Preserved fruit... no, Secret Sword: Blazing Fire.

If the old, street-sharp Fulin typed this move in chat, she’d hit “preserved fruit” nine times out of ten. Think “preserved fruit,” and hunger pricks like a fox nosing sugar.

No, focus. Fulin reins her thoughts, slips into Lance, and watches Layne’s Secret Sword: Blazing Fire, eyes fixed like a hawk on embers.

At first glance, it’s a flame-imbued sword, magic licking steel. But she recalls Layne’s words: any awakened knight can stir Battle Aura by instinct. It shapes to the wielder’s imagined ideal.

So to Layne, Secret Sword: Blazing Fire is the form he craves in this breath. It shows as a blaze, a bonfire shouldering the blade.

“See it? That flame is Battle Aura made manifest! Burn this power, and your strike becomes a force that won’t be stopped!”

Layne cuts the empty air. Earth Knight strength rolls like a landslide, and the Aura-flame kicks in like a rocket. Even a titan would topple, easy.

At last, Fulin sees through the move, Secret Sword: Blazing Fire.

The flame on the blade isn’t for burning flesh. It uses the Aura’s explosive recoil to turbocharge the swing. It’s a twin to Legend of Dawn’s gunblade— a heavy sword with a propellant booster along its spine.

Fulin needs the principle nailed down, because this move clearly isn’t a Legend of Dawn skill.

If it were a Legend of Dawn skill, Fulin Belit would trigger it as easy as breathing once the conditions fit. Breathing-easy, like walking on two legs. You don’t think about which foot to move, or the angle of each step. You think “walk,” and your body walks, in your own rhythm.

But handstand-walking? Funny or not, you need time to learn a body that way. That’s what using Battle Aura feels like to Fulin—strange, upside down, demanding.

She hasn’t even sparked Aura once. She just prays it’s not harder to steer than skill essence.

Meanwhile, another problem flares up.

“Mentor, bad news, the house is on fire!”

“What?! Put it out, now!”

“Young master, I’ll handle—”

Lance-as-played-by-Fulin, the knight mentor Layne, and old butler Brook scramble for a long while. By dusk, the wooden house stops crackling, the fire fully out.

Secret Sword: Blazing Fire isn’t easy to rein. Layne was already holding back, yet stray sparks kissed the wooden floor. When the last ember died, the first-floor lounge lay charred black. Time to consider new boards.

“Kid, perfect. You’ve got to learn this move. No successor bonus means I keep living in this dump.”

So much for “see through, don’t call it out.” Fulin knows this unseemly elder’s got his own plan simmering.

Getting Lance to master it right now isn’t realistic. Secret Sword: Blazing Fire is a combat art. To learn a combat art, you awaken Battle Aura first. Lance’s Warrior Bloodline could awaken its Aura branch by spending experience. Even so, to see if this knight mentor is pushing unfairly or hiding motives, Fulin must tread carefully.

Lance feigns difficulty. “Uh, how long do you think before I can spark Aura?”

Layne snaps, “Who knows? It’s all talent. The Jinflower household’s girl in Maple City awakened at twelve. I awakened at thirty-four. Bottom line, kid—do it fast.”

Clearly, Layne expects Lance to be the former. Fulin just hopes days from now, fast progress won’t drag trouble out of him.

“Got it. I’ll head out now.”

“I won’t see you out—wait. Kid, something got misplaced in the rush. A palm-sized frame with metal edges. Check over there.”

Fulin blinks, puzzled, but it’s easy enough. The light’s dim at sundown; better fetch a flame.

“Brook, bring the lantern.”

“Yes, young master.”

Soon, Lance finds the little frame in the upstairs master bedroom. A miniature portrait of a girl. Water damage has blurred it; the face is smudged.

“Mentor, this one?”

“Oh! Thank the Light Deity, that’s it.”

Layne cradles the miniature like treasure. Fulin, seeing that, lets her gaze drift over the wooden house.

Look close, and despite patches of seep and wear, the place is warm and lived-in. Lounge, pantry, kitchen on the first floor. Master and guest rooms upstairs. Big enough to feel like family, not solitary.

Lance asks, curious, “Mentor, did you live here with someone?”

“My girl, Jasmine. She’s in Maple City, the capital, studying magic at its academy. Why?”

Layne perks up, vigor returning like a breeze.

“No, nothing.”

“What, interested in Jasmine? Fair warning, she’s three years older—”

“No, mentor, that’s not it.”

“I know, haha!”

Layne walks out of the gloom left by the burned lounge, laughter ringing like clear bells. “Anyway, find a way to learn Secret Sword: Blazing Fire. I want you to get it now, but this can’t be rushed. With your hands, you can head to Golden Bay City and work as a bodyguard. If not, I can lend you coin—interest applies. Take it slow. One day you’ll be my combat art heir, kid.”

...

On the return, night has settled. The butler checks his pocket watch. Seven o’clock.

“Wonderful, young master.” Old butler Brook sounds a shade excited.

“What’s got you happy?”

“I mean your performance today, young master.”

The old butler pauses, then goes on. “The late Lady Morrison, your mother, her parting wish is finally fulfilled.”

Lance-as-Fulin keeps his voice level, calm as still water. Not cold-blooded—Lance barely remembers his mother. Joy or resentment would be false. “Is that so. That’s good.”

If Lance counts anyone as family, it’s Brook, no doubt.

Fulin, wearing Lance, tests the waters. “I may have to fend for myself in a week. What about you then?”

Brook stays optimistic. “We’ll talk then, young master. Grandfather won’t dismiss me.”

Fulin knows better. “And Duncan? My brother doesn’t like you.”

“We’ll see then, young master.”

After that, silence rides with them. By now, Fulin has settled wholly into the role of Lance.

Survival starts with blending in. But on the Nordland Continent, a Blood Clan identity is a minefield. Even a flawless Lance Morrison won’t hold forever. What happens the day the mask slips?

Fulin refuses to dwell on it.

The scenes are too vivid. In a past life, Fulin watched far too many shows. If she’s exposed now and hunted, a clean counterkill and escape would be “Summer New Release: Blood Queen’s Road to Glory.” Fail, and it’s some trash-tier “Muddled Vampire .avi.”

If it truly goes that way, the “maternity leave” would last far longer than a year and a half. The thought feels filthy, no matter how she turns it.

Just then, the carriage rolls into Tulip Manor.

“We’re home, young master.” Brook guides the carriage in and halts beside the stables.

“Carriage’s yours, dinner too.”

Lance-as-Fulin, thick-skinned as always, hops down and lands light.

“I’ll get to it, and bring your dinner soon.”

“Oh.”

Lance parts from the old butler and opens the manor’s front door.

He expects a quiet day to end quietly. Instead, Duncan waits in the hall, patience coiled like a snake.

Duncan greets “him.” Lance hears the annoyance caged in his voice. “Yo, dear brother, I heard you went to Layne to learn the sword?”