would be delighted, Your Majesty."

The dark-haired vampire flashed a radiant smile, cupping the Lord of Snow's face in his hands. His eyes mirrored the other's face as he leaned down and kissed his lips.