Her words left the knights momentarily speechless.
Indeed — if the rumors about this man were true, then no matter what they did, no matter how they fought, there would be no stopping him or his army.
They exchanged uneasy glances, praying in silence that the stories were nothing but myth. Yet, looking at the disciplined formation beyond the walls — that sea of silver armor gleaming in perfect order — even hope felt foolish.
After ordering the gate to be opened, Amelia led her knights down from the ramparts herself to meet the approaching lord. If this meeting went poorly, she would at least be there to act — and die — on her own terms.
The massive gates creaked open. Chen Mo and Andrew rode in, the iron hooves of their mounts echoing off the stone courtyard. Ahead waited Amelia — astride her horse, clad in ornate half-plate, flanked by her loyal knights.
Chen Mo's gaze lingered for a moment. Courage, he thought. And composure. Yes — the bearing fit perfectly. The future Vampire Elder stood before him, alive and human, her eyes clear and proud.
Behind them, the great gates swung shut once more. No ambush. No trick. The riders from Blackstone remained still in the distance, banners unmoving.
Seeing this, Amelia's knights exhaled quietly, though their hands still hovered near their sword hilts.
"Do you mean to speak here?" came Chen Mo's low, measured voice from beneath his helm.
"My apologies, my lord," Amelia replied, nodding slightly from atop her steed. "Please, follow me."
Inside the grand hall of the castle, the two parties faced one another across a long stone floor.
Chen Mo and Andrew took the guest seats. Amelia's knights lined the walls, armored figures tense and watchful, eyes sharp as drawn blades.
From the dais, Amelia removed her helm.
A hush fell over the room.
The woman revealed was both noble and striking — beauty tempered by resolve, elegance edged with command.
Chen Mo studied her face. It matched perfectly the image in his memory — the same cold grace, the same eyes that would, centuries later, look down upon her kin as one of the Vampire Elders.
Behind him, Andrew stiffened. Beneath his armor, his heart thundered so violently that Chen Mo could almost hear it. If not for the setting — the hall full of steel and tension — the man might have run to her side that instant.
But the armor hid all. The emotion, the longing, the ache — sealed away behind cold, gleaming steel.
Chen Mo, seated in the high-backed chair, wore a black noble coat, but beneath its folds the faint sheen of black alloy armor gleamed. His movements were fluid — far too natural for a man in full plate — and that only deepened the awe and unease in the watching knights.
He lifted his head slowly. From beneath the helmet, his eyes burned — sharp, deep, unblinking.
"Where is Marquis Leonard?" Chen Mo asked, his voice like distant thunder.
"My father passed away five days ago," Amelia replied softly. "I have inherited his title."
Her voice barely trembled, but Chen Mo sensed the grief beneath her composure — the wound was still raw.
He inclined his head slightly. That explained the lack of reports from his intelligence network — small matters rarely traveled fast.
"I see," he said. "Tell me then… Lady Amelia, are you married?"
A faint line appeared between her brows. "No," she said at last, uncertain what he was leading to.
"Then allow me to be direct," Chen Mo continued evenly. "You asked what business brings me here."
He reached up — and removed his helmet.
The hiss of the locking seal echoed in the chamber. A young, cold face was revealed beneath — calm, unreadable, radiating command.
His eyes met hers.
"I am here," Chen Mo said solemnly, "to ask for your hand in marriage."
The words struck the hall like a thunderclap.
Amelia's eyes widened, a flash of fury igniting in her gaze.
Around her, every knight in the room reacted as one — steel rasped from scabbards in a wave of sound, and a hundred blades glinted in the torchlight.
Only her raised hand kept them from charging.
To them, the scene was intolerable — their lady, their last bastion of pride after the old marquis's death, being insulted by the conqueror who had come to claim her lands.
But Amelia herself…
Behind the anger, behind the burning humiliation, was a crushing helplessness.
She knew exactly what surrender to Chen Mo's dominion meant. Submission meant stripping herself of title and power — abandoning the castle, her home, the graves of her parents, and the memories of the man she still waited for.
Andrew.
This hall had been their world — where they had trained together, where they had dreamed together, where she had promised she would wait for him to return.
How could she give it up now?
And so, though her knights stood ready to die for her honor, the woman at their head did not speak a single order.
She simply sat there — proud, silent, trembling beneath the weight of a choice that could decide the fate of them all.