The undead were meticulous, unyielding, and rigid—almost mechanical in their obedience. Yet, it was precisely this trait that allowed Vlad to move freely through Castle Drakenhof at this hour. Armed with the familial necromantic commands, he could even summon the entire Grave Guard army stationed within the castle, though such a move was hardly necessary.
"A simple expedition. A small squad will suffice," Vlad muttered to himself as he began to manipulate the undead soldiers he encountered. Threads of magical wind wove invisible connections between him and the skeletal guardians, binding their spirits to his will.
One by one, the Grave Guards altered their patrol routes, converging around Vlad to form a protective escort. By the time they reached the castle's main gate, sixteen undead soldiers surrounded him. Four shielded him with kite-shaped shields and swords, ready to deflect any threat. Behind them, four more stood watch—two archers armed with heavy crossbows and curved blades, and two corpse mages in black robes, clutching staffs and necromantic tomes. Six halberdiers, taller and more imposing, formed the outer ring, while two skeletal wolves scouted ahead, their heightened senses alert for danger.
This makeshift retinue, a blend of offense and defense, showcased Vlad's tactical prowess. It was a reminder that the military knowledge from his past life still served him well.
Under the crimson moon's eerie glow, the castle's gates creaked open just enough for the squad to slip through. They moved swiftly onto the open ground outside, regrouping around Vlad before pressing southward into the wilderness.
But Vlad's departure didn't go unnoticed. From the castle's towering heights, a figure descended with the grace of a butterfly and the speed of an arrow, landing before him with a soft thud.
Unlike the mindless undead, this was a creature of intelligence—a black cat with piercing red eyes. It yawned lazily, then fixed its gaze on Vlad, emitting a low, rumbling growl that served as both a warning and a demand to return indoors.
Vlad, however, was no stranger to this particular guardian. He extended his hand in a gesture of peace, then tossed a small shard of enchanted crystal toward the cat. The feline sniffed the offering cautiously before devouring it with a crunch, as if it were a treat. Satisfied, the cat gave a curt nod and slinked away, disappearing into the shadows.
Relieved by its acceptance of the bribe, Vlad couldn't help but wonder aloud, "Are you always this easily bribed, Lady Cecil?"
The cat paused, tilting its head as if feigning ignorance. "Meow?"
"Oh, come on. I know you can talk," Vlad retorted, but the cat merely resumed grooming itself, its tail flicking dismissively.
Shrugging, Vlad decided not to press the matter. He returned to the protection of the Grave Guards as a current of magical wind lifted him into the air, sparing his six-year-old legs the strain of walking and granting him a better vantage point.
With his small army in tow, Vlad continued his journey south into the wilds. Behind him, the black cat watched until his figure vanished into the distance. Satisfied that no major trouble would arise, she resumed her leisurely stroll, vanishing into the tall grass in search of a midnight snack.
The cat was no ordinary creature. She was an ally and guardian of the vampire nobility, having served House Carstein for centuries. Despite her unassuming appearance, she was rumored to wield power rivaling that of dragons—a fact Vlad had overheard in hushed whispers among the castle's inhabitants.
"Just a child, after all," the cat mused, justifying her leniency as she prowled the grounds.
Sylvania, once the heart of a vast and prosperous empire, was now a land of decay and faded glory. Its aristocracy had once rivaled one another in the opulence of their mausoleums, turning the sprawling burial grounds into architectural marvels. But time had turned these grand tombs into ruins, their treasures plundered and their grandeur forgotten.
For the vampires, however, these ancient burial sites were more than ruins—they were reservoirs of power. The interred warriors, once merely dust and bone, could be resurrected into legions of undead soldiers. In their early days, the vampires had stripped the tombs bare, amassing armies and wealth that fueled their ambitions of eternal dominion.
Yet, their repeated failures had left Sylvania weakened, its once-mighty empire reduced to a shadow of its former self. The tombs, once teeming with resources, were now mostly barren, leaving the vampires to seek new sources of manpower through unsavory means—exhuming bones from neighboring lands or coercing their subjects to surrender the remains of their loved ones.
Even with these efforts, Sylvania's armies were stretched thin, their numbers dwindling year by year. The once-proud burial grounds were now derisively called "the graveyard of the forgotten," a stark reminder of the empire's decline.
Still, there were treasures to be found for those willing to dig. Vampire nobles, setting aside their pride, still scoured the tombs for relics and remains. Occasionally, someone might stumble upon an undiscovered crypt, unlocking fortunes in gold, magic, and undead soldiers.
The Council of Citizens, Sylvania's governing body, had encouraged such private expeditions, decreeing that any discoveries were the sole property of the finder. However, the vampire families quickly staked their claims, declaring their lands off-limits to outsiders. As a result, the council's policy became little more than an empty gesture.
For House Carstein, their control over the largest section of the burial grounds was both a blessing and a burden. In the past, it had granted them immense wealth and influence, propelling several of their counts to the rank of Duke of Sylvania. But now, with the tombs largely exhausted, the family struggled to maintain their standing, their once-formidable treasury depleted.
Still, Vlad was undeterred. As he ventured deeper into the wilds, he knew that even the smallest discovery could shift the balance of power—for him, and for House Carstein.
The night stretched on, the crimson moon casting its bloodied light over the land as Vlad's expedition pressed forward. Somewhere in the shadows, the black cat prowled, her silent vigil a reminder of the fragile world Vlad now navigated.
For now, the journey was his alone. But the echoes of the past whispered promises of what lay ahead—a legacy waiting to be reclaimed.