“Hey, Nameless, where are you from? You don’t feel Western—you’re like a wind off the east sea. You seem like Jade’s kind. Didn’t she call herself a Sakura Island samurai? And you? Where’d you come from—also a Sakura Island samurai?” Lina kneaded his dislocated right hand like smoothing ripples on a pond.
His face went awkward; pride flared like a spark. “Pah! Sakura Island samurai? That unheard‑of speck adrift on the sea can’t compare to our Eastern Holy Dragon Kingdom.”
“Holy Dragon Kingdom? I thought this continent had only four nations, like the four corners of a map,” Rita said, head tilted like a sparrow listening to thunder.
Lina wore the same confusion, a brow clouded like a gray sky. “Four countries, fixed races—everyone knows that, like law etched in stone. Is there a world beyond the horizon?”
He sighed; his breath left like mist from a mountain stream. “Stop guessing. We’re still inside Eunomia. They just don’t know we exist. The sea goes on without end, a blue desert; call it a country, but it’s closer to a Penglai fairy isle. If not for that damned Heavenly Edge…”
“Hm? Heavenly Edge?” The Lina Sisters’ eyes knotted like tangled vines.
His words fell low, like drums under snow. “When the Eunomia Divine Stone waned and fell with Heavenly Edge, a white light swept us to an unknown island. We were only fifty thousand souls, a flock scattered in a storm. Panicked, they chose a Son of Heaven, a banner rising in the wind. We styled ourselves the Eastern Holy Dragon Kingdom, somewhere east of Eunomia on seas no chart can net.”
He swallowed ash; fear nipped like winter wolves. “I fled when the island changed. I hid my name and wore masks, chasing shelter, but doors stayed shut; teammates died or were taken, candles snuffed by cold rain. It felt like I carried a Reaper’s curse; with me, bad luck stalked like a noon shadow.”
“Until I met Medith and the others. Under a nightmare sky, they stood unbending, like pines in gale. For belief, they’d rather self‑detonate, trading their bodies for their companions’ breath. I knew then—my harbor had finally appeared, after black waves.”
The Lina Sisters listened, hearts rippling like wind on rice. “The world is wide and weird; Medith was right—never think you’re enough. This land has no final peak.”
“Only constant sharpening is the king’s road,” fate whispered back. “Nameless’s power isn’t much lower than Sais’s, a blade hidden in silk. In the Bloodhand Gang battle, he barely bled, and he led the first charge, like thunder before rain.”
“In a field that chews men, he stayed unscathed; even Medith can’t always do that. His ‘invisibility’ helped, like smoke folding into shadow.”
“Are your country’s people very strong?” Lina asked, voice soft as dusk grass.
His chest lifted like a drum; pride burned warm. “Oh, yes. Plenty are stronger than me, a forest of steel. Our warriors scorn death; faith stands firm; once they choose a lord, they serve to the last breath. Even someone as strong as the Commander—back home we’ve got two, twin peaks under the same sky.”
“For real?!” Rita rushed close, eyes shining like wet stars, awe blooming like morning glories.
She couldn’t picture anyone above Medith, like trying to net the moon.
Nameless froze; heat climbed his ears like dawn on snow. Her warm breath brushed him, carrying the Elf Clan’s scent—green woods after rain.
“Whoa, pretty boy’s a pure one, huh?” Rita’s grin curled like a fox’s tail. “What, you haven’t tasted the pleasures of the bed yet?”
“You—” He jolted back several paces, fur bristling like a startled cat; his face stayed flushed, endearingly red.
They laughed; it rang like silver bells tossed in a basket. Lina and Rita folded over, and Nameless reddened more; when had any woman toyed with him?
He burned, breath rough like a forge. “Laugh… laugh at what! You two old aunties aren’t virgins either! No boyfriends, thousand‑year witches! The Elf Clan’s all flat‑chested, thousand‑year monsters! Pah!” His words flew like stones skimming a lake.
The Lita Sisters’ shrill laughter stopped, cut clean like someone pinched their life‑gate; both froze, rooted like statues.
“Humph.” Nameless wore a victor’s smile, a flag snapping in wind; in trash talk, he feared no man.
They traded a glance; resolve set like ice. Lina tossed her head; green hair streamed like river grass, dazzling him like sun on water. Then the two bracketed him and whooshed into the jungle’s deep shade.
Nameless panicked; the ground rolled under him like a wave. Before he could react, a lithe silhouette pounced and straddled him, fingers at his clothes, undoing knots like dew slipping from leaves.
“You say the Elf Clan are flat‑chested old monsters? Then… why not confirm it yourself?” Lina’s mouth curved, a crescent with autumn eyes, her gaze pouring wine. Another snowy figure pressed down, filling his sight like winter fields.
Moonlight swayed like a boat on a pale lake. Flowers drank greedy gulps of fragrant air, and butterflies circled, wings fluttering, lingering long, unwilling to leave.
