"Queen?" Medith felt a cold creep like frost up her spine, her mind dragging up bad omens.

"Heh. It’s only been a few days, and Her Majesty’s 'love of talent' is already overflowing?" Sais’s words smoked like gunpowder. "She sent a royal message-hawk across the sea to check on you."

"Kh-kh..." Medith fake-coughed twice, her gaze combing the owl’s feathered body like fingers through reeds. She found no scroll, no ribbon, nothing tied to it.

She met its eyes, and her breath was pulled into those ink-dark pupils like a leaf into a whirlpool. "Demon‑Slaughter Sword: eight of ten parts complete. We lack one key material, [Ningxuehun]. My city has known no wars for centuries. The battlefield at Verdant Spirit Mountain doesn’t meet my needs. I ask aid from allies. Please remember. Is your body sound? Any anomalies? Is your purpose achieved? Reply quickly. —Lahiss."

"Uh..." Medith blinked back like surf retreating from a rock, the vision dissolving like mist. The words lay etched in her mind like lines cut into jade. The others stared blankly, the message fog to their eyes.

"What did the Queen say?" Sais leaned in, impatience sparking like flint.

"Back then, when she promised a reward, I joked I wanted a divine weapon." Medith’s voice trembled like a bird ready to launch. "I almost forgot. I never thought the Queen could really forge one. She says it’s only missing a single material. That’s… astonishing."

"Tianensai, do you have weapons soaked in blood?" Medith’s excitement burned like a lantern at midnight. "I mean blades that killed on a real field, heavy with killing intent."

Tianensai rarely saw Medith shine like that; her delight popped like a child spotting a new toy. "We do, but they’re in the war-prep armory," he said, his tone tight as a locked chest. "The Royal Blood Guard watch them like hawks. Taking one out will be tough. You want one?"

"In the war-prep armory?" Medith’s thoughts turned like gears oiled with urgency. She’d need help from the King or Elyu. "Does Paris have that authority?" The crown prince’s name rose like a flag in her mind.

"Thanks. I’ll handle it, so don’t trouble yourself." Medith pivoted, her steps snapping like arrows from a bow.

"Medith! Where are you going?" Milia and the others flinched, their voices breaking like thin ice.

"To find Prince Elyu. If you’re touring, stay here and don’t wander." She didn’t look back, her silhouette cutting through the corridor like a drawn blade.

"She really is a general—thunder in her heels," Sais muttered, a sigh trailing like smoke. "Say it, do it."

"Hey, little winter melon, where did that big Black Mountain and the pretty kid go?" Sais’s tease rolled out like a flicked pebble.

Tianensai clicked his tongue, displeasure pricking like nettles. "That’s Jerome and Mure. They have names," he snapped, anger ruffling him like wind through fur.

"Ah-ho, the three of you are tight," Sais laughed, eyes dancing like ripples. "One jab and you bristle?"

"Tch. What would I discuss with you, you long‑haired, short‑sighted old woman?" Tianensai lifted his chin like a proud cat. "I came in at twelve. By seniority, they should call me senior."

"You—!" Sais choked, the word lodging like a fishbone. It was the first time someone called her old and left her no retort.

Seeing her stiffen, Tianensai exhaled, relief flowing like warm tea. "Uncle Jerome and Mure are in the North City. That’s elsewhere. We came only for the banquet. When it ends, we leave. We’re busy. You don’t know how those little brats hop when we’re gone."

"Oh?" Sais arched a brow like a lifted feather and led the girls to wander, their steps scribbling across the halls like drifting leaves.

Inside the palace, on the highest terrace, Ogathas and Elyu sat in a pavilion, wind slipping around them like a cool river. Only two guards stood far off at the exit.

"Elyu, it’s been over two years since we drank like this, hasn’t it?" Ogathas’s face softened like lantern light; he was a father, not a king.

Elyu filled his cup, wine glinting like evening water. "You’re right, Father. The realm’s changed a lot."

"For example?" Ogathas smiled, a quiet crescent like a fox’s moon.

"For example… I can’t name it, but the air feels different," Elyu said, scratching his nose like a boy caught fibbing.

"Hahaha. You still don’t grasp the Royal Capital," Ogathas said, voice steady as an old teacher’s stick. "You’ve always loved to run. Can you name every noble and vassal?"

"Do you know the Royal Capital’s matters, large and small?"

"I don’t know them all, but Big Brother does," Elyu said, worry pooling like ink. "Forgive me, but you’re past sixty. By law…"

"Rest easy. I’ve arranged everything," Ogathas said, his smile thinning like winter sun. "I’m old, no longer the warrior king. People give me face and treat me gently."

"Father, don’t say that." Elyu’s faith rose like a shield. "The vassals are loyal. They swore blood oaths in that chaos and never left you. Then and now, my judgment stands."

"Heh…" Ogathas laughed, warmth settling like a quilt. His resolve cooled into steel like water into ice. "You… and your brother are completely different."

"Brother? What about him?" Elyu’s ears caught the shift like a hawk catching a gust.

Ogathas sipped, the sound a small tsk in the quiet. "Elyu, how do you see your brother?"

"Big Brother’s far steadier than me," Elyu said, words marching like soldiers. "Mature and decisive, thunder-fast, ruthless when needed, deep in city and mind. He perfectly inherits your imperial bearing.

"Unlike me—carefree, joking, a grinning wanderer.

"And he grew up in the palace. His grasp of the vassals rivals yours. He’s the best choice for the throne."

Ogathas nodded, thoughts ticking like beads. "By ancestral law, a king past sixty must abdicate within three years. By law, the throne passes to the first heir."

"Unless the king holds a public abdication ceremony and transfers power to a designated heir."

"—!" Elyu jolted, his body springing like a bow. The cup toppled and shattered like a startled bird on stone. "Father! What do you mean?!"