Every corner of the castle held the ghosts of their shared joy.
They had met here, fallen in love here, stolen secret meetings in the shadowed corridors, practiced swordplay beneath the same roof. They had sworn to become knights together and to purge the land of werewolves.
Though he had left, she believed he would return. She would wait here — for him to become a great knight and come back to make her his wife.
Now the land and the keep were at risk. And worse — a mighty lord coveted her as well. What choice did she have but to fight?
If I must die, then so be it.
But Andrew… Andrew might not come back in time.
With that thought like a blade in her chest, Amelia rose in a single motion. Her fingers closed around the hilt at her side. She drew her elegant knightly sword and turned to Chen Mo, her whole being a declaration of defiance — a resolve to die before yielding.
Chen Mo did not expect such a fierce reaction. She had not even let him finish speaking before preparing to cut him down.
Surrounded by nearly a hundred drawn blades, he sat as if nothing could touch him — calm, composed. His eyes met Amelia's without flinching. He spoke plainly, stating the reason for his visit.
"As Andrew's liege," he said, "I have come to propose marriage for him."
The words stunned everyone into silence.
"Andrew?"
"Could it be—?"
All eyes swung to the knight who had stood quietly behind Chen Mo the entire time.
Amelia's expression shifted — astonishment, then a tremor of recognition. Could it truly be him?
Andrew himself was bewildered. He had thought Chen Mo had brought him here to force a surrender. He had imagined his lord taken with Amelia's beauty and planning to seize her for himself — a thought that pained him deeply. Now Chen Mo declared he had come to ask for Andrew's hand.
Relief and joy flooded him. He strode forward. Removing his helm, Andrew dropped to one knee, hand to his breast, and delivered the ceremonial oath of a knight with perfect solemnity.
Chen Mo inclined his head — permission granted.
Andrew rose, every line of him solemn and proud, and walked up to the dais where Amelia sat.
When she saw his face, the cold strength that had held her snapped. Her body trembled; her eyes went wet and bright. Andrew's weathered face was all she could look at.
He crossed the hall and held her. The armor could not hide the warmth they felt. After years of waiting, loss, and uncertainty, she leaned into him and wept — silent, clean tears that fell against cold steel.
…
In the end, Amelia and nearly a hundred of her knights joined Chen Mo's banner. Like Victor before her, she was allowed to keep command of her own troop. Though her domain was absorbed, Chen Mo permitted her to retain the castle.
Chen Mo had originally brought only a little over two hundred men on this sortie — those left to guard Blackstone, escort merchant caravans, and hunt werewolves. After reorganization and replenishment, the order now numbered more than three hundred as they set off for home.
Days later, the column moved through a valley along a gentler, less hurried road. Chen Mo rode at the front on his great black charger. Andrew and Amelia rode side by side behind him, exchanging looks that needed no words.
Behind them rode four knights bearing the bronze insignia — among them Victor.
Since Victor had been compelled into Chen Mo's service, he had come to understand the true depth of Chen Mo's power. The lord's secret workshops produced marvels: armor that rivaled legend, swords that bit like winter, stirrups that made cavalry masters of novices, telescopes to see distant threats, and countless other devices — crossbows, pulleys, cement, clocks — innovations no one in this age had seen before. Some of these trinkets were sold by the caravans as luxury goods; many were kept for the fortress alone.
The longer Victor served, the more he believed, and the deeper his loyalty grew. Chen Mo's might — able to cleave gates with a single stroke or stand against a wolf pack — bred awe that became devotion.
The villagers and common folk called him a god. Who else could end the werewolf scourge? Who else could bring bountiful harvests and safety? To them, his miracles were salvation.
Riding behind them, Victor wondered at the man who seemed to make miracles the everyday. If there were alien visitors in another age, I would call him one, he thought, half in jest and half in earnest.
But Chen Mo did not know of Victor's private musings. He had other aims. Two of the three great vampire elders were now within his grasp — Victor and Amelia. The final piece, Marcus himself, was nearer than ever in Chen Mo's reckoning. Marcus was the true object of his plan — the target that would unlock the heart of everything he sought.
"Halt!" Chen Mo's sharp command split the valley air. He drew the reins; his great charger reared and then, with a thunderous neigh, stopped as if pinned.
This horse had been one of the two hundred purchased from Count Warren — but Chen Mo had strengthened it with an improved serum beforehand. Ordinary mounts would have been shattered by the force needed to breach gates; this one had the speed, the strength, the endurance — and the intelligence — to withstand extremes.
To an untrained eye it was merely larger and nobler. In truth its muscles, reflexes, stamina, and cunning were magnitudes greater than any regular warhorse. Chen Mo often rode it ahead to slaughter wolf packs and hone his sword work.
When it ran, it could easily exceed a hundred kilometers per hour; its peak speed could top two hundred. Once those legs were unleashed, nothing in that age could match its acceleration or agility.
He pulled the reins. The horse's great limbs braked and it came to a clean, silent halt. Thanks to the space Chen Mo had kept, none of the trailing knights collided.
His order rang out. The troop halted as one and snapped into readiness. Weapons slid free. Eyes scanned the slopes. Discipline — Chen Mo's training — showed.
He looked up at the valley's flanks. Thick forest clothed both sides, ancient trees pressing their branches together so that the undergrowth hid whatever lay beyond.
Chen Mo's face darkened in a way it never had since he had come to this world. He was not angry. He was not surprised. He was grave — bone-deep grave.
There was danger in those woods. A great, hidden danger.