The formation consists of over a hundred components, most of which are forged from rare metals. Even without factoring in the power arrays etched into them, the material value itself alone could bring quite a profit. As Barion witnessed each formation component vanish into thin air in Qian Ye’s hands, his initial astonishment soon gave way to terror and paleness. He realized his glimpse into Qian Ye’s secret probably signed his own death warrant.
Meanwhile, the crack of gunfire, combined with the blasts of power grenades, stirred alarm through the Fangfang Tribe at the base of the mountain. The werewolves grew restless, but when they reached the borderline of the restricted zone, they stopped in their tracks. Four spider-beasts watched from the cliff overhead with fierce predatory intent. The Spider魔 commanding them had already been sniped by Qian Ye—he fell lifelessly to the ground in a final spray of blood. Without their original master’s direction, the lesser spider creatures could not discern circumstances and stubbornly carried out their earlier orders: block the werewolves.
Such a golden opportunity could not go unused by Qian Ye. He swiftly ran the vampire baron through with a knife, cleaned up what traces he could, then disappeared silently once more around the back of the peak and vanished into the distance.
Qian Ye decisively executed the bloodline vampires and Spider魔 with the firm intention of applying pressure to the Fangfang tribe. It was far from certain whether the werewolves would stand behind him as allies—or remain neutral—for he hadn’t known how long these loyalties (or apathy!) might endure without such decisive prompting.
Having journeyed so deeply within the territory of the Dark Court, he’d seen firsthand, and heard much more, of Count Sturka’s brutality along with his sycophantic behavior toward the nobles above the surface. The fact that all of the bloodline aristocrats ended their lives on his land meant Sturka would seek to vent his wrath by crushing the Fangfang Tribe. If the Fenfang intended to avoid annihilation, the clear wisest choice would be to align themselves with Qian Ye in the war ahead.
Qian Ye had no plans to make an immediate move to contact the Fangfang. The wolf-kin are famously stubborn-headed by nature. Time, maybe quite a considerable span, likely lay between now and that moment in which they recognized the reality of the looming conflict.
Once he’d descended Qingfeng Mountain, Qian Ye headed toward his final objective—Count Sturka’s subterranean castle. Qian Ye long wanted to investigate precisely how the dens of a Dark Lord might appear firsthand. Only upon returning from the Count’s fortress would he initiate secret talks with Fenfang’s elder Chieftain—a with elder who, by all rumors, approached a walking corpse with regards to his actual viability.
Indeed, someone like this was almost assuredly sitting on countless stories that could deliver surprising winds and unpredictable turns directly to Qian Ye’s path.
He prowled stealthily for days after days. By the time he neared the Sturka’s citadel, his approach was flawless, his steps soundless.
For a Spider魔 Count, Count Sturka preserved a structure that was both traditional, fitting his race’s instincts while displaying appropriate nobility.
What now met Qian Ye’s eyes were the imposing towers atop a high hillock where a castle dominated the sky like a jagged fang. One singular road sloped downhill leading off the mountaintop like an elegant thread from summit to plain.
Stranger, scattered across the body of this hill, appeared an abundance number of large, deep holes and tunnels, especially on the hills foot where the largest entrance gaped nearly thirty meters in height—an ample enough passage to swallow even the largest war-beasts.
At various moments, members of Evernight faction entered and exited those caves. Meanwhile, near the castle gates at the mountaintop’s peak, no visible movements or patrols seemed to persist.
At the bottom foot of hill’s largest tunnel, stretched forth a broad approach road—clearly one meant for species other than the Spiders. On either side of its breadth sprawled a tangle of natural web, ideal for movements of spiders—be they pureblooded Spider魔 or their lesser servant-bred counterparts known simply as Spider-Hounds. Upon this silk lattice, speed doubled; at the same time, a whisper-light vibration rippled across the threads, alerting guards instantly to an invading enemy. Some threads might even coat with toxic residues—a silent death trap. Such defenses were entirely organic.
With so much silk laid out, Qian Ye knew even he would struggle to sneak through undetected.
Careful observation led Qian Ye to deduce this ‘mountain’ wasn’t stone at all—at its center the earth bore been hollowed out like one gigantic war-anthill of the Spiderkind! From mountaintop down through secret passages one might reach directly its hidden belly. The entire underground likely stretched far beneath in a great expanse beneath the earthen mound above. Spider魔 were, after all, born burrowers with the uncanny talent to sculpt deep subterranean fortifications out of nothing at all.
Count Sturka’s structure fit the traditional Spider architecture—but here, expanded on an enormous scale. The sheer number of troops and Spider-Hounds nestled in those underground chambers was potentially staggering. Its defenses were formidable to an incredible level—an objective Qian Ye could not dream tackling with anything short of a well-coordinated siege force. And such a force he currently lacked.
A shadow of thought brushed his brow. It was better to abandon unrealistic plans for another time. By himself and his small forces alone, the castle of Sturka was simply un-takable.
Instead, Qian Ye circled the great hillock once fully, studied the patterns of life that moved through it for time. Finally satisfied after careful reconnaissance, he set forth to retrace his earlier path back towards departure.
But before finally breaking away in retreat, his gaze lingered regret on each Dark Blood Clan warrior moving about. Each one was practically a beacon—a swirling beacon glowing with power essence, just waiting to become his prey. But no… Not just yet.
On his return route he made a second detour back to the Fangfang.
This time hiding at the forest edges outside the territory Qian Ye waited patiently. Werelupine olfactory ability complicated things. Qian Ye dared approach too closely. However, Qian Ye was granted swift success. Bare moments passed post-sunset, while he still remained motionless at a distance, a shadow moved forth out from a shadowed cave at a deliberate pace—a form none other than Elder Chieftain Fangfang himself, stepping to greet his people with his nightly walk of reassurance.
The round took the better part of night’s twilight to finish. Such activity clearly taxed the ancient lupine deeply—he staggered at one point slightly bowing at the spine. Weariness draped across his face. A permanent cloud of worry shadowed his ancient expression.
It didn’t take Qian Ye long to trace source of those burdens: undoubtedly stemming from those slain nobles Qian Ye had left at Qingfeng mountain, along with Count’s personal emissaries (and now corpses), his Spiders.
“You may return now,” called Fangfang with soft commands. The two young guardian-Wolves met eyes, nodded briefly together, obediently withdrew from company into dark forest shadows.
Meanwhile, the Elder Chieftain continued his solitary trek outside tribe’s central zone.
This land—belonging unquestioned to Fangfang—he knew every tree, each stone better than the shape of his own claws and fur. Continuing his journey, finally he arrived beside a small pristine lake nestled into nature’s crook at the hills’ edge. There the Elder crouched low to briefly perform old habitual act of washing paws before night’s contemplation. For several decades had such acts become rite-like ritual for the old chieftain. Yet today, as his hands touched waters’ mirror-glass…
To his deep shock, alongside his reflected form… stood another person in ghostly water reflection—Qian Ye’s!
Startled reflex rippled hands outward—a soft splash followed which cracked the reflection into fragments.
Still though his breath. Slowly and deliberately, the old wolf warrior rose back to his full height, turned his head, and stared into eyes he already knew belonged to Qian Ye—eyes of unyielding determination. And yet Qian Ye merely stood in silence, offering his calm, quiet response first:
“An impressive approach—truly daring from a young human.”
Qian Ye countered, “And you, in turn, deserve equal bold praise—you remain utterly at ease amidst circumstances few even dared. Have you discovered some hidden method to soothe Count Sturka’s coming storm already?”
At full speed, the Elder chieftain stood upright suddenly exuding power. His dull eyes reignited by sudden fire-like intensity. But the man still stood unmoving—unfazed even under the overwhelming martial aura exuding from old lupine king.
The Chieftain looked deep upon Qian Ye with a mixture recognition and awe, finally spoke in a steady tone. “Certainly, you must not be ordinary in any sense amongst the human lands. That you walk thus so young yet show such potential—this must come with reason. Yet still, why tempt the darkness and travel into enemy realms alone?”
He gazed upon Qian Ye with ancient sorrow. “The most brilliant of gifts vanish once turned into bloodless carcasses.”
Qian Ye offered light reply laced with irony. “Soon enough, these lands will belong entirely to me. There will be no question.”
The wolf leader’s voice dropped cold as frostbite winds. “Yet again you arrive—humans come creeping in? You dream not of what destruction might rain upon your people if your forces set paw upon my sacred lands.” Then turned even colder. “Four long centuries have passed since last any human soldier dared step into the Fangfang realm.”
Then Qian Ye let laughter escape freely. His voice carried a strange joy. “Should I suffer defeat in your lands… My fate will not fall by minor tribes alone. If the storm arrives, Fangfang’s survival will depend far more upon spider-mastery, than human warfare.”
He continued. “Even should my army never touch the sky upon these plains, you must remember one immutable truth about noble spiders: once Count Sturka’s patience shatters… his hatred will not pause at your doorstep.” There followed a short pause—eyes still watching.
The Wolf elder glanced downward thoughtfully. He spoke after deliberating silence. “Yet is death by the hand of noble Spider truly worse than the bullet-fire of a human force bent on annihilation?” Then came accusation—“Spiders we might manage, though they hunger for control. But human forces will destroy our very species.”
“You overestimate the certainty,” returned the young man. He held out, tossed forward a crimson stone attached on golden chain towards the elder chieftain’s hands.
The leader seized the crimson stone necklace tightly. After brief inhale through his wolf-nose, his stern demeanor softened faintly. This was blood-sworn oaths of Sil—a soul-bond forged under ancient ancestors, vouching not only for Sil’s own spirit, but for Qian Ye now too. However…
“I remain cautious… I require additional proofs. And patience. Because Sil… he is still a boy… prone perhaps too eagerly to youthful excitement?”
Unfazed yet again by the elder’s doubt, Qian Ye responded by flipping forward the next card of proof. A metallic tag flew through the air once more.
Catching it in hand, sudden recognition shook the old werewolf Elder. With breath catching:
“That’s—! The Peak Citadel Crest! This—how… how in the world—how did you obtain such an item?”
Qian Ye responded lightly:
“The companion who provided gave me the token saying it would command respect among your tribe.” His smirk edged slightly toward irony again, as he added, “Yet curiously—until today—I noticed none among you bore it either.”
Stung a shade by the barely concealed critique, the Elder chieftain’s lips tightened. “The Peak is distant. Sacred to us. To the tribes here—this symbol, is nothing less than scripture itself.”
With a slow exhale he continued: “You speak bold dreams… demands beyond ancient memory.” Then, his expression darkening: “The tribes would never dream settling into human dominion… nor fighting beside them—ever.” Finally he added with grave certainty: “To attempt leveraging Fangfang to stand against Sturka? Your ambition ends with bitter frustration. You’ll find resistance impossible even if your offer carries truth.”
This time Qian Ye chuckled freely.
“You mistake the intention. Truth was never to leverage Fangfang.” He smiled coldly as he continued:
“No matter the tribe—what you can offer pales beside titans I call friend. Fangfang’s presence adds practically little. Yet…” Here his tone sharpened: “A comrade from distant peaks once asked me—merely—watch over his kin.” And Sil… well, that young wolf proved promising in character.
With one flickering step, he suddenly stood directly close. His blade, deep crimson in color—sounded as one fingernail flicked the metal’s edge. Laced with eerie resonance like dragon song. Then:
“You Fangfang warriors—help, do nothing—it matters naught. Choose war—do nothing, it matters the same. The moment my domain encompasses all within your ancestral territories, it is your response—whether ally or bystander—which dictates the kind of reception each of your warriors receive. This division of fate—I suggest you grasp clearly.”
Then even colder:
“You possess however—one alternative still: Serve Sturka. But to those who oppose me—those who side with my bloodied enemy? I end each of our foes… without exception.”
Without ceremony he then turned his back and strode onward into darkness before wolf-chieftain offered reply.
Still distant and retreating from sight, old Fangfang voice thundered once more.
“Reveal your name, mighty one?”
“And what do you think of Sil and that Baron Wen Du? Both ended in my hand?”—with a final cold, mocking laughter the man simply vanished deeper night beyond.
The journey home passed easily. Unhindered now, Qian Ye passed through shadow boundaries of the Everdark Domain to re-enter gray zones lying between nations.
Here he retrieved from Andus’ magical space his weapons and remaining ammunition along with array core parts gained from Qingfeng mountain, transferring them all neatly onto side mounted packs of waiting motorcycles.
Then with renewed vigor he gunned the ignition, engines thundering in final straight home to Blackflow. As city neared Qian Ye made plans:
First—he would dispatch the mysterious formation components retrieved earlier into careful hands at the Deepfire Guild, handing the pieces to Deepfire’s finest runemaster.
Then immediately afterwards—he summoned the senior ranks within Deepfire. Alongside them summoned key allies and closest confidant figures to a grand assembly. Amongst those called upon for discussion: So Zi Ning (Zi Ning), Zhao Yu Ying (Yu Ying), and Wei Po Tian (Po Tian).
Their gathering’s intent was singular:
Devising together the strategies, tactics, and logistics that would precede the final coming war… for which no storm had yet compared.
Their hour together approached. Shadows trembled on distant horizon.
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