The weather around Mubay City was flawless today, the sky a clear bowl with not a cloud in sight.

Lance rode in a carriage driven by the old butler, the wheels humming toward Layne's villa on the hill.

Alice's birthday was close, and even the country road felt steeped in celebration, like incense smoke hanging in warm air.

Packmen on horseback hummed tunes, and foot travelers moved light-footed, like reeds dancing in a breeze.

Minstrels drifted by now and then, singing of Alice's beauty and virtue, their verses spilling down the road like a brook.

Even soldiers of the Lionheart Legion, iron-straight days ago, patrolled with a lazy sway, like cats sunning on a wall.

Pride came first, warm and sudden, like tea spreading through a cold body.

Fulin had thought neither Alice nor her birthday feast had anything to do with her.

But after she saved Alice with her own hands, wearing Lance's face two nights ago, this peace felt like her seal in warm wax.

But she wore Lance today, so she kept the arrogant mask in place.

"Duke's daughter indeed. Even her birthday feels like a coronation."

The old butler sighed, his voice like a worn bell. "Yes, young master. If you hadn't protected Miss Alice, the scene would be very different now."

Brook's words stirred her curiosity like a stick in a pond. Lance asked, "What if Alice had died?"

"It would drag many down," the old butler breathed, eyes flicking to the drowsy soldiers. "Many would be blamed, some would die. First of all, you. You'd be hanged no matter what."

Lance's eyes widened. "What do you mean, no matter what? Even if I'm not there—if anything happens to Alice—I get the rope, is that it?"

Certainty came first, sharp as frost. She'd made the question crystal clear.

The butler faced forward, lifting his monocle like a shield. "Exactly. You've slipped alone into the Demon Realm Forest many times. Sentries noticed. If they testify, they'll paint you as colluding with roving mercenaries to harm Miss Alice."

Lance let out a dry laugh, thin as paper. "That serious, huh?"

The butler sighed again, breath like dust. "Your name isn't clean. Add a few trumped-up proofs, and it's easy to nail you to the gallows."

Frustration crawled up her spine like ants. Did the Doran Kingdom not believe in innocent until proven guilty, or did nobles simply keep the kill-switch and pick a scapegoat when needed?

It grated on her. Being reborn as Blood Clan had already dumped the 'evil faction' on her head, and the skin she borrowed—Lance—was a born scapegoat too.

In truth, "Lance" was just a spoiled peacock—proud, timid, sometimes bullying because he was scared. Unstudied, lazy. Stack the flaws, and he still wasn't a villain.

Temptation stirred, quick as a spark. She wanted to overhaul "Lance," but a rogue turned righteous overnight needs a reason. Without one, nine out of ten would think he was an impostor.

Annoyance bubbled, noisy as cicadas. Her fingers twitched for a hem to tug, teeth itching to bite. She caught herself. Every time she fretted, she wanted to chew something—was that a Chaos Vampire quirk?

Either way, Fulin wore Lance's skin now, like a mask snug to the bone.

And she wasn't in a skirt but in a young lord's casuals. That plain fact cooled her near-frenzy like rain on hot tiles.

At the butler's grim facts, Lance gave a cold smile, thin as a blade. "Then I can leave Mubay City, right?"

Brook shook his head, slow as a pendulum. "Before, yes. After your feat, leaving Mubay won't be easy, young master."

Clarity settled, hard as stone. In Lance's voice she snapped, "I'm going anyway. Think they can chain me here?"

"Young master, that's not what I—you're not the same as before—" the butler rushed.

Lance cut him off like a knife through cord. "Enough, Brook. It's late for that talk. Alice's banquet is tomorrow. I need Layne Valco to keep his promise."

"Very well, young master." Seeing Lance set like an iron nail, the butler held his tongue. Small talk filled the ride, and the carriage rolled to Layne's villa on the southern outskirts.

Lance hopped down and climbed to the two-story timber house on the hill. He kicked the door with practiced heel. "Old man! Quit napping. Up."

The door swung free. He nearly stumbled through, kicking air like a fool.

Exasperation pricked like nettles. Did the geezer forget to lock up again, Fulin thought.

A voice boomed from outside, full of breath like a drum. "Kid, I've been waiting."

Layne had gone to split wood. The little mountain-bear wore a woodcutter's set and hauled back a bundle of logs.

Surprise flickered like a moth. So the old man didn't sleep in every day. Of course not. Layne Valco had a task from the Duke—go plainclothes in Mubay's west district and sniff out a lurking vampire. He'd found nothing. Most nights ended in a rented room, a few sullen drinks, and a trudge home near dawn.

Amusement rose, sly as smoke. You couldn't blame Layne. The vampire wasn't in the city at all, but at Tulip Manor—and right in front of him.

She didn't let it show. Wearing Lance meant keeping the brat's swagger on.

"Waiting for me? Don't tell me you hired a songbird in town and just had your fun in the trees."

Layne didn't think, just dropped the logs in the yard and planted his fists on his hips. "Nonsense. I'm a Knight of the Blazing Sun. If I make merry, it's—"

"You little punk!" He realized the bait, and his weathered face flushed like sunset.

They bickered with gentlemanly smiles for a while, like two roosters pretending to be cranes.

After a few minutes the air cooled. In Lance's voice, Fulin asked, "Remember the promise you made last time?"

"What promise?" Layne stepped out in his training kit, looking puzzled, like a bear scratching at bees.

Disappointment pinched like a tight shoe. Of course he hadn't kept it in mind. She'd known "heir to the art" might be a carrot on a stick. Still, hearing him forget stung.

Lance paused, then spelled it out. "Your one and only heir to the combat art."

Now it was Layne's turn to stare. A beat later he burst out laughing. "Ha! Good one. Planning a five or ten year pact with this old man before you go? If I hit the dirt first, you'll need my daughter to stamp it for you."

Clearly, he didn't believe Lance had mastered Secret Sword Blazing Fire. He'd seen many bold youths who believed they were heaven's chosen. Reality slapped fast. Talented as Lance was, Layne filed him with the rest.

As an Earth Knight, Layne knew this in his bones. Battle Aura doesn't awaken because you wish it. You grind for years, or you carry a special bloodline.

Bloodlines are common, sure. But who says yours helps in a fight? Maybe it makes you a musician. Maybe a prized breeder in some Keldun agrarian state.

Layne didn't buy it, but Lance—Fulin inside—meant it. "Just watch."

Lance drew his longsword and settled into a clean stance, like a crane folding its wings.

Layne waved it off. "Fine, fine, let's see your little spark—" He expected tricks. Then he fell silent.

He saw it. Battle Aura began to stream along the boy's blade like pale water.

It was faint, more felt than seen, a shimmer like heat above stone. But it was there, and it was his. Lance Morrison—fifteen—had awakened Battle Aura?!

"Kid, you—" Layne blurted, shocked. And it wasn't over.

The Aura surged in that heartbeat and caught, turning into a sheet of fire clinging to the blade.

Lance cut. Whoosh.

The burst of flame and the embers trailing in the cut said it all—Lance had used Layne's own creation, the Secret Sword Blazing Fire.

Layne could only stare. Ten years of patient forge-work on that art, and a Morrison brat had learned it. His feelings tangled like five flavors in one cup. He stood like a wooden man.

"Well? Can I be your heir now?" The effort left Lance limp, a tremor creeping into his voice like wind in a banner.

"Ahem—mm—uh—ah—very, very qualified!" Layne came back to himself and answered in a jumble.

"Then keep your promise, mentor. Waive the exam and make me an Iron Duke–certified full knight." Lance caught his breath, but he was stiff and chilled. He found a seat fast.

"Of course. You'll be the best of this intake the Iron Duke recognizes." Layne finally swallowed the fact. The former chief knight sat too, excitement cooling like steel in water. "Before that, kid, do you know who you are—your age, your station? And how did you learn Secret Sword Blazing Fire? You must answer the first. The second is your choice, though an old knight is curious."

Fulin, in Lance's mouth, didn't hesitate. "I'm Lance Morrison, fifteen. I live at Tulip Manor, southwest outside Mubay City. I'm your apprentice knight."