People nearly tumbled from their saddles, shock bursting like a thunderclap. Medith just said it—solve a nation’s war? Easy words, heavy storm.

“You crazy?” Sais’s mind went crisp, like frost on a blade. “You’re strong, sure. But there are a dozen as strong as you—what about the rest? Under what banner do you ‘solve’ their war? You think ending it makes them bow to a stranger?”

When it touched Medith, Sais saw through fog and flame better than anyone.

Milia and Yunita froze, tongues tied like birds in winter. Nameless wore a smile, calling Medith naïve with a tilt of his brow. “Commander, I know you love talent, but those people aren’t simple.

“Even if you could end their war, they’d fight till the last drop, steel bright under blood. Or they’d commit seppuku rather than surrender. I’ve seen plenty from the Eastern Isles. Trust me.”

Medith’s heat drained, like embers under rain. The rush faded; cool thought rose. Her wings weren’t grown, a fledgling that couldn’t fly, yet she’d tried to hunt.

“So… it’s a late-game quest?” The words fell odd, like a pebble in a still pond. Heads tilted. Medith shook her finger. “Nothing. A pity…”

“A pity? You’ve got an Eastern general standing right in front of you.” A familiar neutral voice drifted over like night wind. Medith startled and followed the sound.

Jade stood in red cloth like a flame, a black satin sash cinched at her waist. A red demon mask grinned on her face, teeth like painted knives.

She hid hard, but those who’d fought in the Bloodhand Gang battle knew her true skin beneath the lacquer. Still, if she wished for a mask, they wouldn’t pry; she’d never struck against Medith’s people.

“What are you doing here?” Sais’s wariness rose like a shield. She knew this woman well: profit first, ego like a lone mountain, never steps into the temple without a scheme. From that look, she’d scented Medith’s rising tide and was ready to switch boats.

“Does it matter?” Jade’s voice was smooth, like silk over a blade. “I know them best. You need a spy who can slip into their ranks. I need a strong banner. Win-win. Why not?”

Medith wagged a finger, calm as a lake under moonlight. “You’re mistaken. It’s not we who need you—it’s you who need us. And now you admit you’re a samurai from the Eastern Isles? Then honor us with your true name.”

Jade stiffened, hands trembling like leaves in a draft. A heartbeat, then resolve settled like iron. She lifted the mask. Underneath waited the beauty they’d glimpsed once, a blade wrapped in blossom.

That heart-stealing face held no emotion, a porcelain doll under moonlight, soft enough to stir pity and protectiveness.

Most striking was her black hair, sleek and floating, catching moon-glow like ripples on a dark lake, giving this night a strange color.

“Pretty enough, right? So why dress as a man?” Yunita tilted her head, curiosity flickering like a cattail flame. Jade sighed, the sound heavy with dust and old roads.

“We can talk about that later. This world is… what it is.” Her gaze cooled. “My true name is Yoru Ame. Born to a samurai house. For many reasons, I drifted here. In that, I’m a bit like your ponytail boy.” Yoru Ame arched a brow, a playful glint thrown toward Nameless.

The Lina Sisters slid in front of Nameless, wary as cats, eyes hard as glass. Nameless blinked, surprise pricking like a thorn.

“Yoru… as in the clan tied to the Seven Spears of Unfallen Sakura, and Kamikaze Kojiro?” Nameless asked, voice tight, like a bowstring.

Fangge nodded, calm as still water. “Yes. I’m the daughter of the Yoru Ame clan head. I came to this continent, hiding my name, grinding my blade for one purpose—kill my own brother.

“He led a coup, stole my father’s power, slaughtered every loyal heart. Then he bent knee to the imperial shogunate’s hounds. I bled my way out to live for one day—when I put down that beast with my own hands.”