Dreadfang Mountain
Ten figures crouched low beneath the cover of jagged rocks, their black, tattered cloaks blending seamlessly with the shadows of the Dreadfang Mountain. They’re the Emperor’s Shadow Knights, assassins feared across the continent, ghosts in the dark whose nas were never spoken. But now, they were a ss of blood, sweat, and exhaustion.
Their chests heaved as they tried to stay silent, watching from afar as the Grand Duke of Borgia’s group rode steadily along the mountain pass. The steady clinking of the Borgia knights’ armor echoed faintly through the cold evening air, a haunting sound to those who had been fighting endlessly for survival.
The Shadow Knights had been trapped in this frozen nightmare for six relentless days, battling wave after wave of monstrous creatures that poured from the cursed mountain.
They hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten properly, and hadn’t known a mont of peace since setting foot here. Even with their legendary skills, their bodies are starting to fail. Their movents had beco sluggish, their blades nicked and dulled, and their minds frayed at the edges from the constant bloodshed. If they continued like this, they knew they wouldn’t last another day.
One of the younger assassins trembled as he peeked over the rock, his voice hoarse and ragged. "That’s... that’s the Grand Duke," he muttered, almost in disbelief. "It’s impossible to kill her. Even if we tried, we wouldn’t survive the attempt."
Another shadow knight hissed sharply, shaking his head. "We can’t," he said firmly. "She carries royal blood. Striking her down would an crossing our oath."
A third, older assassin joined in, his tone grim and low. "Royal lineage is sacred. Even a mixed-blood royal is still royal. You know the rules; we spill every kind of blood but theirs."
The group fell into a tense silence for a mont, only the whistling mountain wind filling the void between their breaths. Then another voice spoke up, this one strained with fear, barely louder than a whisper. "And this isn’t just any royal... this is Grand Duke Borgia. Do you even understand what race she’s mixed with?"
The question sent a ripple of unease through the group. Their hands tightened on their weapons, though not with intent to fight, only out of sheer instinctive fear. The leader of the group, a tall woman with piercing, ice-cold eyes, finally broke the silence. Her voice is steady, but her jaw is clenched so tightly it trembled.
"The Demon King, Ashkareth," she said at last, her words cutting through the air like a blade. "That’s her other bloodline."
The mont the na left her lips, several of the knights stiffened. The younger assassin swallowed hard, his throat dry as sand. "So... she’s part demon," he breathed, his voice barely audible.
"Not just part demon," the leader corrected, her gaze never leaving the crimson-eyed figure riding at the front of the Borgia party. "She’s the direct descendant of the Demon King himself. The very embodint of everything our order was trained to fear and fight with everything we have. If we engage her, we won’t just die—we’ll be erased."
Around her, the group shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her words sinking in. For six days, they had thought the endless monsters were bad luck or misfortune, but now they understood: it’s her; the bad luck is her.
The Shadow Knights weren’t cowards, but what they saw filled them with a creeping, suffocating fear. The emperor had sent them on a suicidal mission: to kill soone on the way to the capital by the Dreadfang Mountain, sever the mating bond by force, and bring his wife back alive to the capital.
But the one they were ordered to strike down, the one whose bond they were ant to tear apart, is none other than Roxanne de Borgia, the Grand Duke herself, mounted on a massive warhorse with her oga wife nestled safely in her arms.
The sight is almost surreal. The group of thirty Borgia knights moved like a single, unstoppable beast, their presence so overwhelming that even the monsters in the mountain refused to co near them.
They have been raised in Elderglen, a village that forges living weapons, a place where bloodlines are sharpened into blades. Those who leave its mist-shrouded borders carry with them the weight of countless generations of silent, unseen killers.
That village is the cradle of the Shadow Knights, the most feared assassins in the Erengrad Empire. Their lineage has existed for centuries, bound by a single, unbroken purpose: to serve from the shadows.
So are chosen to swear eternal loyalty to the royal family of Erengrad, becoming their hidden blades and spies. Others wander the world to find a master worthy of their skill, binding their loyalty through oaths sealed in blood.
The youngest knight’s hands trembled on the hilt of his dagger. "Why us?" he whispered, barely able to speak. "Why send his most loyal assassins to die like this? We’ve sworn our lives to the royal family. We don’t question orders, but..."
The leader’s eyes softened, just for a mont, before hardening once more. "Because we are disposable," she said, her tone bitter but calm. "If we fail, the Emperor loses nothing but ten shadows. If we succeed..."
Her voice trembled slightly as her gaze drifted to Vivianne, who’s resting peacefully in Roxanne’s arms. The oga looked so delicate, so unassuming, yet her very existence could shift the balance of the empire.
"If we succeed," the woman whispered, almost as if speaking the words made them heavier, "the Emperor will gain an oga with power beyond imagination... and destroy the strongest alpha in the empire in one move."
"Exactly!" another Shadow Knight hissed, his voice breaking into a frantic whisper. "The strongest alpha! The demon king’s bloodline! And she’s royal-born! Do you understand what that ans?"
But the leader, a woman with dirty gray hair and sharp, dark purple eyes, isn’t listening to him. Her attention is fixed on the silverish threads swirling gently around the oga in the Grand Duke’s arms. The mont her gaze t that ethereal glow, she understood, truly understood, why the Emperor wanted this woman so badly.
The oga isn’t just powerful enough to ta the Spirit Kings; she holds the reins to control of the spirit world. She isn’t just rare; she’s also known throughout the empire as the most beautiful oga ever born, a living legend wrapped in mortal flesh.
The leader’s decision is imdiate, her voice firm and unshaken as she speaks. "You all have two choices: leave now... or fight ."
"Lead?!" one of the knights gasped, his face pale. The other eight turned to her, disbelief etched into their expressions.
"I have found my master," the woman said without a shred of hesitation. "And I will serve her with my life." A slow, dangerous smile curved her lips.
"The Grand Duke is your master? Not the Emperor?" two of them asked in unison, their voices trembling.
"No," she said clearly, her eyes burning with newfound conviction. "The Grand Duchess is my master."
anwhile, a short distance away, Roxanne rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed, and shot Maxim a look. "They do realize we can hear them, right?" she muttered under her breath. Maxim stifled a laugh but didn’t reply, his shoulders shaking with silent amusent.
"They’re loud," Vivianne murmured, her hand clutching tightly at Roxanne’s coat, fear and disbelief mingling in her soft voice.
"And seemingly stupid," Roxanne said with a deep, exasperated sigh.
Vivianne blinked, staring at the group of so-called assassins with wide, incredulous eyes. "And I was scared of them?" she whispered, almost unable to believe her own words.
-
The leader, a beta female nad Marvessa, had been living like a lifeless doll for as long as she could rember. From the mont she drew her first breath, her fate had already been decided for her.
In Elderglen, childhood was nothing more than a fleeting illusion. There were no gas, no laughter, and no carefree days. The mont a child opened their eyes to the world, their life beca a brutal test of endurance.
Every breath was a battle for survival, every mont a trial ant to sharpen their bodies and minds into perfect weapons. Marvessa was no exception. She bled, crawled, and clawed her way to the top of her generation, becoming one of the finest assassins Elderglen had ever produced.
Her strength was unmatched, her movents silent as a shadow, and her skill with poisons unrivaled. Venom beca her virtue, her silent and trusted companion in the art of death.
The king of Erengrad admired her for one simple reason: Marvessa never questioned her orders. No hesitation. No emotion. No doubt. She simply obeyed and executed, a flawless blade in the darkness. For years, she believed this was the only path, her only purpose.
She had always looked down on those who chose to leave Elderglen and abandon their service to the royal family. Those who found a "master" outside the king were, in her eyes, weaklings, cowards who gave up their duty for sentintality. She vowed never to be like them, never to tarnish her blade with emotion.
But now, for the first ti, she understood them.
Unlike most of the shadow knights who were born in Elderglen, Marvessa was different. She carried within her the faint trace of spiritualist blood, a rare lineage that allowed her to hear the whispers of the wind, to feel the flow of water carrying secrets, and to sense the subtle murmurs of the earth beneath her feet.
Though her power was weak, it made her perception sharper and her killing thods deadlier. She could track a heartbeat through the tremor of a leaf and anticipate danger through the hush of the trees. It made her one of the most lethal among her kin.
And then today, she saw her, a woman who could silence all those voices around her with a single, graceful wave of her hand. The whispers of the world bowed to her command, bending like reeds in the wind.
The very spirits themselves seed to kneel before her presence. The grand duchess of Borgia, the oga resting in the Grand Duke’s arms, isn’t just a rare beauty. She was a being born to rule the spirit realm, a force of nature beyond comprehension.
For the first ti in her life, Marvessa’s heart ached with yearning. A yearning to serve. A yearning to belong. All those years, she had believed that choosing a master outside the crown was a sign of weakness.
But now, she understood it was not weakness at all; it was surrender to sothing far greater than oneself. She wanted to lay down her blade at Vivianne’s feet and devote her every breath, every drop of blood, to protecting her.
The realization shook Marvessa to her very core. For as long as she could rember, she had been nothing more than a silent doll, a weapon without feelings, without a voice, without a heart of her own. She had never allowed herself to question, never allowed herself to want. But now, standing in the presence of Vivianne de Borgia, everything within her shifted.
"You guys are awfully loud." The voice cut through the tension like a dagger through silk, cold and mocking.
From the edges of the trees, two figures erged, their presence so sudden it felt as if they had risen from the very darkness itself. Their movents were unnervingly silent, even to the Shadow Knights’ finely trained senses.
Marvessa’s eyes narrowed, instinctively shifting into a defensive stance. These two aren’t ordinary opponents. They’re Roxanne’s knights, the warriors who bore demon blood, beings who thrived in the darkness itself. Compared to them, even Elderglen’s assassins seed clumsy and slow.
The first knight stepped forward, their form tall and lean, the edges of their body seeming to blur and ld with the surrounding shadows. Their voice is smooth and sharp, carrying an eerie echo, as though the darkness itself spoke with them. "Her Grace has requested your presence," they said, their tone dripping with authority.
The second knight followed, their beauty almost unnatural, the kind of breathtaking that sent unease crawling up the spine. Their skin is pale like moonlight, their eyes pitch black with no whites, glimring faintly as if reflecting so inner fla. When they bared their teeth, their jagged, predatory fangs caught the dim light, a haunting contrast to the grace of their movents.
"You will co with us," they added, their lips curving into a chilling smile.
Marvessa’s pulse thundered. These two aren’t just ssengers; they’re holding the license to instantly kill. Even among killers, they stood apart, creatures born to hunt the hunters. The air around them seed to warp, the shadows stretching unnaturally long, as if the night itself bent to their will.
Behind Marvessa, so of the Shadow Knights shifted uneasily, hands twitching toward their weapons. But she lifted a single hand in warning. Fighting these two now would be suicide.
Her gaze flicked briefly toward Vivianne in the Grand Duke’s arms, and her resolve hardened. She would follow, if only to stand closer to her true master. "I will follow." She said.
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