Helen stared at Zane, her rosy lips parting slightly in astonishment; after what felt like an eternity, she finally managed to utter three words in disbelief.
"You… are you insane?"
"Why?" Zane tilted his head. "You think I can't pull it off?"
Helen smoothed the shock from her features, offered Zane a sweet smile, and then spoke.
"Lord Duke, I believe I've already witnessed your capabilities, and I'm convinced you have the strength to forge your own Kingdom of the Dead. But, Lord Duke, the greatest obstacle to such a grand ambition likely isn't whether you can accomplish it…"
"And what would that be?"
"The Church." Helen raised a finger, pointing toward the heavens.
The Church?
Zane recalled that in the original novel there really was an organization devoted to the Holy Light, and they called themselves The Church.
Like most stereotypical righteous orders, The Church was secretive, powerful, rigid, and dull—aloof and preoccupied solely with its own faith, indifferent to worldly affairs.
"Do you really think The Church would involve itself in this? I always assumed they focused only on proselytizing."
"Most of the time, yes." Helen nodded slightly before continuing, "But I don't believe that if you truly establish the Kingdom of the Dead you just described, The Church would stand idly by. Lord Duke, I admire your ambition, but making an enemy of The Church would be unwise."
An unwise choice? Are you kidding? I've still got a Holy Maiden of the Church locked up in my dungeon!
Zane sneered dismissively but didn't argue further with Helen; instead, he changed the subject.
"Heh, alright, point taken… As for our collaboration, Miss Helen, do you have any other thoughts?"
"It's an honor to have such a powerful ally as yourself."
Helen gave a slight bow to Zane. Her blue eyes flicked about, and her voice dropped to a hushed tone.
"If I'm not mistaken, the army sent to rescue me is personally led by my elder brother, the prince. If possible, I'd like Lord Duke to keep him here in this castle… permanently."
"Hm?" Zane frowned. "The prince is leading the rescue himself? Sounds like you two aren't on such bad terms after all."
"That's not it." Helen shook her head. "It's purely for show. He'd rather I die here—and frankly, even if he got me out, I doubt I'd survive the journey back to the Kingdom of Lionheart. In short, the risk is minimal, and he's the only one who can preserve the royal family's dignity in this matter."
Minimal risk? As if they're treating me like some test subject!
Zane bared his teeth in a grin, already thinking how to squeeze a few more Negative Emotion Points out of Helen, when suddenly, a face materialized from the darkness—Chunk of Flesh.
"Master! The Vanguard below is behaving in a way that makes this humble servant uneasy!"
"What?" Zane looked up, surprised.
Helen pressed on, "What Vanguard?"
Chunk of Flesh ignored Helen's question, instead turning its gaze to Zane, awaiting his next command.
Though he had struck a partnership with Helen, Zane still couldn't fully trust her—especially at such a sensitive moment with enemies at the gates.
"Ahem." Zane cleared his throat theatrically, then offered Helen a reassuring smile. "It's nothing—just some pesky little mice. By the way, Miss Helen, I imagine you haven't been resting comfortably down in the dungeon. I'll have my servants prepare a more pleasant chamber for you right away. You can rest there until I come for you again."
Helen, a clever woman, recognized she'd overstepped. She replied with a soft, "Very well—I'll follow your arrangement."
"Chunk of Flesh, escort Miss Helen to her bedchamber, then return to the hall and report to me."
With that, Zane strode off, his new ghoul servant in tow.
—
Fifteen minutes later, in the castle's grand hall, Zane stood before a broken window, staring out at the sheer cliff-face beyond. His expression was tense.
It was the dead of night. A slim crescent moon hung low in the sky, its pale light washing over the jagged ridge. Wisps of fog drifted through the air, and ghostly will-o'-the-wisps flickered within the haze, lending the scene an eerie, unforgiving chill.
No ordinary mortal could take in the entire mountainside at once—but perhaps due to the touch of the Vampire, or remnants of the original inhabitant's vampiric traits, Zane found he could discern details no one else should see.
"Did you really hear them say they intended to storm the castle?" Zane asked Chunk of Flesh, puzzled—so far he'd detected nothing suspicious.
"My liege, I swear I speak the truth," Chunk of Flesh replied. "When I descended the mountain to gather your usual provisions, I passed their encampment. They were indeed plotting an assault—and their goal was to rescue… a missing comrade."
As Chunk of Flesh spoke, it glanced at Evan standing on Zane's other side.
But Evan showed no reaction; now a pure ghoul, he existed only to feed and fight.
"They're quick on the uptake," Zane mused. "Less than half a day, and they're already bold enough to breach my walls? Brazen. Do you think they have an ace up their sleeve?"
Chunk of Flesh paused to recall, then shook its head. "I cannot say—but one of them did seem to be better equipped than the rest."
That well-equipped individual could only be Captain Chris.
Zane said nothing further. He sat back on his stone chair, rubbing his chin in thoughtful frustration.
Seeing this, Chunk of Flesh hissed fiercely at him.
"Master! If you permit it, this humble servant and the ghoul can ride out to meet those invaders. I swear to you, I won't let them set foot inside the castle!"
At Zane's words, he couldn't help but let out a light chuckle, glancing over at Chunk of Flesh.
"Hm? You think I'm worried about them breaching the walls? What a joke. I'm more concerned with how we can maximize our gain."
"After all, a gift‐wrapped group of enemies like this is too valuable to simply kill off… We need to toy with them a bit first!"
Chunk of Flesh felt a pang of unease—this didn't quite fit his master's usual style.
Still, ever since Zane awakened from slumber, he'd been markedly different, so despite his misgivings, Chunk of Flesh didn't press further; he only ventured another question.
"Toy with them? Like a feral cat playing with a mouse cornered against a wall?"
At Chunk of Flesh's words, Zane's eyes lit up and he nodded approvingly.
"Exactly, exactly! We'll drive them into a corner, let them taste despair and agony! Ah, so not only must we let them enter the castle, we have to give them such overwhelming hope that they throw themselves through the gates without hesitation!"
"This… is that really necessary?" Chunk of Flesh's face creased in deeper confusion.
He didn't understand—and Zane didn't blame him.
After all, who could have guessed that Zane was running a system that required accumulating Negative Emotion Points?
"Of course it's necessary!" Zane clenched a fist, speaking with a note of excitement. "Why, you needn't worry about that. Just follow my orders exactly!"
"Lean in close—listen to the Duke's detailed plan!"
Chunk of Flesh hurriedly pressed his fractured skull nearer to Zane, and even Evan edged forward, though he understood none of it.
A chill wind burst through the shattered window, sweeping into the hall. The flames of the white candles on the stone table flickered and danced in the draft, stretching and shrinking the three silhouettes of master and servants. The scent of conspiracy began to seep through the castle, and a cruel, blood soaked trap was laid in the cover of darkness.
—
Down the mountain, less than five kilometers from Howling Castle, a detachment of knights from the Kingdom of Winterscar was making a forced night march. Through the drifting fog, the mottled curtain wall and great gate of the castle loomed, half seen.
They had no idea that stepping within Howling Castle's walls would become the gravest mistake of their lives.
For the castle's master was already poised to savor their agony and despair.