The bounty hunters led Leng Wei not to a training ground or a classroom, but deeper into the North Wing, into an area marked on Han's map as "High-Risk Territory." The air here was thick and cloying, like the smell of decay. The walls, covered in pulsating hieroglyphs, now glowed so brightly they cast crimson shadows.
Bounty Hunter 1 (mockingly): "Don't be scared, little king. Your blood is the best pass into these halls. For us, it's just stone. For you... it might become a tomb."
Leng Wei (to himself): They're too confident. But I can see fear in their eyes. They aren't afraid of me... but of what I might awaken here. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his father's dagger, feeling its reassuring, answering vibration.
Instead of a training arena, they entered a windowless, circular hall. In the center of the floor was carved a large trefoil of three arches—an exact copy of the doors from his vision. A figure shrouded in shadow stood in each archway.
From the shadow of the first arch (Power) emerged a tall vampire in armor with a cloak of pure darkness.
Shadow of Power: "Strength is the right to impose your will. Show me you can subjugate even it." He threw a bloodied blade at Leng Wei's feet. Next to it on the floor lay a beaten, but alive, half-breed servant.
From the second arch (Knowledge) appeared a woman with her face hidden by a hood, holding a glowing orb.
Shadow of Knowledge: "The truth liberates... and cripples. I will show you the face of the one who betrayed your father. The price is a warm memory of him."
From the third arch (Sacrifice) stepped forth a fragile figure with his mother's face.
Shadow of Sacrifice: "Renounce the dagger, your heritage, and I will heal her. Become a nobody again, and she will live."
Leng Wei stood, feeling the weight of their gazes. He remembered his father's words, Lin Mei's warning, Lan's cold resolve. This wasn't a test of strength. It was a test of essence.
Leng Wei (voice firm, echoing through the hall): "I will not subjugate one who has not earned my wrath. I will not buy the truth at the cost of my love. And I will not save my mother by betraying my father's memory. You offer me a choice between three paths to hell. I choose my own path."
He didn't take a step forward. Instead, he plunged his father's dagger into the point at the center of the trefoil.
The hall shuddered. The pulsating hieroglyphs on the walls flared with a blinding scarlet light and crawled downward, towards the center, infusing the dagger's blade with energy. The three shadows screamed—not in pain, but in surprise—and crumbled to dust. A stone pedestal rose from the floor, upon which lay an ancient book bearing the crest of his lineage.
At that moment, a wave of silent, yet all-encompassing energy rolled through the Academy. Throughout the building, the artificial lights flickered and died, and the same crimson hieroglyphs momentarily surfaced from within the walls. Every vampire and half-breed felt it—not a call, but an assertion. A statement of presence.
When the light returned, three figures in gray, hooded cloaks stood in the hall. They were not bounty hunters. They knelt before Leng Wei.
Elder Keeper: "The blade has recognized its master. The seals are broken. We, the Keepers of the Last Ark, pledge ourselves to you, Eighth Son of Blood. Your father entrusted us with his secrets. Now they belong to you."
One of the Keepers threw back his hood. It was Han. His cynical grin was replaced by seriousness.
Han: "What, did you think I was just hanging around here for fun? Someone had to keep an eye on the heir while he was busy bumping his head."
The hall's doors burst open with a crash. On the threshold stood Jin, accompanied by guards of the Elite Class. His silver eyes coldly swept over the Keepers and settled on Leng Wei, holding the book and with the dagger at his belt.
Jin: "Congratulations. You have just been promoted from 'promising threat' to 'official problem.' The Council demands your presence. Immediately."
Leng Wei (without breaking eye contact): "The Council can wait. First, I will listen to my people."
As the Keepers formed a protective circle around him to escort him to their sanctuary, Leng Wei spotted a familiar figure in a side corridor. It was Lin Mei. She stood in the shadows, her face pale. She wasn't looking at him with hope or joy. Her eyes were filled with horror. After a quick glance around, she made an almost imperceptible gesture—two fingers drawn across her throat—and melted back into the darkness.
A warning. Someone on the Council wants him dead, and she knows who.
The Keepers' sanctuary was located in the very heart of the Academy—in the abandoned observatory, the same one Xiao Fei had taken him to. Mentor Lan was waiting for them there.
Mentor Lan: "What you did was either the height of foolishness or an act of true power. I'm inclined towards the latter. But now the war is out in the open. The 'Hunters' you saw are just mercenaries. Behind them stand the True Masters of the Academy, the ones pulling the Council's strings."
Alone with the Keepers, Leng Wei opened his father's book. The first page held not text, but a map—not of the Academy, but of some underground complex beneath it, marked as "The Tomb of the First King."
Elder Keeper: "Your blood is the key. But to truly awaken it, you must walk the Ancestors' Path. Seven before you attempted it. None returned."
Leng Wei (looking at the map): "Then I will be the first."
That night, Leng Wei stood on the observatory tower, looking down at the lit windows of the Academy—the citadel of his enemies. He was no longer a servant, a student, or a test subject. He was the heir to a throne, surrounded by conspirators.
Han approached him, holding out a scroll bearing the Council's seal.
Han: "An ultimatum. Appear at tomorrow's hearing. In case of refusal—be declared an outlaw and destroyed."
Leng Wei took the scroll and, without looking, threw it over the parapet into the night.
Leng Wei (with absolute calm): "Give them my answer. If they wish to speak to the King, let them come here and kneel."
His eyes burned not with the crimson fire of rage, but with a cold, steely glint of determination. The game of hide-and-seek was over. The war for the throne had begun.