“Why mention me now?” Fulin’s nerves pulled tight like a drawn bowstring.

The tremor ebbed like wind over grass. She thought it through, mind clearing like a still pond.

A week ago, she’d bared her loli disguise to fish for intel, face to face with Reina.

The meeting was brief, like a passing shower, but the impression clung like dew on petals. It was easy to picture Reina missing that docile, clingy little sprite.

To seal her lie, Fulin had claimed she was a distant daughter of Count George, living in George City. Reina was in George City now, and right here sat a George City know-it-all—Lance, a hands-off shopkeeper in truth. So, as rivers seek the sea, Reina would ask Lance about Fulin.

The lie fit the moment like a tailored robe, but fate shifts like clouds. Fulin hadn’t imagined Reina would linger in George City.

Now, the Lance she played had to carry the lie like a lantern through fog.

Fulin decided she might not need to face Reina in her true skin again. A fix rose like dawn.

“Fulin? Never heard of her,” Lance said, voice light as drifting dust.

If Lance didn’t tell a lie, the lie held firm like a knot tucked under silk.

“I see…” Reina didn’t doubt Lance. Her head dipped, and a quiet loneliness pooled like dusk in her eyes.

That lonely silhouette tugged at Fulin’s heart like a snared thread. Lance leaned in to comfort, but the words snagged like thorns in her throat.

She knew she’d deceived Reina for her own ends. Only an apology beat inside her chest like rain on paper walls.

Sorry, Reina. I lied to you. Don’t forgive me—just understand me. I only want a quiet life.

Reina stared past the window, smile soft as moonlight, sadness flickering like a thin cloud. “You’re right. How could such a pretty girl exist? Maybe she was a fairy from nursery songs… I’m a foolish sister.”

Sorry, Sister Reina. I only want a quiet life. The Fulin hiding inside lowered her head like a folded wing.

If she had to choose between comrades and dreams, Fulin would pick dreams, with the resolve of a blade set to stone.

But that cliff hadn’t come yet; the road still ran smooth as packed earth.

For now, she’d be Lance. She’d coax the hurt from Reina’s eyes like pulling a splinter with steady fingers.

Lance put on that rotten, lecherous grin like a cheap mask. “Fulin, huh? Sounds like a cute little babe. I’d love to meet her, heh-heh!”

The trick landed like a pebble in a pond. Reina’s focus rippled away, amusement rising like a thin flame—yet her tone darkened like storm-shadow. “Nope. Lance must be Sister’s good boy. Open wide. Ah—porridge.”

“Stop— that’s not porridge, that’s porcelain shards— stop— ugh!”

In her past life, Fulin would never coax a girl like this. She’d have called it foolish, like juggling in a temple.

Now, if Reina’s sorrow faded even a shade and a laugh bloomed like a spring bud, it was worth every bit.

With a full day’s rest, Lance’s body felt new by dawn, steady as a fresh-forged blade.

For the next half month, under Reina’s gaze like a guiding moon, Lance trained the Aura Refining Method.

It was all burden work, weight like mountains. He carried piles and dragged logs, every load beyond the flesh, like tides beyond the shore.

He had to refine Battle Aura to sheath muscle and bone, a glow like warm iron. He adjusted the flow with breath, like a river tamed by sluice gates.

Only with that did he endure, proof that the training bit hard like winter frost.

Even then, the road wasn’t all smooth clay. Twice, despite Reina’s quick guidance, Lance lost control of aura flow, and fainted like a candle snuffed by wind.

He woke sooner than last time, like dawn breaking early, but the scolding came like hail.

Lance knelt like a sinner on a washboard. Passersby chuckled, their laughter scattering like sparrows.

Half a month later, his gains showed like calluses. He could wield the method freely and had grasped two aura-type combat arts.

First came Secret Sword Swallow Return.

“Watch closely!” Lance barked, voice sharp as steel on stone. His right hand flew, drawing the Sirius Sword in a burst like lightning, cutting at the wooden post.

Steel flashed like a falling star, then vanished as he resheathed, calm as a lake after rain.

It looked like one draw-cut. Yet two deep lines sat almost at the same spot, twins like mirrored leaves.

That was the craft in Swallow Return, the trick hidden like a shadow in snow.

“Both the draw and the resheath carry a slash,” Lance explained, tone easy as drifting smoke. “One draw, two cuts.”

Reina nodded, praise bright as lantern light. “Duelist’s swordplay? It looks amazing.”

“Of course,” Lance said, nose tilting skyward like a rooster’s comb.

“Why’s it called Swallow Return? ‘Secret Sword’ I get, but what’s ‘Swallow Return’?”

Lance went simple, words light as feathers. “It’s quick on the draw and quick on the resheath, as quick as a swallow turning mid-air.”

“A swallow?” Reina blinked, confusion soft as mist.

Hearing that tone, Lance hurried, words running like a brook. “Layne once roamed the world and saw a bird called a swallow. It flies slow, but turns like wind through reeds. Its flight leaves a curve like the path of draw and resheath. So, Swallow Return.”

“I see…” Reina had never seen swallows, so the image stayed cloudy like a veiled moon. “Layne really has seen the world.”

“Haha, yeah.” Fulin’s heart wobbled like a thin reed; she’d almost said the swallow came from Earth.

Next came the second art, Binding Flame Lock.

Lance lifted the Sirius Sword. Fire wrapped the blade like a coiling dragon, heat rippling like summer haze. He aimed at a post ten meters away.

Reina frowned, doubt like a small storm. The transformed blade was only one meter. Even with Battle Aura’s flame and Secret Sword Blazing Fire: Modified, it shouldn’t reach ten meters.

Her wonder hung like a held breath. Lance slashed with a vertical arc, ferocity like a falling waterfall.

The blade-fire left the steel like a loosed serpent, hugging the ground as it raced, swift as a striking viper.

It covered ten meters in a heartbeat, then curled around the post in ascending spirals, a bind like iron vines.

The flaming python squeezed and twisted, crackles popping like chestnuts in a brazier. Black scorch marks layered like old bark.

Pressure rose, both sides straining like ropes at a tug. When neither could take more, the air split with a blast.

A pillar of fire climbed like a flare to heaven. The serpent burned itself out to finish the kill, sacrifice bright as a funeral pyre.

“Binding Flame Lock reaches far,” Lance said, satisfaction warm as sun on steel. “It pins movement. If they don’t break out, the blast swallows them whole.”

“Great technique,” Reina nodded, approval honey-sweet yet edged like frost. “But use it sparingly.”

“Why?” Lance asked, confusion flicking like a moth.

“Because… it looks dangerous. And a bit… evil.” Her words were foggy, caution like a gray veil.

“Alright. I’ll be careful,” Lance said, helpless as a leaf in wind.

“Still, your talent is wild,” Reina said, eyes studying him like stars reading a chart. “Half a month, and you found the key to the Aura Refining Method. Two combat arts already.”

She squinted, sensing like a deer at a stream. “Your Battle Aura feels fuller, like a brimming cistern.”

Fulin, playing Lance, puffed her chest like a proud hawk. “Really? I’m the chosen one!”

“You fly straight to the clouds once I praise you,” Reina sighed, amusement like a soft breeze.

Behind the mask, Fulin’s heart tensed like wire. She hadn’t only trained; on several moonless nights, she hunted monsters, life essence pooling like liquid amber.

She nudged every level on her panel up one, except Agility, careful as a craftsman’s chisel.

Now “Lance” carried Warrior Bloodline Lv.3. Strength, Agility, Endurance, and Battle Aura all sat at Lv.3, steady as stacked bricks.

With enough Battle Aura stones lit, Lance Morrison’s aura intensity rose from Charge-3 to Charge-4, like a river finding a new channel.

That should’ve taken six months, a long season of toil. Fulin did it in half a month, silent as a cat in snow.

She prayed Reina wouldn’t see the seams, prayer thin as incense smoke.

Reina didn’t suspect. “Don’t slack in future training,” she said, gentle and firm as spring rain.

“I’ll keep grinding,” Lance answered, hand rubbing the back of his head like a sheepish boy.

That night, at a team dinner, Jeremy returned from Golden Bay City, excitement bubbling like fermenting wine. “Boss, our Blazing Fire Mercenary Group is famous!”

“Ah— famous, huh.” Lance’s face tightened like a knot. He chewed, swallowed, then asked, voice cool as shade, “What’s with ‘Blazing Fire Mercenary Group’?”

Jeremy grinned, pride shining like polished brass. “As ordered, I slipped into Golden Bay City these two weeks and sniffed out news. Folks call us the ‘Blazing Fire Mercenary Group’. You also got a nickname!”

“What do they call me?” Lance asked. A bad feeling crept like cold water down Fulin’s spine.

“They call you ‘Senior Beast’!”

“Ugh!” The title stank like strong liquor. Lance spat back a mouthful of wine, sputter sharp as hail. “Why that?”

“I heard—”

Back at the Eroded Plains, Karl’s army’s wipeout got pinned to a mysterious archmage, a thunderbolt out of clear sky.

After Karl fled, people saw Lance and the big cat moving with elites, scenes striking like banners in wind.

A major canal cuts across Yaga Plain. Hundreds of cargo boats, thousands of folks watched the fight, eyes bright as morning suns.

The Blazing Fire Knight’s crew got spun into the “Blazing Fire Mercenary Group,” rumor breeding like mushrooms after rain.

As for Lance, though young, he was the first among beast-riding knights to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with a monster instead of riding it. The title “Senior Beast” stuck like tar.

Jeremy said plenty of busybodies still sniff around for “Senior Beast,” curiosity buzzing like flies. Lance felt sweat bead like dew.

“Seems fame isn’t a good thing,” he muttered, the words falling like a dull pebble.

Jeremy tore meat in big bites, indifference heavy as iron. “You’re right, Boss. Many in Golden Bay City have their eyes on you. And that archmage? He’s at the top of the Mage Association’s wanted list.”