Silence clung like frost for a moment. Robert nodded. "No problem. If you agree, there'll be a heavy reward once it's done."

"That was blunt, like a blade on bone," Lance pressed. "What's your chance to win? If it's just money, count me out."

Fulin felt a chill, like rain on stone; she didn't want money. She wanted to know what these people really planned.

Robert spread his arms like a black-winged raven. "You still don't grasp the Raven Brotherhood's odds? We have hearts, we read the weather. Most of all, we control blood powder and how to command Vampire Knights."

The room stank of blood, iron-thick, like a forge at night.

Lance leaned back, waving it off. "Forget it. Vanilla Duke has ten hardened knightly orders, four Earth Knights, and gear up to the teeth. He can rally the Mage Association, the Mercenary Guild, and priests of the Light."

"If they stand together, your Vampire Knights are eggs against stone, right?" Lance spread his hands, like a man before a storm.

Robert wagged a finger with a smile sharp as a hook. "Wrong, wrong, Lance Morrison. You’re a strong knight, but you’re still naive about uprisings."

Mocked, Lance kept his temper, a pond under wind. "Then teach me, if you will."

"I don’t dislike modest youth," Robert said, smoke rippling like cloud as his cigar glowed. "First, many in the Doran Kingdom resent the Heavenly Spirit Empire. The root is exploitation."

"Like a lord squeezing his tenant farmers?" Lance asked, like tapping a hollow tree.

"You're young, Lance Morrison. Their exploitation isn't that simple." Robert flicked ash like gray snow and raised a finger. "Simplest and sharpest—currency. The Heavenly Spirit Empire unified our coin. The Nordland Continent runs on fiat."

With old-world knowledge stirring like a compass, Lance understood. "So they can strip our wealth at will, even without direct taxes."

"Yes, exactly." Robert’s eyelids lifted like shutters. "And there's more."

He listed them—economy, culture, military, technology—each word a gravelly drumbeat. In Lance’s mind, it shaped an imperial crocodile of long-lived races, feeding on humankind.

"It sounds unjust," Lance said, like thunder behind hills. "So we must resist?"

"Yes. We must. We could have, and we have strength. But—"

Robert’s voice dipped like dusk. He spoke of the Shadowspirit Legion's invasion.

"They use a war that should be between Celestial and Dark Spirits to hobble us. Humans should be untouched, yet we bleed. Each year, four tributary states pour men and grain onto the front. Doran Kingdom looks prosperous now, but the long road will grind us down."

The weight felt immense; Fulin wished for quiet, like moss under rain. She remembered the Xia saying—do not meddle in others’ affairs—and as a wanderer, she just wanted her own peace.

But Lance couldn’t say that on the surface. He smoothed his tone like calm water. "Sorry, Mr. Robert. I’m just a knight. I won’t take that risk."

"This isn’t risk. It’s an uprising." Robert’s words rang like iron. "Heavenly Spirit Empire is far from Golden Bay City. Opportunities abound. Many will support us."

He even smiled, fox-bright. "If nothing goes wrong, Vanilla Duke will be first to step forward. And Golden Bay City is Doran Kingdom’s trade heart. If the Dark Spirit Empire takes it, our independence gains a raging wind."

Lance sighed with a crooked smile, like a reed in crosscurrent. "Sounds like the Raven Brotherhood got help from the Dark Spirit Empire."

"Of course." Robert laughed, the sound slipping into a manic cackle like bats at dusk. "The Gaia Empire sends Dark Blood Clan’s special powder every month—yes, blood powder. Through smuggling, they even sent three Dark Spirit squads. And many of us were baptized by the Earth Mother, reborn nobler."

He tore open his shirt with a flourish, exposing black tattoos like coiled roots, rings pulsing with faint shadow.

No doubt. Robert was a Night Disciple.

"That's… a Night Disciple?" Lance frowned, like steel cooling.

Robert’s carefree look soured. He corrected, voice hard as clay. "Call me an Earth Apostle."

"Fine, fine, honored Earth Apostle." The memory of Duncan’s death flashed like firelight in Fulin’s mind; trouble scented the air. She only wanted to leave. "Let me think on joining the Raven Brotherhood. I’ll give an answer in three days. I swear."

Lance rose at once, moving for the nearest door like a hawk for open sky.

"Stay." Black flame sealed the door, a cold that scraped the soul like winter steel.

Lance couldn’t force that midnight fire. His exit froze like a lake.

"Mr. Robert?" Lance turned back, breath white as frost.

Robert’s face darkened like storm clouds. "Blazing Fire Knight, you’re young, so I tried reason. But you’re young and stubborn—rot in fresh wood. Don’t blame me for rough hands."

He snapped his fingers. Two doors behind him flew open like jaws, and two scarlet hulks surged at Lance.

"Dream on." Lance flared, fire roping his body like dragons, light so fierce the hulks balked like oxen before a blaze.

"Naive." Robert’s laugh cut like a wire.

A side door swung wide. A shadow lunged, ignoring the flame, and slammed close. One hand locked Lance’s throat and lifted him like a doll.

"Let go—!" Lance struggled, a storm in his chest. Battle Aura surged, his hands prying at that iron grip, but nothing moved, like trying to bend a mountain.

The shadow studied him, eyes like pits. "This him? The famed Blazing Fire Knight?"

Robert strode up, certainty like a stamp. "No mistake. The Golden Eagle Legion commander’s son—Lance Morrison."

"Hmph." The shadow’s sneer was a knife. "Big name, brittle strength. Can’t even break a hold. Feeble—so feeble."

Night peeled off him like shedding bark. Indigo skin, dense muscle like braided rope, sleek armor that favored speed, and a Battle Aura booming like earth. A Daemon Knight.

"You’re a Daemon Knight." Lance’s eyes narrowed, a frost-thin smile. "Heh."

"Still smiling while weak? Are you mad?" His right hand tightened, the squeeze a vise. Lance’s face drained, blue as winter fruit.

"Wait, Lord Willik," the gentleman boss cut in, voice like cool water.

"What? I didn’t kill him." Willik’s annoyance was a growl.

"Don’t knock him out." Robert called toward the door, voice sharp as a whip. "Yuna, bring the syringe."

"Here, my lord." Yuna entered with a crafted box, delicate as a birdcage. The scene hit her like lightning—she almost dropped it, her face a startled dove. "P-please—"

"Not your business. Out!" Robert barked, wind harsh as winter.

"Yes…" she whispered, retreating like a shadow.

The box on the table breathed a thick blood fragrance, lush as a rose garden at dusk. Lance knew then—the thin blood-scent he'd caught came from inside.

Robert’s face was dark clay as he took out a syringe, brimming with a red liquid that looked like blood.

"Lance Morrison, I wouldn’t choose this, if you were wiser." His pity was a painted mask, pale as moonlight.

"What’s the plan? Turn me into those two big oafs? Then send me against the Duke’s knights?" Lance’s tone stayed airy, like smoke.

"Relax. You won’t fight them. Without orders, kindred don’t fight kindred."

"What did you say?!" Lance strained, his pulse hammering like drums.

Robert flicked the syringe, red swaying like wine. He stepped closer. Willik’s fingers spread, baring the throat’s side, the artery pulsing like a drum. The needle neared, slow as a snake. "Soon. Soon—"

Right then, Lance’s outer layer melted, black sludge sloughing off in chunks like tar in rain. A lithe form slid free, quick as a blade from a sheath.

"Yeah. Soon." Fulin spoke, voice dark as midnight. Her blood-red eyes burned with killing intent, like twin comets.

"You—!" Willik reeled, and Robert did too, shock snapping like ice.

Fulin didn’t leave them air to breathe. She struck first, magic flying like a falcon—Frozen Hell.

A ghostly blue wave rolled out, and the room flash-froze, frost seizing everything like a king’s hand. "Ah… ah…" Their screams broke, brittle as glass.

The spell faded, silence like a snowy field. Four ice statues stood—two Vampire Knights, Robert, and Willik.

Fulin nudged the two before her; they tilted, then crashed, shattering into glittering shards like fallen stars.

"Will it end soon…" Fulin murmured, sorrow thin as winter rain. A small ache stirred in her chest.

She didn’t linger in the dusk of it. She saw Yuna outside the door, tense as a frightened sparrow, eyes wide, staring at her in terror.