# Chapter 7: The Pact at the Stone Circle · A Gamble of the Secret Alliance
**Time**: 02:30 – 03:10, the 8th day of the Moon of the Black Forest, Medieval European Calendar
**Location**: Ancient Stone Circle Ruins, Black Forest → Black Forest Valley
**Characters**: Catherine, Irina, Hank (Conservative Faction Messenger, personal attendant to Valerius)
The mist in the Black Forest was thick as unyielding ink, its cold wrapped in the rank sweetness of decaying leaves and pine resin, seeping into every crevice. Catherine leaned against a massive boulder carved with ancient runes, her fingers brushing repeatedly over the bandage wrapped around her abdomen. The wound, inflicted by a silver weapon during their breakout, still throbbed faintly. The bitter bitterness of the herbs seeped into her skin, yet it could not compare to the weak but unwavering flutter of the child within her. That pulse was a thin, tough thread, tethering her heart, making it impossible for her to abandon Li Haoran in his cage.
Irina sat on a dead log beside her, her green eyes vigilantly sweeping over every shadow in the stone circle. A dim purple light flickered in her palm; the dizziness from the backlash of her illusions still throbbed at her temples. She gripped her sharpened stone blade until it burned, the rough wooden handle digging into her skin, barely holding back the weakness in her body.
"Less than three hours until dawn. I'm afraid we won't have time to rescue Li Haoran today…" She let a look of sorrow cross her lips, but said no more. She knew that with all of them gravely wounded, forcing a rescue would be nothing more than walking into a trap.
Catherine nodded gently, her purple eyes glinting coldly in the darkness. She could picture Li Haoran, his flesh constricted by black iron chains, the chill of runes gnawing away at his power bit by bit—while Karl sat on his throne in Silvermoon Castle, waiting to close the net. But they had no army, no allies. They knew nothing of the dungeon layout in Silvermoon Castle, and its defenses would only be tighter now. To charge in would be suicide.
At that moment, an extremely faint footstep sounded from deep within the woods—not the sharp snap of dry branches, but the muffled crunch of soles pressing into decaying leaves. Whoever approached was deliberately concealing their trail.
Irina tensed in an instant, her stone blade raised before her chest, the dim light in her palm condensing into a single point. Catherine pushed herself upright against the boulder, two strands of silver-thin purple light snapping from her fingertips, poised to strike.
The figure slowly emerged from the mist: a hunched old vampire, dressed in a woodcutter's coarse tunic, patched layer upon layer, stained with mud and pine resin. His face was like weathered bark, wrinkles carved into bone, his eyelids hanging loosely, revealing only a glint of shrewdness at the corners. He stepped into the center of the stone circle and halted. His branch-dry fingers held out a roll of parchment toward Catherine.
"Lady Catherine. Elder Valerius has sent me with a message."
Irina stepped forward to shield Catherine, taking the parchment. Her fingertips glided over the yellowed edge, checking for attached curses or tracking runes. She brought it to her nose and sniffed—only the mildew of old paper. Only then did she hand it over safely.
"Hank. You belong to the Council of Elders. You stand at Valerius's side." Irina's green eyes locked onto him, not relaxing for a moment. "You know we do not trust the Conservatives."
Hank's eyelids trembled slightly. He bowed.
"Lady Irina has a good memory. The Elder knows you both grieve over the need to rescue Mr. Li Haoran. He offers you the secret passage map of Silvermoon Castle's dungeon and the shift schedule of the vampire hunters, to lend you his aid."
Catherine unfurled the parchment. Ancient vampire script stood neat and strong, the ink slightly dim, clearly written in haste.
"Karl acts against heaven. Summoning the ancient demon will bring our kind to extinction. I offer the secret passage map and shift schedule as gifts to help you rescue Li Haoran.
**Conditions**:
After Karl's overthrow, assist the Conservative Faction in purging his loyalists.
Do not challenge the vampire hierarchy.
Preserve the stability of our race."
"The hierarchy?" Catherine's fingers tightened abruptly, crumpling the parchment into deep folds. Rage flared in her purple eyes.
"The order you uphold by drinking the blood of lesser vampires, treading on their bones? My mother was burned at the stake by your kind for defying this damned order. Do you truly think I would agree?"
Her voice was low, yet cut with a bone-piercing chill. It was a permanent scar on her heart. Valerius's terms were nothing more than using her as a blade to eliminate Karl—and once the blade dulled, it would be discarded.
Hank's face remained expressionless, a emotionless messenger.
"The Elder only wishes for our race to survive. Karl's tyranny is far worse than the hierarchy. At the very least, the Council maintains balance. He will not let vampires tear each other apart. The fate of the lesser vampires… may be discussed afterward."
"May be discussed?" Irina sneered, stepping closer to Hank, disdain blazing in her green eyes.
"What is the difference between a Conservative promise and one of Karl's traps? The ogre ambush at the Black Forest camp, the trap at Dawn Harbor—how many times have you acted under the pretense of 'cooperation'? Why should we trust you?"
Hank's Adam's apple bobbed. He pulled another folded paper from his tunic.
"This is a copy of the secret passage map. You may verify it first. If you still doubt me, I will lead you to destroy a hunter stronghold loyal to Karl. It is where they stockpile silver weapons. The location was given by a Conservative spy within Karl's ranks. Destroying the armory will weaken Karl—and prove our sincerity."
Catherine and Irina exchanged a glance, each seeing hesitation in the other. They loathed the privileges of the Conservative Faction, yet they had to admit: this was their only chance. Li Haoran was running out of time. They had no choice.
"Very well." Catherine nodded at last, her rage compressed into unyielding resolve. "We will go with you to the stronghold. But remember—if you dare play us false, I will inflict the most painful death a vampire can know. I will let silver fire burn through your bloodline, until not even a chance of reincarnation remains."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile flickered in Hank's eyes, gone in an instant. He bowed and gestured forward.
"Follow me, please. The stronghold is not far, just beyond the valley ahead. We must move before the night fades."
The three stepped into the valley of the Black Forest. On either side of the narrow path, steep cliffs were overgrown with dark green vines, like countless hanging serpents. The moonlight was completely blocked by the rock walls; only scattered flecks of light seeped through the gaps, casting mottled shadows on the ground. The shadows shifted with the mist, writhing like living things.
Hank walked ahead, his steps light for a hunched old man. He knew the valley's terrain like the back of his hand, always avoiding the slippery moss and hidden crevices precisely, as if walking in his own domain. Catherine and Irina followed three steps behind, their gaze alternating between the path ahead and the cliff walls, never letting their guard down.
"It's too quiet here." Irina whispered to Catherine, doubt heavy in her green eyes. "A normal valley should have insects, birds, beasts… but there isn't even wind. It's as if everything is dead."
Catherine also sensed something wrong. Beneath the scents of decay and pine, a faint trace of blood lingered, masked by the thick mist, nearly undetectable. It was faint, yet carried the sharp tang of silver corroding vampire blood.
"Be careful. It may be an ambush." She placed a hand on Irina's shoulder, signaling her to slow down. "Hank. Do people usually walk this valley?"
Hank turned around, his face still blank.
"Few come here. It is a blind spot in the Black Forest. Karl's faction chose this place for the armory precisely because it is hidden." His voice echoed in the valley, yet returned no rebound—unnaturally so.
Catherine's doubts deepened. She deliberately slowed, quietly condensing a wisp of purple light at her fingertips. As Hank turned away, she flicked it toward a nearby vine. The purple light struck, letting out a soft *hiss*. The vine snapped. Yet nothing moved on the cliff—not even a bird took flight.
"Am I overthinking this?" she wondered silently. Still, she kept the purple light coiled at her fingers, refusing to relax. She felt the child's flutter inside her suddenly quicken, as if warning her of danger. A faint warm current stirred within her, breaking her skin into a light sweat.
After another ten minutes or so, the end of the valley opened into a clearing. A dilapidated wooden hut stood alone in the center, surrounded by dense thickets. One corner of its roof had caved in, its walls cracked, its window gaping open. It looked abandoned for years. Moonlight spilled through the hole in the roof, revealing only scattered firewood and broken tools inside—not a single trace of the cold sharpness of silver weapons.
"This is it?" Irina stopped, suspicion flaring in her eyes. "This is where Karl's faction stockpiles silver weapons? It doesn't look like it could hide even an ordinary iron sword."
"Karl's men are cautious. The armory entrance is in the basement. The surface is deliberately disguised as ruin." Hank walked to the hut's door and pushed open the ajar gate, letting out a high-pitched creak that cut through the valley's silence.
"I will open the basement entrance. You may slip in, destroy the weapons, and retreat quickly. Do not engage."
Catherine stopped him with a hand, the purple light at her fingertips flickering.
"I will open the door. You and Irina cover the rear." Her premonition had grown unbearable. The child inside her pounded violently, the warm current nearly bursting from her skin. She took a deep breath and stepped slowly toward the hut, each step heavy, her sole crushing the dead leaves to test the air.
The door was unlocked. It swung open at a light push.
Catherine slipped inside. A thick, coppery stench slammed into her, mixed with the icy bite of silver, tightening her throat.
What she saw made her heart plummet to the bottom.
The hut was empty—except for three bodies of lesser vampires lying on the floor. Each had a clean, circular wound in their chest, the edges blackened. Blue blood pooled beneath them, half-congealed.
The shape of the wounds could only be from the silver cross blade exclusive to the Conservative Faction—nothing like the slashes left by Karl's silver longswords.
The corpses' eyes were wide open, their faces frozen in terror. Their clothes were the coarse uniform of Conservative territory, a tiny double-headed eagle crest stitched to the collar.
They were unmistakably Valerius's own men.