Second Round Invitation

Not long after night fell, the dogs in Sweetwater Town suddenly began to bark frantically.
A night-shift militia member stepped a few steps away from his post, placed his spear aside, turned his back to the wooden fence, and started urinating. Suddenly, he felt a chill run down his spine—a damp, gloomy cold that spread from his scalp to his tailbone, causing him to shiver violently and almost spill his urine on his new shoes.
Had he caught a cold? He fastened his belt and rubbed his nose, trying to sneeze, but opened his mouth several times without success. The two large yellow dogs guarding the entrance had been barking at the wilderness outside the town for a while, with their leash taut, yet the sentries on watch hadn’t noticed anything. It must be those damned adventurers. Ever since they heard about the presence of winter wolves around the town, the local coyotes and wild dogs had suffered—well, it was good that they were protecting everyone’s livestock… but at least clean up the mess! There was blood everywhere!
The militia member spat on the snow and, as he picked up his spear, sensed something was wrong. Why had the dogs stopped barking? Curious, he turned back—only to see those two dogs, usually fierce even when faced with shoes or sticks, now lying on their bellies in the snow, trembling uncontrollably, with their mouths buried between their paws, emitting fearful whimpers. He tapped the dogs’ backs with his spear, but got no reaction.
A freezing cold seeped into his bones. Some unseen force controlled him, forcing him to look up. The full moon hanging above the watchtower had a blurred red edge, like water stains, making the silhouette of the sentinel on the tower appear eerily distorted.
The sentinel was staring blankly into the distance—as if possessed, unaware that his hunting bow had slipped from his shoulder to his elbow, let alone that he hadn’t given any alarm.
The militia member with the spear followed his gaze. The fields outside the town and the spruce forests further away seemed to be on fire, twisting and swaying unnaturally under the moonlight. Unbelieving, he rubbed his eyes and tried to look into those gray, cold shadows. Before long, his eyes widened in horror.
“Oh my God.”
Morrill woke up from her sleep. She sat up, pointed at the tallow candle on the wooden table, and whispered a word. The crudely made candle lit up—not by being lit, but as if the entire candle emitted a gentle white light, illuminating the whole room.
“What’s wrong, Sister Morrill?” Kaylo, who was in the other bed, also sat up halfway, rubbing his eyes.
Morrill put on her shoes, bent down, and stuffed the cuffs of her pants into her boots. “Nothing. I’m going outside to take a look.”

When she pushed the door open, her gaze had already left the narrow, dark corridors of the inn, piercing through multiple walls to gaze out at the streets outside. The female mage’s eyes shone like gems due to magic, revealing a black carriage speeding toward the gates of Sweetwater Town. Though the town’s streets were nothing but snow-covered dirt paths, not a trace of snowflakes or dust rose from the sixteen hooves of the four horses pulling the carriage, nor were any tire tracks left. Only the two lanterns hanging at the front of the carriage traced a pair of ghostly pale yellow paths in the night, as if the exquisite and luxurious carriage was merely a gust of cold wind blowing along the road.

Moriel frowned, for she was very familiar with the emblem on the carriage—all too familiar.

“I think someone’s come to see us,” she said to Forty-Seven, who was coming out of the next room.

The innkeeper, who was directing her daughters to clean the lobby on the first floor, heard rhythmic knocking. She slammed the stool in her hand onto the table and shouted roughly, “Closed, drunkards! Be careful if you go out too late—your wives might teach you a lesson with brooms!”

The knocking stopped, but soon the inn’s door was easily pushed open. The hardwood bolt didn’t even offer much resistance before breaking into pieces and falling to the ground. With the door wide open, a cold, damp breeze rushed in.

“Damn it! I said it’s closed—” The innkeeper, thinking she might have forgotten to lock the door, waved her arms and stepped forward to scold the visitors, but they were clearly faster. A pale, thin hand pressed on her shoulder, effortlessly forcing the innkeeper’s over 200-pound body to sit down in a chair. In an instant, a man in a black robe crossed half the lobby and raised his index finger to his lips to signal her to be silent. His bony fingers and almost bloodless thin lips formed a cross. His pupils were tiny, as fine as pinholes. The innkeeper stared blankly at his eyes, frozen and unable to move, still forming the shape of a vowel as if about to speak. The sleeve of the man in black dropped slightly, revealing a blood-red lining.

“Is business that bad? Since when have even you, Lord Di, started engaging in housebreaking?” Moriel stepped down the stairs slowly, while Forty-Seven stood on the upper floor, overlooking these unwelcome guests, his armor and hair gleaming in the light.

The middle-aged man who entered the inn last smiled at the female mage.

“You’re still as sharp-tongued as ever, little Moriel.” His hair was neatly combed back, he wore silk white gloves, a coat whose hem reached just above his knees, with hollowed-out trims on the sleeves and collar, and the front was adorned with a snake-like blood-red silk ribbon—such an odd outfit, yet he looked dashing.

The man named Di waved his hand, and the men in black robes immediately stepped back respectfully behind him, including the one who had subdued the innkeeper.

“But I really didn’t expect… that you would achieve such remarkable things.” Di stepped forward a few paces and faced Moriel across the table: “The Red Robe Mage would be proud of you.”

Morrill touched the corner of the table and rubbed her fingers in front of her eyes, as if checking to see if it was clean.
“Lord Di… From what I remember, you rarely leave City of Sael. I suppose you didn’t travel all this way to this desolate northern land just to give me a few words of praise, right?”
Di smiled politely. For a moment, his pupils narrowed like those of a reptile—like a snake or lizard—before returning to normal. “Of course, Morrill. I think you’ll be happy to hear this news.”
He paused to emphasize his words: “Morrill, Master Victor wants to see you.”
About an hour later, Morrill, Kayro, and Forty-Seven got into the carriage after getting ready. It actually wouldn’t have taken that long, but Di patiently waited in the hall the whole time, his expression unchanged. The spacious and luxurious carriage was lined with fine blankets, and the comfortable seats had thick cushions, yet it remained somewhat cold, like a tomb.
Forty-Seven occupied one side of the seat, lifting the curtain to look outside. The carriage was already in motion; the four tall, majestic black horses moved silently, with no sound from their hooves or snorts. The scenery outside was also strange. Whether it was the low, simple houses in Sweetwater Town or the hills and trees outside, everything seemed covered in an indelible haze, as if there was an extra dark shadow overlaying them—when the carriage left the town gates, it even brushed past a soldier standing there with a spear, but he showed no signs of being knocked over. It wasn’t until the carriage was far away that he sat down in the snow, and only after a while did Forty-Seven hear his faint cries of shock.
“We’re currently traveling between the Material Realm and the Shadow Plane,” Morrill said, stopping Forty-Seven from trying to open the window. “It’s a strange feeling, isn’t it?”
Forty-Seven sat back down, resting his feet on the coffee table in front of him. “Another space journey? This one’s slightly less unbearable. What about those guys?”
Morrill leaned back on the cushion and closed her eyes to rest, while Kayro had fallen asleep beside her like a kitten. “Who knows. As long as they’re not lost… Centuries-old vampires, even if they don’t improve, still have some unique tricks up their sleeves.”
“Vampires?” Forty-Seven checked both sides of the window again but still saw no sign of Di or his black-robed attendants. “I should have taken off his gloves to take a look.”
Taking advantage of this ride in the Shadow Chariot, Morrill began to explore how the magic that kept her between the physical and shadow realms functioned. She sent out tendrils of her mind, trying to connect them to the magic network. A multitude of chaotic magical energies appeared before her, like countless little sprites playing hide-and-seek. The female mage focused her mind, trying to capture each wandering particle, gradually forming a map of their regular patterns.

A jarring image suddenly flashed in her mind. Perhaps it was because Moriel had stretched her thoughts too far, or maybe it was because of an unconscious idea—either way, she saw a face frozen in terror. A layer of pale ice covered that face, even the eyeballs were frozen solid. It seemed to be a warrior, still holding a broken-long bow, lying dead in the woods. Not far from the corpse, three grayish-white giant wolves were circling several figures who were huddled together back to back, struggling to hold their ground. Their icy blue eyes glowed faintly, and Moriel could even see the terrified expressions on the adventurers’ faces. The vicious wolves alternately spat out cold air mixed with ice shards. The strong warrior from the inn who had boasted about how insignificant winter wolves were tried to shield himself with his large shield, but the blue light on it was gradually fading. The guy who had mocked him before was also with him; when a winter wolf tried to attack from the side to create an opening, he swiftly thrust his sword forward. A burst of flame from the sword tip made the wolf howl and retreat—seemingly proving that their confidence was backed by real strength. Yet three winter wolves hunting together was still beyond the capabilities of these two adventurer groups.

An adventurer wielding a halberd, tasked with protecting the strong warrior’s back, began to stagger, losing contact with his companions. The ferocious and cunning predators seized this opportunity immediately. One wolf opened its maw and lunged at the halberd shaft, then twisted its head, using its ten-foot-long body to pull him off balance. The other two wolves spat out cold air at the same time, forcing the others back. The halberd-wielding warrior screamed loudly, trying to get up and run, but the wolves reacted far faster. Their ice-crusted fangs bit into his neck in an instant, and the sound of bones breaking was clearly audible even to the female mage observing through the Eye of Mind. They wouldn’t last much longer.

Moriel opened her eyes. The shadow carriage was carrying her away from the massacre. They must not have expected their lives to end that very night when they argued in the inn at noon—just as Moriel hadn’t expected her ordinary leisurely life to end so quickly. It was all the paths we choose. Moriel stretched out her slender fingers and slowly drew a seemingly chaotic pattern on the window. Faint trails of light appeared as her fingers moved, then faded away. By the end, they connected perfectly with the first stroke.

The shadows outside the window stirred. Moriel’s spell drew portions of energy from the material world and the shadow realm, mixing them together to create terrifying dark hounds. These magical creatures broke free from the murky clouds covering the world and rushed away, barking excitedly, ready to wreak havoc in their short lives to please their master.

Watching the Shadow Dog leave, Moriel leaned back against the cushion once again. She couldn’t explain why she helped those unfortunate folks—such behavior was not only pointless but also meaningless. Those who refused to learn would never do so, while those who did learn long since gave up being adventurers. But who cared? Let those people be lucky. Anyway… Moriel glanced at Forty-Seven. The guy was fiddling with his hand, causing the scales on the back of it to constantly change shape.

She herself was quite lucky too.

Victor. Moriel really didn’t want to meet this old monster whom all the Red Robe Mages feared like the plague and who became meek as a grandchild just at the mention of his name. But honestly, she didn’t have the courage to ignore his words. Besides, she and the Red Robe Mages had to settle this matter eventually… There’s always a way when faced with a problem.

At the end of the journey was another magic circle. The driverless Shadow Chariot took them into an underground hall, with no passages available for it to pass through.

Di and the Black Robe servants were already waiting there.

“Please, Miss Moriel.” Di stood in the center of the stone floor engraved with patterns of varying depths, the flickering flames on the stone pillars and bronze basins casting shifting shadows across his face.

After everyone stepped into the range of those mysterious words and symbols—Forty-Seven kept staring maliciously at Di’s left hand—the flames grew taller and larger. The spreading flames gradually formed a ring, creating a bright but not overly scorching ring of fire that pulsed in and out.

The flames burned along the patterns on the ground, providing enough energy to open a spatial passage to distant places. Finally, after a burst of intense sparks, a huge dark shadow appeared in the flames, covering the entire magic circle.

The flames went out. The underground hall was instantly plunged into darkness—everyone had been transported to the other side of the shadow. Only the Shadow Chariot remained, standing quietly without a sound.