Among all the vampires, only Andrew, Amelia, and Viktor had received enough Perfect Blood to achieve true enhancement.
Aside from Chen Mo and Alexander Corvinus, the four of them were the strongest beings of this era—surpassing even Marcus, the original vampire progenitor who had lived for centuries.
Like every other knight, Marcus had only been given a single drop of Perfect Blood, just enough to remove the weaknesses of a vampire. And he had no idea where that blood came from—he always believed it was Chen Mo's personal gift.
Before this, Chen Mo hadn't minded Marcus's ambition—because as long as Chen Mo remained, Marcus could never betray him.
Ambition was normal. As long as it didn't turn into rebellion, Chen Mo allowed his subordinates to dream big. Want to rule humanity? Fine—Chen Mo himself had already achieved it. As one of the Empire's Four Grand Dukes, Marcus now stood at the very peak of the power pyramid.
But now that Chen Mo was about to leave, he would not allow even the smallest seed of danger to remain in the Empire he built. If Marcus revealed even the slightest hint of coveting the throne, Chen Mo would never allow him to walk out of this room alive.
Fortunately, Marcus had not been blinded by greed. He understood well that the Throne of God was not something he could ever touch. Since that was the case, Chen Mo didn't mind letting him continue as Imperial Duke and Elder of the Blood Clan.
After all, the Vampire Knight Corps had been built with his assistance. In the rise of this vast Empire, Marcus indeed had great merit.
As for whether Marcus might grow ambitious after Chen Mo left—Chen Mo wasn't worried.
First, Marcus feared Chen Mo's divine identity. Even if Chen Mo departed, he would still be the Empire's God. That deterrent would not weaken; it would become an ever-present sword suspended above Marcus's head, reminding him that a true god watched his every move.
And even if he really did hatch rebellious thoughts, with Andrew, Amelia, and Viktor present, Marcus would never be capable of stirring up any waves.
In the films, Viktor had always suppressed Marcus—the vampire progenitor—holding firm control over the vampire empire.
Most vampires had originally been Viktor's or Amelia's subordinates back when they were lords. Marcus, despite being the first of their kind, was a solitary figure, incapable of commanding many vampires.
Now, Andrew, Viktor, and Amelia surpassed Marcus both in strength and influence. Chen Mo believed they would keep him well in check.
Withdrawing his gaze from Marcus, Chen Mo felt momentarily troubled. Originally, he had intended for Andrew to inherit the Empire. Andrew had been with him the longest, had the highest seniority, the greatest strength, and had personally formed and trained the original hundred-man knight corps.
Besides the Four Grand Dukes, the highest-titled nobles—the Eight Marquises—were the eight survivors who had fought beside Andrew during the werewolf massacre, defending the stone hut to the very end until Chen Mo saved them. They had been the captains of the hundred-man corps, and now they were the Silver Knights.
Though not of noble blood like Viktor or Amelia, their prestige in the Knight Corps was immense—higher even than Marcus's.
They were Andrew's earliest companions, bonded as brothers who could entrust their lives to each other. To Andrew, they were absolutely loyal.
With their support, plus Amelia's assistance, Andrew taking the throne would pose no problem. He was easily the best candidate.
Most importantly, Andrew's absolute loyalty to Chen Mo.
Within the Knight Corps, although every knight was loyal—including Marcus—the degree of devotion varied.
Even among believers of a god, faith had levels, and devotion differed.
Marcus belonged to the type who feared and respected the divine but still valued his own interests. He would never betray God, but he also wouldn't give up everything—his life included—for God without hesitation.
But Andrew would. Amelia would. Viktor would. The Eight Marquises and the original hundred knights—and even those later selected through strict standards—would all follow Chen Mo unwaveringly.
If Chen Mo gave the command, even if it meant traveling to an unknown world filled with hardship, danger, and stronger enemies—even if they had to begin anew from nothing—they would abandon their titles, lands, power, and wealth without the slightest hesitation.
For their loyalty and faith in Chen Mo surpassed their attachment to life itself.
And among them, Andrew was undeniably the most loyal—the most devout. Even if hundreds or thousands of years later Chen Mo returned, Andrew would immediately offer the throne back without a second thought.
Status, power, wealth, beauty—nothing could corrupt Andrew's iron-bound loyalty.
This was why Andrew was the best candidate to inherit the throne.
But this time, Chen Mo had miscalculated. He never expected Andrew's faith to be so absolute that he would refuse the imperial throne even when it was placed directly before him.
Yet it was understandable. For a devout believer, even if the deity left the seat of the divine temple, the believer would never dare sit in it. That would be sacrilege.
The best candidate refused precisely because he was too loyal. It was something Chen Mo had not expected.
Just as Chen Mo began to feel a headache forming, a clear, bell-like laughter drifted into his ears. Hearing it, he couldn't help but smile and walked toward the window.
Looking down through the glass, he saw little Selina chasing and playing with William on the open space below.
The towering, muscular William was being chased in circles by tiny Selina, whose head barely reached his waist. In her white princess dress, little Selina ran after him with claw-like hands, giggling nonstop.
After Chen Mo bribed her with a large bag of candy and forced her to drink a test tube of Perfect Blood taken from his own body, little Selina's physique had also been strengthened. Despite her small frame, her strength and speed were astonishing.
Since she hadn't fully developed yet, her strength wasn't too terrifying—only slightly above that of an ordinary vampire, about three times that of a human.
But in terms of speed, little Selina was nearly on par with William, the progenitor of werewolves. In fact, her agility even surpassed his large physique.
No matter how desperately he ran, he couldn't shake her off. In the end, William misstepped, failed to dodge in time, and Selina grabbed his shirt, forcing him to stop in defeat.
Pouting miserably, William reached into his pocket and reluctantly handed over a piece of candy. Selina snatched it happily, tucked it carefully into her little pouch, and beamed, her bright eyes curving into crescents.
Standing before the window, Chen Mo watched the cheerful little Selina laugh triumphantly over winning a piece of candy, and a soft smile curved his lips.
…
At the center of the imperial capital stood a vast Gothic complex—so grand that calling it a palace would be more fitting.
It was composed of many towering buildings—churches, bell towers, palaces, spires. And in the very heart of them all was a palace far larger and more magnificent than any surrounding structure: the Temple of Thunder, dedicated to the god worshipped by every citizen of the Empire—their Emperor, Chen Mo.
Aside from its steel-reinforced concrete framework, the temple was built entirely from black stone—the same dark, unyielding material as Blackstone Castle.
Two rows of massive black pillars, each a hundred meters tall, supported the great hall. The interior space was immense, lofty, awe-inspiring—making anyone who stepped inside feel tiny.
The high walls were engraved with enormous relief murals depicting the entire saga of Chen Mo leading his knights to slay werewolves and conquer Europe.
The whole temple felt deep, solemn, and sacred; standing within its vastness, people couldn't help but feel reverence.
Though the interior was mostly black, the hall was not gloomy.
The dome and upper walls were lined with enormous glass windows. Sunlight poured through them from above, bathing the hall in radiant light.
A wide flight of black-stone steps led up to a broad platform. At its center stood a towering, majestic black throne—the divine seat of Chen Mo.
Since its completion, the doors of the temple had always remained shut. No one had ever been allowed inside.
But today was different.
Inside the colossal hall, hundreds of knights in silver armor—each bearing the nine-headed dragon emblem on their chest—stood in orderly formation to the right of the throne.
On the other side stood hundreds of nobles in elegant attire, heads bowed respectfully. These were the Empire's governors, city lords, and administrative officials—those whom Chen Mo had chosen from among the noble families for their ability to manage the vast territories of the Empire.
At noon, sunlight streamed through the massive windows above, casting dozens of golden pillars of light down into the vast hall. Those radiant beams added a layer of divine splendor to the black monument.
Chen Mo sat atop the high platform, leaning back against the throne, quietly overlooking the thousand subjects gathered below.