The burial grounds have long been a source of concern for the Castine family. Before they were excavated, the burial mounds within the estate provided a steady supply of soldiers, ensuring the strength of the Castine family and solidifying their position as the foremost noble house in Sylvania.

However, as the saying goes, when water overflows, it spills; when the moon is full, it wanes. Once most of the burial grounds were fully exploited, the Castine family fell into hardship. The depleted graveyards could not be cultivated or produce anything useful, which meant insufficient food. Without enough food, there weren't enough people; without enough people, there weren't enough corpses; and without enough corpses, there weren't enough undead soldiers. This made the development of the Castine family extremely challenging, and the family fell into decline.

As a result, the recent generations of Castine counts have made the management of the burial grounds within their domain the top family priority. After centuries of effort, reclaiming land from graves and expanding agriculture, the Castine family's situation has improved slightly. However, compared to the other three top vampire families, they still seem weaker.

We must appreciate the camaraderie among vampires. In human society, such a decline in a noble house would lead to its downfall, with everyone pushing against it, causing as much trouble as possible. Particularly now, with Norton's father having passed away, leaving only a widow and an orphan, bullying them would be all too easy. In human society, relatives would swarm in and strip them of everything.

But not in Sylvania. Other families continue to treat the Castine family with the same respect and friendship as before. Relatives of the Castine family remain loyal to the main branch at Deckenhoff Castle, without anyone stepping up with excuses like, "I'm doing this for the family's prosperity," trying to seize control and replace Norton with their offspring as the head of the Castine family.

Everyone—whether members of the Castine family or other vampires—looks at Norton with gentle and encouraging eyes, sincerely wishing him well and hoping he grows up healthy and strong.

Living among such a kind and pure-hearted race moved Norton almost to tears. Of course, he did not feel complacent because of this kindness. Instead, he worked twice as hard, hoping to repay the expectations of his family and kin and become a worthy vampire count. Even if he cannot lead the family and vampire race to conquer the world, he must at least protect this legacy and country.

"But those matters are still far off," Norton muttered to himself as he floated toward the heart of the burial grounds, "For now, increasing my strength and studying hard are the priorities. After all, whether protecting the country or the estate, it all requires power."

A group consisting of one vampire and sixteen undead steadily progressed through the deserted burial mounds of the southern wilderness. The front crypt guards used the blunt ends of their halberds to push aside tall weeds, while the skeletal wolves carefully navigated the path. The corpse wights performed a compass spell to confirm direction. Thus, they trudged through the half-meter-high wild grass, passing one excavated tomb after another, moving southward.

After nearly an hour of travel, Norton raised his hand, signaling with magic wind to halt the undead entourage. The group then turned direction, walked a few dozen more steps, crossed a small grove, and arrived at the entrance of a hidden cave.

Norton used his magic wind to instruct the undead to lay down their weapons and clear away the dead grass and earth at the entrance, gradually revealing marks of artificial excavation. Before them appeared a dark passageway constructed of black bricks.

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The group proceeded into the tunnel. Originally, the brass sconces along the tunnel walls had been equipped with magical crystal lamps for illumination, and many traps had been set within. However, these valuable crystals had been looted, and all traps dismantled, after the tomb's discovery centuries ago.

Inside the unlit tunnel, it was pitch black. Only the faint ghostly glows from the eyes of the undead and the cold, red flicker from Norton's own eyes provided any light, enabling them to see as if by daylight.

After traversing a corridor over thirty meters long, Norton and his undead guards entered the tomb's main hall. They proceeded through a winding, labyrinthine corridor into the target chamber, where 232 human skeletons stood at attention, arranged neatly.

This was the result of two years of Norton's effort—232 simple skeleton soldiers, each painstakingly unearthed piece by piece from the burial mounds like a little thief. These were scraps most families would disdain. Using the lowest level of pure magical power—barely necromancy—Norton had given them mobility. However, their combat abilities were nothing to boast of.

Their equipment was equally shabby. Each skeleton held a sharpened wooden spear in one hand and a crude wicker shield tied with hemp rope in the other. They wore no armor, not even clothing, leaving their pale, eerie skeletal figures exposed. Even in the impoverished Sylvania, such skeleton soldiers were the lowest of the low.

Yet, in stark contrast to their meager equipment was their discipline. Formed in a precise, unmoving phalanx, they could have held their formation indefinitely without external force—or until the magic sustaining them depleted.

This discipline was unmatched by any living army. Compared to the disorganized green-skinned orcs, the wild and savage northern barbarians, or even the famously disciplined dark elves, resolute dwarves, or devout Sigmarite humans, they were unparalleled.

Only the undead could achieve this absolute loyalty, obedience, order, and discipline—a quality making Sylvania, despite its poverty and narrow limits, recognized as a major continental power.

However, compared to Sylvania's regular forces—great armies of well-equipped, varied, powerful undead—Norton's so-called 'army' was laughably crude. Its equipment was rudimentary, its variety non-existent; even a lesser child of a distant vampire family branch would command a better-equipped force on the battlefield.

"This is just the beginning," Norton reminded himself. With ten years until he turned sixteen—the vampire noble's age of majority—he had time to accomplish much, like what he planned tonight. After calculations, evaluations, and experiments, Norton was to undertake an endeavor.

Two years of diligent searching led Norton to scour the grounds, finally discovering a treasure on a secluded cliff’s edge—a tomb hidden and disguised by time and dust. Had he not descended the cliff with a levitation spell one day, he might never have found it.

This discovery thrilled Norton—a tomb that appeared untouched, its owner's status confirmed by the strong magical barrier surrounding it. Such a tomb promised rich funerary offerings and attendants—a significant fortune!

However, there was a slight problem: the enormous magical barrier encasing the tomb, a defensive measure installed by its owner to deter tomb raiders like Norton.

Of course, no matter how formidable a tomb's defenses, they could only prevent petty thieves. Against the might of a state-sponsored excavation—no, a sanctioned pillaging—they proved futile. The vampires of Sylvania had long mastered techniques for dealing with such barriers, methods safe enough to leave the tombs undamaged.

Vampires typically gathered as many sorcerers as possible to gently neutralize the magical barrier's energy over weeks or months. Such time was trivial to the long-lived vampires.

However, Norton lacked such resources. Had he been a bit older—twelve, for instance—he could publicly claim the tomb. At that age, half-adulthood, the civic assembly would grant him citizenship rights, securing the tomb as his, free from contest.

He could enlist the Castine family's help, seek civic assembly funding, or contact friends and hire sorcerers to gradually dismantle the magical barrier.

But he was only six. Announcing the discovery would earn him a pat on the head and, perhaps, some candy. And then he'd face reprimand for sneaking away to such a dangerous place. His indulgent mother would tearfully lament her negligence, failing his late father. His sister would be furious that he didn't involve her, claiming her prowess among peers at the academy, capable of besting upperclassmen, declaring she'd have joined him with no issues, and so forth—a headache indeed.