I’ve got a feel for your strength now, like weighing a blade by hand. To be blunt, the issues you’re facing mirror each other like twin reflections.

They left the arena and settled in a nearby pavilion, its shade pooling like cool water. Celia Maya dissected the bout with a calm, surgeon’s touch.

You’re rare to wield such power at your age, a young tree already bearing fruit. But your spellwork still shows cracks, so let me name three.

First, your spells stand alone like scattered stars; they hardly draw into a constellation. That points to thin practice and thin stitching.

Second, you don’t cast the right spell at the right beat; your timing drifts like a drum off-tempo. With the power you showed, you should’ve fared better, not fallen so fast. You felt like, “since it’s loss either way, let’s throw our biggest spell and let them see it,” a spark tossed into wind.

Third, you treat the Rule Book—a treasure that rivals a Semi Origin Artifact—like a common tool, without reaching for its heart, like skimming the surface of a deep lake.

In short, your combat experience is still young, and your grip on magic and law is loose, like reins in a novice rider’s hands. Given your age, that’s natural, a sapling yet to root deep.

The question lands first as a feeling—worry mixed with hope—then the words rise. So what should we do next?

Lingxiao and Lingsaki lifted their eyes, earnest and bright, like dawn reflected in glass. They waited for her answer with breath held.

They’d rarely had anyone guide them. After inheriting the Dual Daynight Tomes, they’ve been feeling their way alone, moonlight for ink and sunlight for heat, stuck on knots like the ones Celia named.

Simple. Follow the training plan I set, like walking a marked trail through mist. I won’t promise meteors overnight, but I can pull out the thorns I just named.

Yes, yes! Then please guide us, Celia Maya, with a firm hand and steady lantern.

We’re excited for the training ahead, like runners at the line, hearts drumming.

Their eyes met, a spark crossing a quiet stream, and excitement bubbled up like spring water. Being guided will beat fumbling alone in the dark.

Of course. I’ll teach you with all I’ve got. Be ready to sweat and chew through hard days, like grain ground into strength.

Meanwhile, in a prosperous market street of the Dragon Realm, Jingyue clasped Hill’s soft, pale hand and wandered through color and sound, banners fluttering like wings. Wherever they passed, the crowd parted like a tide and held respectful silence—eyes caught by the Dragon God’s token on Hill’s chest.

Celia Maya had ordered it, a quiet precaution like a charm against storms. Hill had been sent to the Central Continent not long after she was born; in the Dragon Realm, everyone knows the Dragon God’s precious daughter is named Hill, yet barely a handful have ever seen her face.

Most don’t recognize Hill, nine-and-nine out of a hundred, but no one fails to recognize the Dragon God’s token—the Dragon God’s personal badge, bright as a sun-mark. Only one exists in the entire Dragon Realm; a tiny girl wearing it needs no words about who she is.

The Dragon God’s beloved daughter—by rank, higher than the current chieftain of the Dragon Kin, like the moon higher than the roofline. Many first saw Jingyue’s beauty and presence and wanted to drift over with a line, yet one glimpse of Hill at her side shut their steps like a door.

If she’s strolling this close with the Dragon God’s daughter, Jingyue’s identity must be a mountain under silk. So a street roaring with people became a private river around the two of them, noise thinning like fog.

The district bustled with many races, a woven tapestry of faces. Shops, eateries, and taverns here were mostly run by humans and Elven Kind; Dragon Kin played a smaller part, like iron threads among silk.

Little Hill, hungry? Jingyue’s laugh rang light, a bell on a summer breeze.

Uh-huh! We’ve walked so long I’m starving! Hill’s answer bounced like a sparrow, lively and sweet.

True enough. Time slipped like sand; they’d wandered for more than two hours.

Jingyue bought skewers of grilled meat for Hill, smoke curling like incense. She ate her own share, eyes sweeping the street, and soon spotted a high-end restaurant gleaming like polished jade.

Let’s find a place to rest and eat. I just found a good one. She tossed the bamboo skewers into a nearby bin, clean as a ritual.

Yay! I’m gonna eat a real meal! Hill’s joy popped like firecrackers.

Decision made, they headed toward the restaurant a few hundred meters to the southeast, close as a thrown pebble.

Welcome, Lady Hill! The moment Jingyue led Hill through the doors, a well-dressed middle-aged man approached with several servers, bowing like reeds before wind.

I’m Ailman Diroton, owner of Longhua Restaurant. May I ask your name, my lady? His eyes slid to Jingyue, curiosity flickering like a candle’s flame.

He’d watched since Hill appeared nearby. This was the Dragon God’s daughter, a name like thunder in clear sky. If he could please her, fortune might bloom like spring.

He also noted how close Jingyue was to Hill, and with beauty like a blade and an aura like cold moonlight, she was surely someone of weight.

Yugong Jingyue. Jingyue’s voice was calm as still water.

Yugong…! Ailman’s shock hit like a drumbeat. The center of gravity wasn’t Hill alone—Jingyue was a storm front. Around them, servers and guests hurried over to greet and bow, a chorus rising like birds.

To welcome two such honored guests is the greatest joy in our two centuries of business! I’ll prepare the most luxurious VIP suite at once! He drew a long breath to steady himself, then flicked a glance to his staff, a silent arrow of orders.

Mm. Thank you; that would help. Jingyue’s reply settled soft as snow.

Not at all! Serving you is the meaning of my life, a lamp I’m proud to carry. This way, please.

If not for years of merchant training, Ailman’s words would’ve tangled like vines. He was hosting Yugong Jingyue of the Mizumi Clan and Hill, the Dragon God’s daughter—two figures standing at the summit like twin peaks.

Especially Jingyue: earning her good will would paint the Mizumi Clan’s impression in warm hues. No matter what, he had to ensure their experience at Longhua was flawless, smooth as jade.

In the kitchen, when the chefs learned they would cook for Jingyue and Hill, steadiness fled like birds at a shout. Knives trembled, hands shook, one cook stared pale as ash—what if their dishes failed to please?