夜风像不安分的灵魂一样叹息,在荒凉的平原上搅动着尘土和脆弱的树叶,它悲哀的哀号穿过破碎的石柱,仿佛在诉说着这片土地被遗忘的苦难.空气中弥漫着一股尖锐的血腥味,混杂着潮湿的泥土麝香,被腐烂木材的微弱腐烂所削弱——这种气味每一次呼吸都会刺痛鼻孔.村庄一片废墟,烧焦的房屋外壳像某种被火焰击倒的巨兽的骨头一样蔓延开来,被遗弃在无尽的黑暗中.一轮微弱的月亮从厚重的云层中探出头来,将苍白的光芒投在破碎的墙壁上,画出锯齿状的阴影,这些阴影像在痛苦中冻结的无声幽灵一样扭曲.从远处的荒野中传来了看不见的野兽低沉的喉咙咆哮,它们的声音低沉而不祥,为这个被遗弃的地方增添了一丝威胁.风吹过屋顶的残骸,发出破碎的哀叹,仿佛村庄本身在低语着它逝去的日子.它曾经是边境上一个繁荣的前哨站,现在只剩下灰烬和寂静,证明了一个由神圣命令统治的世界是多么善变的仁慈.诺埃尔·威瑟斯兰站在村庄的边缘,他的黑金色猎巫斗篷在微风中微弱飘扬,像一个被赋予的影子一样融入黑夜.他刚过二十岁,就带着年轻时瘦削,结实的身材,灰褐色的头发被风吹得乱七八糟,额头上露出一道淡淡的疤痕——这是他第一次狩猎时的纪念品,是几年前与异教徒的笨拙纠缠.他的眼睛像冰冷的星星一样闪闪发光,银灰色,锐利,带着年轻人的锋芒,被一缕尚未被时间钝化的未驯服的火焰所缓和.他的脸是四角相接的——高高的颧骨,挺直的鼻子,紧贴着薄薄的嘴唇,但时不时地露出一个鬼魂般的笑容——混合着一个猎巫人的冷酷决心和一个小伙子不安分的活力.他的皮肤上带着一个在黑暗中漫游太久的人的苍白,但那双锐利的眼睛里燃烧着一种无声的挑衅,一种尚未风化的野心火花.也许他不是老兵,但他罕见的冷静头脑和天赋的结合使他成为白银骑士团的后起之秀.他喜欢这些独自狩猎,孤独是他思想的画布,靴子的嘎吱声和风的呼啸是他唯一的陪伴——就像一场与命运本身的斗智斗勇.他蹲下身子,手指拂过他的银色长剑破晓之剑的剑柄,破晓者,它的剑刃在黑暗中微弱地闪烁着光芒,上面刻着喃喃自语着古老法则的符文.这是来自教团的礼物,它的握柄上印有一排精致的印记,冰冷而不屈服,这种重量让他脚踏实地.他凝视着前方那扇碎裂的大门,沾满了干涸的血液,散发出令人厌烦,甜美的恶臭——毫无疑问,吸血鬼很熟悉,但又带着些许不对劲.他眯起眼睛,鼻孔在捕捉到气味时张开了鼻孔,比报告所暗示的还要浓,就像空气中挥之不去的新杀戮的余波.他的手指轻敲着刀柄——一种他永远不会承认的紧张抽搐——然后他低声喃喃道,"这不会是一个安静的夜晚.他的声音很稳定,夹杂着一种他无法完全掩饰的兴奋.这是他的第一次单人任务,是教团的试验场,一个证明他不仅仅是一把拴着皮带的刀的机会.他仍然能听到他的导师在教团大厅里沙哑的警告:"诺埃尔,你的剑像风一样快,但一颗颤抖的心会让你像糠秕一样四散.然后他闪过一个歪歪扭扭的笑容,不理会它,但这些话已经卡住了,烙印在他的脑海中.虽然他很年轻,但他知道自己缺乏老手们那种老练的冷静,但他有他们所没有的东西—一种饥饿,一种冲刺要超越他身上的死记硬背的服从的动力.今晚,他将证明自己不仅仅是教团游戏中的另一个棋子.他深吸一口气,看着雾气逐渐消失在寒冷中,然后向前迈步,他的影子像一个徘徊的幽灵一样滑入废墟中.庄园内一片寂静,只有风从裂开的窗户发出的诡异的呼啸声打破了寂静.诺埃尔小心翼翼地穿过瓦砾和灰烬,他的靴子在发黑的木板上轻轻地嘎吱作响.他扫视着这片黑暗-墙壁上凿满了爪痕,有些是如此之深,看起来就像被某种野兽撕裂了一样.他皱起眉头,将一只手按在石头上,手指擦过一抹凝结的血液,粘稠而冰冷.吸血鬼的工作当然,但不是通常的混乱-血奴留下的是烂摊子,而不是方法.他跪下,在昏暗的灯光下眯着眼睛看着墙上散落的骨头碎片,上面刻着奇怪的,循环的雕刻-也许是仪式的痕迹."不是你一般的猎物,"他喃喃自语,嘴角露出一抹笑容.他的脉搏加快了,不是因为恐惧,而是因为兴奋——这可不是简单的狩猎.他站起身来,顺着血迹往深处走去.穿过一座倒塌的拱门,他走进了一座洞穴般的大厅,它的中心是一个粗糙的石头祭坛,祭坛周围是干瘪的尸体,他们灰色的皮肤像羊皮纸一样紧绷,已经干涸了.他眯起了眼睛;祭坛上刻着褪色的符文,跳动着微弱的红光.他的手紧紧握住破晓辰星,为前方的一切做好准备.房间对面,一根孤零零的蜡烛摇曳着,火焰像垂死的呼吸一样咕噜咕噜地咕噜咕噜,投下了一团病态的黄色薄雾.塞勒涅·诺维亚站在一扇破碎的窗户旁,她银白色的头发像月光一样从背上洒落,柔软的卷发在气流中摇曳.她是一个停止心脏的幻象-皮肤苍白如霜-闪耀着吸血鬼血液的超凡脱俗的光泽,一个由冰雕刻而成的活雕像,却跳动着黑暗的生命力.她的眼睛燃烧着深红色,深邃而凶猛,可以灼烧灵魂的双生火焰.拱起的眉毛优雅地勾勒出她的脸庞,她的鼻子娇嫩,她的嘴唇薄而血红色,带着一种嘲弄的骄傲微微地卷曲着.她的身材身披黑色皮革,轻盈而致命-腰部纤细如芦苇,曲线在铠甲下挑逗,双腿修长而紧绷,以捕食者的优雅移动.她纤细的手指,尖端有淡淡的红色指甲,紧握着她纤细的剑,血玫瑰,一把和她一样优雅而致命的武器.一股诱惑的光环紧紧地缠绕着她,一种吸血鬼的礼物,尽管它激起了恐惧,却吸引了人们的目光.She scanned the room, crimson gaze lingering on the shadows—word was, her prize hid here. No hunted fugitive, she'd come of her own will, seeking the lost blood crystal of House Noviya, a relic said to awaken dormant power in her veins. Cast out by her kin, she'd vowed to reclaim what was hers. She brushed the hilt of her sword, a cold smirk playing on her lips, her eyes flickering with rage, defiance, and a buried solitude. "These mortals are a nuisance," she muttered, her voice a husky drawl laced with aristocratic scorn.She crouched, inspecting a corpse slumped in the corner—withered, twisted, bloodless, but the cuts were too neat for a thrall's frenzy. "Someone's been here," she hissed, rising with a flick of her hair, her gaze locking on the altar. A cracked slab glowed faintly red beneath it—her crystal. She stepped toward it, each move fluid and precise, a hunter closing in.A shift in the air—she spun, blade flashing—
Clang!
Sparks flared as steel met steel, the clash ringing through the dark. She locked eyes with her intruder—a young witch hunter, his sword a streak of starlight, every strike honed and swift with a raw edge. Selene moved like a shadow, Bloodrose weaving a deadly dance, its edge singing softly through the air. The hall shuddered with the force of their blows, dust raining from the walls like a mournful chorus. "Perfect timing," she thought, a glint in her eye.She blurred into mist, reappearing at his back, her blade darting for his neck, swift as death's whisper. Noel's eyes flicked sideways, his left hand snapping up, runes flaring gold—a shimmering shield stopped her strike, the mist scattering like shattered glass. He pivoted, silver gaze meeting hers, voice low: "You're no thrall.""Foolish tricks before me?" Selene sneered, cool and cutting. She stepped back, slicing her shoulder, a bead of blood falling to her blade—it darkened to deep red, a chill spreading as its edge pulsed. She tilted her chin, crimson eyes taunting, hair swaying like a blood-red flame.Noel's stare hardened, his sword swinging in a blinding arc, the air splitting with a white flash, the floor cracking beneath the force. He smirked, "Not bad." Selene leaped, kicking off the wall, her silver hair a flowing banner as she dodged—the ground erupted, dust choking the air, the altar slab shifting to reveal a stronger red gleam.She hit the wall, blood trickling from her lip, silver locks spilling over her shoulders, her gaze unyielding. Noel's blade hovered toward her, but he paused. She wasn't like the thralls—wild, mindless. Her strikes were art, her presence commanding. He'd caught her glance at the altar—she was after something. His brow creased, suspicion stirring. The report called her a "vampire heretic," but this was no ordinary prey. His heart thumped, a grin tugging at him—this hunt was alive with promise. "What are you chasing?" he asked, voice sharp.Selene steadied herself, leaning against the wall with a taunting laugh, crimson eyes glinting. "What, witch hunter? Your blade's all flair and no bite—or do you not dare question your masters?" She wiped the blood from her mouth, rising with a grace fit for a ballroom, her hair brushing her cheek.Noel's jaw tightened, her next words cutting deep: "Open your eyes—your precious Order's as filthy as the nobles. That sword's just their leash, poor boy." Her tone dripped mockery, her gaze probing."Leash…" The word echoed in his skull, the Order's creed—"Law is merciless, heresy unforgiven"—ringing hollow. Doubt flickered across his youthful face. He'd never questioned the edicts burned into him, but now, her crimson stare pierced through, planting a seed of unease. He shook his head, trying to shrug it off, but it stuck. "Is she right?" he wondered. "The Order… pure?"A sudden chill gripped the air, a voice slicing through: "Selene Noviya, your life ends here."Outside, dozens of knights in blood-red cloaks descended, moonlight glinting off their steel, a tide of menace washing in. The Blood Council's enforcers—boots thudding in unison, spears and shields gleaming like fangs in the night.Selene's face darkened, a hiss escaping her lips: "Brainless cattle, always in the way." She turned to Noel, crimson eyes narrowing, her voice a challenge: "So, hunter? Finish me, or watch them try?" She straightened, silver hair catching the wind, Bloodrose poised like a dancer's flourish, elegant yet deadly—a crimson bloom in the dark.Noel said nothing, his sword dipping. His gaze flicked between her striking face and the knights, a flicker of doubt creasing his brow. His young features tensed, silver eyes clouded with something unreadable. Whatever he chose, this night was far from over. "She's more trouble than the job," he muttered, half to himself.