So even though Chen Mo had seized the lands of one of his subordinate barons without permission, Count Warren hadn't reacted. He had simply watched — silent, calculating.
A year passed in that quiet stalemate. The mysterious new lord made no real moves — aside from buying ores and resources from neighboring territories.
Until, a few days ago, a letter arrived from him.
In it, Chen Mo politely requested to purchase a batch of fine warhorses at a high price, claiming that his forces were too few and asking for the Count's men to escort the horses to his territory.
Alongside the letter came a small chest — filled to the brim with pure gold.
By the current market price, that gold alone was enough to pay for all the warhorses… and according to the letter, that was only half the payment. The other half would be paid once the delivery was complete.
Count Warren, of course, was no poor man. His vast domain and his dozen vassal lords brought in enormous wealth each year. But maintaining his lavish noble lifestyle — and his private army of knights — consumed most of it.
So when Chen Mo offered twice the market price for a hundred warhorses, Warren saw no reason to refuse.
After all, even if Chen Mo obtained the horses, it wasn't as though he could build a true cavalry overnight. A knight took years — sometimes decades — of training and battlefield experience to forge.
Still… Warren's mind began to turn with darker thoughts.
At first, Chen Mo's terrifying reputation — the rumors of him single-handedly slaughtering a pack of werewolves — had shaken him. But as time passed and Chen Mo made no moves, that fear faded.
And in its place grew suspicion.
Knights were the pinnacle of human strength. Even the mightiest of them couldn't slay a single werewolf alone — let alone dozens.
That was absurd.
The more he thought about it, the less it made sense. Perhaps the "legend" of Chen Mo was just a trick. Perhaps those werewolf corpses he'd heard about had come from another battle — one where the former lord and his knights died fighting the beasts — and Chen Mo had simply found the remains and used them to build a myth.
Yes. That had to be it.
And now, Chen Mo had practically invited him to test that theory — sending a chest of unguarded gold right to his doorstep.
A dangerous man would never be so careless.
As Warren lifted the lid of that chest and saw the gleaming gold bars inside, his greed burned hotter than reason.
How much wealth did this "mysterious lord" truly command, to toss around gold so freely? And why send it unsealed, unguarded — as if he didn't even care?
Was he truly that rich… or just that foolish?
What Warren didn't know was that Chen Mo had long since mastered the art of reading people. His heightened perception and razor-sharp mind could see through deceit like glass.
In a single year, he'd mapped every man in his service — their strengths, vices, loyalties, even their families and habits.
The soldier who carried that gold was one of his most loyal — a devoted son who'd never betray his lord for money, not even for a fortune.
Warren, blinded by greed, couldn't imagine that kind of control.
And so, driven by both suspicion and covetousness, he made his move. He would agree to Chen Mo's "trade," but send with the horses a force large enough to crush any of his vassal baronies — a test, he told himself.
If Chen Mo's strength was fake, he would fall easily.
If the gold was real… Warren would take it all.
Five days had passed since that decision.
By now, his knights should have returned. The distance wasn't great — a day's ride, maybe two with the extra horses. Even accounting for delays, they should be back by now.
He sipped his tea, smiling faintly.
How much gold would they bring back, he wondered? Enough for a new fortress? Something grander than Blackstone Castle itself?
As he mused over which marble would best suit his new throne room, a low rumble reached his ears.
Hooves.
Dozens — no, hundreds of hooves — thundering across the plain.
His heart leapt. "They're back," he murmured, excitement flickering in his eyes. He rose from his chair, straightened his silk coat, adjusted his cuffs. He would greet his victorious knights with the dignity of a true noble.
And then—
Dong—Dong—Dong!
The castle's great alarm bell shattered the air.
The Count froze mid-step, his mind going blank.
That bell… had not tolled in years. Not since the night of the werewolf siege.
The alarm meant one thing — enemy attack.
Impossible. His outer defenses — the ten vassal territories surrounding his lands — served as his buffer. No one could breach them undetected. Not humans, at least. Only werewolves moved unseen.
Unless…
Unless it wasn't outsiders who had come.
Unless the invader was one of his own.
A terrifying realization clawed its way into his chest.
Could it be… him?
If so, then—
No. No, that's impossible.
Maybe the sentries were mistaken. Maybe it was a false alarm. Or perhaps a minor rebellion from one of his lesser barons. Anything — anything but Chen Mo.
But deep down, he already knew.
The sound of those hooves — that many warhorses — meant a force over a hundred strong. And there was only one man in the region who possessed that number of newly armed cavalry.
Chen Mo.
If it truly was him… that meant his knights were dead. All of them.
And the "legend" he'd dismissed as myth — was terrifyingly real.
A cold sweat broke down the Count's neck.
I can't let them inside, he thought wildly. Seal the gates. Ready the walls.
Abandoning his composure, Warren shoved aside the gilded table before him, scattering fruit across the floor, and ran for the battlements with his two guards.
And outside the walls of Blackstone Castle…
A silver tide approached.
Over a hundred knights, man and horse clad in shining steel, thundered across the open field. The sun flashed on their armor like blades of light.
At their head rode a lone figure in a black cloak — his warhorse's hooves pounding like war drums — leading his army straight toward the gates.
The Silver Lancers of Chen Mo had arrived.