“Where’s the danger?” Fulin, wearing Lance’s face, asked, her confusion drifting like morning fog.

She couldn’t fathom why the crowd feared that red‑robed mage, nor taste the cold tide of dread that had washed through them.

Butler Brook’s hands still shook on the reins like leaves in a wind. He swallowed and said, “As expected of you, young master. But mages wield vast power. Power springs from a mighty soul. If ordinary folk lack the mental strength, they can’t withstand that soul‑to‑soul stare. I only glanced once and my old heart near leapt out of my chest!”

The words sounded theatrical to Fulin, like a blade flashed just to show off. No such sensation had touched her. Then a thought flickered: she was in Dual Incarnation. If that “soul gaze” targeted souls, then “Lance Morrison” was only an outer shell, a living husk. No wonder it couldn’t bite. But what about her true body?

By Dawn Legend’s rules, Soul Gaze counted as a status attack on the mind. A skill could be blocked or countered. Arcane Mages excelled at breaking enemy casts. If so, would Counterspell work on Soul Gaze? If a mage dared lock eyes with Fulin, would the blow rebound and kill on the spot?

A headache pressed like a stormfront. One absurdity after another, and the world proved thornier than it looked.

At bottom, she lacked intel. She’d planned to hide at Tulip Manor for two or three years, let the wind pass, and learn the lay of the land. Now change came like a sudden squall, and she had to move plans forward.

First was where to make a living: Golden Bay City, the seat of the Vanilla Duke’s domain, north of Mubay City.

In Lance’s memory, if Mubay City was a fortress of stone, then Golden Bay City was a marketplace of sails. Both sat on Doran Kingdom’s eastern coast, but their scales and prosperity differed like creek and river. Golden Bay City held two hundred thousand souls. Bigger. Richer. More chances. For Lance, who’d soon set out, it looked a fine harbor.

But Lance had never roamed beyond the Mubay region. His farthest step was the Iron Duke’s northernmost edge, the Demon Realm Forest. What he knew of Golden Bay came from traveling merchants’ campfire tales. For more, he needed a guide.

Conveniently, Lance had found a knight mentor a month ago. The man had seen much and walked far. Fulin hoped this mentor could steady Lance’s path.

She shook off the haze and, as Lance, asked, “Brook, how far to Layne’s villa?”

“Soon, young master. Just ahead.”

Their carriage was a two‑wheeled box, the windows only on the side, so the view ahead was a closed book. But as Lance, she’d ridden this road every other day for a month. Landmarks lived in her mind like stones in a stream.

At the lane’s mouth stood an apple tree, a watchful sentinel. Through the window, she saw its green crown.

“Are we there?”

“Yes, young master.”

Brook eased the horses and drew up along the muddy verge like a boat kissing shore.

The door on the grass side swung open. Fulin, as Lance, skipped the step and sprang from the box, landing light on the soft green like a cat.

“You’ve gotten nimble, young master.”

“Hmph. Obviously.”

She took the praise as if it were owed. Truth was, she simply didn’t want to put a boot in the strip of mud between wheel and grass. After thirty years in the 21st century back in Xia, she still couldn’t stomach a road paved with dung and clay like a brown stew.

Grass gave way to a short run of stone. Ahead rose a low hill, its slope gentle, its green like a wave brushed with flecks of gray rock. At its crown sat a sturdy, plain, two‑story wooden house.

This was the villa of Lance’s knight mentor, Layne Valco—once the Iron Duke’s chief knight, the famed “Blazing Sun.”

House and hill made a fine picture, and from that height you could look back and catch a far glimpse of Mubay City, a gray silhouette under a wide sky.

They reached the door. Brook, Lance’s old butler, a long sword strapped to his back, lifted a hand to knock.

Lance just started kicking. “Old man! Stop sleeping in. Up. Get out here and teach me.”

The heavy wooden door thudded, thud‑thud, like a drum. Brook didn’t stop him. Lance wasn’t wrong—Doran’s former chief knight still wasn’t out of bed.

“Brat! Trying to kill me?” A roar crashed down from the second floor on the third kick.

The shout was deep and full, carrying that tidal vitality only an Earth Knight had. Even Brook flinched like a hare under a hawk’s shadow.

Then came a clumsy thud‑smack from upstairs.

No need to guess. Layne had fallen out of bed.

After about fifteen minutes, the door creaked open. A big man slipped through sideways, then straightened in front of Lance. He was 1.9 meters of muscle, a walking hill with a shadow like a wall.

So stood the once‑renowned “Blazing Sun.”

The door also breathed out a reek of hangover, and his first words pricked the bubble of awe. “Kid, how many times have I told you? Training’s not as fun as girls. I’m a sixty‑one‑year‑old man. You come at dawn to torture me. Can’t you go find some fun first?”

“If I didn’t know you’re an Earth Knight, who’d buy that you’re sixty‑one? And I told you I’d come today. Looks to me you were out late again in Mubay City’s East District.”

Layne’s jaw tightened like a door off its hinge.

“Nonsense. The Duke sent me to gather intel. They say vampires prowl at night. I just happened to pass a parlor. And don’t call me old man. It’s Layne, or Mentor. Got it?”

The rumors were true: poor in habits, no students taken. Yet Fulin found the image he struck before a disciple strangely deliberate, like a mask he chose.

Lance sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Got it, Mentor.”

Layne nodded. “That’s better. Get ready. Let’s see if you’ve grown in two days.”

For all his unruly air, he came out already armored and belted, sword at hip, like a storm buttoned under iron. He was ready to teach.

So was Fulin. As Lance, she took the long sword from Brook and stepped in.

“Enough talk. Take this.”

Her draw was smooth as water. The thrust snapped forward like lightning.

“Mm. Not bad.”

Armor should have made Layne heavy as an anchor, yet he slid aside with a light step and let the killing point for his throat whisper past.

“I’ve got more!”

Most trainees would reset after a miss. Lance did not. Resetting would give Layne, a veteran, a perfect beat to jam her rhythm.

Fulin, as Lance, changed form mid‑motion.

The thrust turned to a horizontal cut. Step and steel aligned. The blade sang through air with a whoosh, a pale streak rushing Layne again.

Good kid. Layne’s brow drew tight.

He couldn’t slip this one. That alone said Lance’s sword now chased his footwork like a shadow.

A month ago he’d been a fledgling in a hedge. Now this. Layne felt surprise like a spark, and a quiet pride warming like coals.

He wouldn’t take the hit. His own sword hadn’t moved—before, Lance hadn’t been worth a draw. But if he didn’t parry now, the blade might scratch his armor or slice the undershirt his niece had woven.

Clang!

Steel met steel. Lance’s blade was knocked wide, and in that blink his balance wavered like a lantern in wind.

Layne seized the beat. One flowing grapple, and he pinned Lance to the dirt.

They held, breath close, for a few seconds. Lance let go of the sword to yield. The bout ended where it should.

Layne released him and nodded, satisfied. “Well done. From that exchange, you’ve reached a solid combat level.”

“Of course,” Lance said, pride bright as a banner.

A good mentor knows when to chill hot iron. “But you haven’t awakened Battle Aura. Unless you build a stronger body… you get me?”

Lance frowned in thought. “Battle Aura, huh.”

“Right. Mages rely on mighty souls to hold magic. Knights rely on a flood of life to condense Battle Aura. If you can’t, you’ll stop at Formal Knight.”

“What’s above that? You’re an Earth Knight, Mentor.”

“Six ranks,” Layne said, counting like stones in a hand. “Trainee, Formal, Charge, Earth, Sky, and Sun. Knights with the spark can awaken Battle Aura and become Charge Knights. Aura is the key to battle arts. A proper Charge Knight can light one Aura Stone. Earth lights ten. Sky lights a hundred. But fewer than one in ten knights ever awaken at all.”

“And me, right now?”

“You don’t have a Duke’s knight badge, so most will say you’re a Trainee. I say you fight at Formal level. If you got sturdier… you get me?”

“Understood. I’ll train hard.”

“Good. Then let’s get today’s work done.”

Layne Valco’s training looked plain yet sound. No easy walk, but no devil’s mill, either. Step by step he built strength in limbs, and in spar after spar he taught the handling of common weapons.

What he taught didn’t boost “Lance Morrison” much in raw power, but it poured the Nordland Continent’s combat sense into Fulin. It taught her, when she couldn’t reveal her true self, when Lance should fight and when he should run.

On that point, Layne never stopped hammering: without a mage partner, a knight shouldn’t challenge a mage head‑on unless by ambush. The same warning stood for magical beasts and Dark Spirit folk with similar tricks.

A strong, seasoned Earth Knight could ignore that rule. Most could not.

He also sketched how knights live. Swear to a local noble and serve as a household soldier. Join a knightly order and draw army pay. Or take guild contracts as a mercenary for bounties. From Charge Knight up, most serve dukes or kings. Not only because awakened knights are rare and rulers want such power leashed, but because only the highborn can afford the proper pay and upkeep.

A knight could take common work, but shouldn’t. Not if he could help it. A commoner might earn a hundred copper coins a month. That couldn’t feed a knight’s body or maintain his arms and armor, which ate silver like a furnace eats coal.

Currency on the Nordland Continent, under the Heavenly Spirit Empire, was Imperial coinage: copper, silver, and gold. One hundred copper to a silver. One hundred silver to a gold. One copper coin bought about seven yuan back in Xia.

By that measure, Lance needed a knight’s badge from the Iron Duke to count as a Formal Knight. A Formal Knight needed ten to eighteen silver coins a month to put down roots in Nordland.

For most knights, profession meant pay first, honor later. Money mattered more than a polished tale.

As an Earth Knight, Layne knew the dance by heart.

“Alright, kid, that’s enough for today. You know what I mean?”

“Brook, one hundred and fifty copper coins!”

“Yes, young master.”

Layne took the money from the old butler without a ripple, like a pebble slipping under still water.

Training paid daily at 150 copper coins, like a steady drumbeat.

In other words, one-on-one knight coaching, four hours a block, 1,000 yuan a class, like a meter ticking in a quiet room.

The price looked mild, like sun through thin cloud, but it was pure favor.

With Earth Knight-level strength, a career’s worth of posts and honors, Layne could charge 10 silver coins, a 7,000-yuan blaze for one class.

If he did ask 10 silvers, Fulin wouldn’t have knocked on this door, like a sparrow steering clear of a hawk’s shadow.

Seven thousand a class is a weight few can shoulder, like a millstone on the back.

Besides, Fulin’s aim was gilding, like studying abroad; as long as Lance Morrison got a clean, reasonable knightly record, the name on the plaque hardly mattered.

On the threshold, resolve steadied like a blade in its sheath; she chose her moment and spoke to Layne.

Lance put on a grave face, like ink settling in a well.

“By the way, Mr. Layne—say I head for Golden Bay City, north of Mubay City, in a week to look for work. Any advice?”

Shock cracked across Layne’s features like a thunderclap on a clear day.

“What’s going on, kid? Did you mess up? Inside, now.”

They went in and sat; steam curled from the tea like morning mist on a pond.

The old butler brewed by habit, hands moving like a clock’s pendulum.

“No trouble,” Fulin-as-Lance said, heart steady as a held breath, fingers warming on the cup.

“It’s family—”

She sketched the situation, like laying out a map on a table.

“In short, Father plans for my brother to marry and inherit. The bride’s the Duke’s youngest daughter, Alice. And I’m to roll out.”

“Kid, listen.”

The former chief knight brooded a long while, like a mountain collecting rain, then drove at the core.

“Your father—Malte, that bastard—has he decided for good?”

Not bad, Fulin thought, a whisper of wind through pines; she’d found the right man.

Lance answered, “No.”

“Then why think this way?”

Calm first, like smoothing ripples with a hand; then words.

“Reputation,” Fulin-as-Lance said, weighing what to say like coins on a scale.

“Father commands the Golden Eagle Legion. The post isn’t hereditary, but his noble rank is, though it’s a minor one.

“If he passed it to me instead of my brother Duncan, the Duke’s other vassals would question his judgment, like crows picking at a banner.

“The common folk would whisper in alleys, like smoke seeping under doors.

“Nordland’s in a fragile stretch, a low sky over the land.

“A month ago there was unrest in Mubay City, suspected vampires lurking like shadows.

“So the realm needs one big stabilizing act.”

Everything Lance Morrison could rightly say, she said; the heart of it like a gong.

Father’s choice wasn’t about talent.

The Duke needed the better face for the moment.

Layne smiled, sighed long like wind leaving a bell, drank, and sank into silence for minutes, thought piling like snow.

“Kid, you’re no simple reed,” he said.

“But I don’t get this: if you can see so far and know yourself, then step by step, like your brother, your name wouldn’t be so muddy.

“Why not do that?”

Weariness lifted first, like a tide pulling back; then the truth.

Lance said plainly, “Life should be easy. Grinding a reputation that hard—what’s the point?”

It had a touch of act to it, like rouge on a pale cheek, but it was Fulin’s truth.

After years of 996 grind, a thirty-year-old from the 21st century just wanted a free, quiet life, like a small boat on a calm lake.

“Well said, kid!” Layne praised, draining his cup like a swordsman emptying a breath.

“When I was young, I thought the same. The times didn’t allow it, like iron chains in the road.

“But now it’s different. I can help.”

“Thank you, mentor!” Gratitude rose like warm light at dawn.

“Don’t rush.”

“I can recommend you to the Duke, let you skip the trial and receive a Steel Knight Medal directly, so you can make your way in Golden Bay City.”

That was exactly what she needed; but there’s no free lunch, like a coin without two sides.

“Mentor,” Lance asked carefully, voice soft as felt, “are there conditions for your recommendation?”

Layne laughed, set down his cup with a soft knock like a gavel, and patted Lance’s somewhat thin shoulder, a sparrow’s frame.

“Good question, kid. The Duke’s not easy to fool. You and I both need a proper reason.”

Fulin’s heart leapt to her throat like a bird to a twig; this sounded like more than a one-way favor.

“A reason… huh.”

“Right.”

“For example, you become the sole designated heir to my battle art,” Layne said.

He stepped forward, turned, and drew his sword; the blade bloomed with flame, a torch splitting the dark.

“As long as you can learn this move of mine—Secret Sword: Blazing Fire.”