Inside and outside the doorway, their gazes locked, and the air froze like glass.

Panic flooded Yuna’s chest; she spun and took a step to run.

Whoosh—the next breath, Fulin blurred into mist and wind, and stood before her like a sudden squall.

“What did you see?” Fulin’s voice was frost, her steps closing in like a shadow.

Yuna backed away, terror fluttering like a trapped bird. “I—I saw nothing!”

“Is that so…” Fulin seemed convinced and turned, silk-smooth, her back to the maid.

Seeing the petite Blood Clan girl turn away, the young maid’s fear ebbed like tide; a cold gleam flashed in her eyes.

With a fluent, elegant motion, Yuna drew a moonlit-silver dart from her skirt pocket and hurled it like a shard of light.

“I knew it…” Fulin’s voice thinned to a mosquito’s hum.

At the same moment, part of Fulin’s body became mist; the silvered dart passed through like morning vapor and clicked onto the floor.

Only then did Yuna panic, words tumbling like loose beads. “I—I didn’t mean that!”

Fulin said nothing; she turned and unleashed a Skyflame Charge. A pillar of fire erupted behind Yuna like a volcano.

Yuna’s legs trembled as she turned. In the firelight, a dozen high and low silhouettes cavorted like mad spirits. Her heart fell into an ice cellar; fear swallowed her.

In a flicker, Fulin stood before her, presence like a blade of cold wind. “I’ll ask once more. What did you see?”

Yuna’s voice broke first, then words stuttered. “I…I don’t know anything!”

Fulin shoved her down and flowed over her. The tip of her tongue traced the side of Yuna’s neck; her eyes burned crimson like embers. “You’re lying.”

Tears fell like broken pearls as Yuna protested. “I didn’t mean it! How could I—”

Under Fulin’s relentless questions, Yuna confessed. After handing over the craft box, she’d stayed by the door and watched it all—Lance dissolving and shedding, Fulin weaving magic until the end. The disguise had ripped like a veil in wind.

“Fine, fine,” Fulin sighed, helpless as a willow in rain. Light gathered in her palm like coalescing fireflies. “Since the secret’s out, you get two choices now.”

Yuna stared at the glow in Fulin’s hand, trembling like a leaf.

The light surged red like a river of blood. Fulin’s voice turned feral. “Die with the secret.”

“Or carry it forever, and become my slave.” The light softened to a deep violet; Fulin’s tone turned airy, like a shy girl whispering love. A breeze of words brushed Yuna’s ear.

“I—I—Yuna… will do anything for you, anything! Just spare my life…” Yuna vowed, eyes squeezed shut as crystal tears slid like dew.

“Such a strong will to live, huh? Very well—” Fulin sent the violet light into the Venus curve of Yuna’s back, leaving a black brand: a heart clenched in a skeletal hand.

Fulin cooed venom with silk. “This is the trigger mark of Dustbound: Silent Withering. Any betrayal—refusal, tattling, scheming, any move—and it will activate, snuffing your life-flame without a sound. Do you understand?”

“I…I…” Yuna’s fists clenched, then an image flared—children’s smiles like sun after rain. Her hands loosened; she yielded. “I understand. From now on, you are my master…”

…

Yuna gazed at the old Brotherhood building, now a tower of flame clawing the sky. Behind her, Lance urged, “Time to go.”

“I want to see the children one more time,” Yuna said, sorrow thin as fog.

“As you wish. But keep up later,” Lance replied, voice like a steady drum.

“I will.”

By the time Lance left the Black Street Market, night had fallen like a heavy cloak.

But in Golden Bay City, even darkness leaned away. Splendor propped the streets with light; a forest of lamps stitched brightness across the avenues.

Lance didn’t expect Yuna already waiting at the crossroads, not far away. “Master, this girl has awaited you long,” she said, voice like a bowed ribbon.

The flirters saw Lance was the master and backed off, whispering like rustling leaves.

“That’s him—the Blazing Fire Knight who soloed the bloodthirsty freak!”

“Huh! So he’s as tough as the Chief Knight, ‘Mountain Wind,’ right?!”

“Shh. Keep it down. Let’s go to the press later…”

Lance ignored the buzzing. “Yuna, take me to the Golden Apple Inn.”

“As you command, Sir,” Yuna said, respectful as folded silk.

Lance frowned. “In front of this many people, keep it normal.”

“Then follow me,” Yuna said, voice easy as warm bread.

Lance nodded. “That’s better. Move.”

They soon reached the Golden Apple Inn in the commercial district. The lookout from the crossroads rushed in Jeremy. He lit up. “Boss, we missed you like crazy! It’s already eight—we were freaking out!”

Inside the spacious room, Lance saw his retainers near tears of relief. He asked, “What’s wrong? Sounds like Reina came by.”

“Yeah! She said you vanished mysteriously and suspects someone meddled. We got anxious as ants on a hot pan—”

According to Jeremy, after searching all Lance’s usual haunts with no luck, Reina figured someone had snatched him mid-imprisonment. She went to petition the Vanilla Duke.

“When Miss Reina met us last, she was with Stephen and the others,” Jeremy finished.

Lance slumped into the sofa like a stone sinking. “Alright. This got messy.”

“What do you mean? I don’t get it,” Jeremy said, head tilted like a puzzled sparrow.

Lance gulped the chilled drink, breath steaming like winter. Then he looked up. “The one who delivered me to that special cell this afternoon was Stephen.”

“That well-dressed mongrel who wrecks everything!” Jeremy snarled, then faltered. “But what’s the problem if Stephen locked you up? Weren’t you legally released?”

“That’s the problem… Ah, forget it.” Lance cut the topic off like a blade through rope.

In truth, “he” couldn’t continue. Fulin, wearing Lance’s skin, couldn’t claim she reverted to her true form to escape. Any lie would fray like cheap cloth. Better not to say.

Yuna came in then, the door whispering. “Master, I brought the inn’s receipt for you.”

She had shed her maid dress. In a simple skirt, she looked like any neighbor girl, a sparrow among lanterns.

Yet her bearing hadn’t faded. That brisk, businesslike grace made Jeremy’s eyes brighten. “Boss, who is she?”

Lance said offhand, “A retainer I brought back from the Black Street Market.”

“But girls don’t serve as retainers,” Jeremy said, eyeing Yuna with rude curiosity. “Still, she’s not bad.”

“Her skills are solid.” Lance tapped Yuna’s shoulder like knocking on a shield.

“Good in bed? Heh-heh.” Jeremy leaned on the wall, grinning like a fool.

“Yuna, show Jeremy.”

As the words fell—thud. Jeremy blinked. A glint bloomed above his head. He reached up with a trembling hand. “Whoa?!” A throwing knife was buried deep in the wall like a silver thorn.

“Not bad, right?” Lance said.

“Yeah, that’s no joke.” Jeremy pulled the blade free, thinking aloud. “Boss, how’d you know she could do that?”

“Personal experien—” Lance caught himself. “Learned it firsthand, after crossing blades.”

He shot Yuna a quick look. She bowed, voice like flowing water. “Master’s strength astounds, and his mercy warms. This girl will follow for life.”

“Heh-heh, a famed knight is built different,” Jeremy said, as if that explained everything.

They rested ten minutes. Lance sat on the sofa, eyes fixed on the pitch-black sky like ink.

Fulin recalled Robert’s dying words. To declare Reina doomed on hearsay felt rash, but… a thorn of doubt pricked.

Lance grit his teeth and rose. “Alright. Time to move.”

“Boss, where to?” Jeremy and the others asked, confusion swirling like smoke.

“We’re going to find Reina.”

“Now?”

“Yes. She may be in danger, and we might risk ourselves soon.” Lance sounded like he barely believed it, his lost gaze drifting in the starless night.

Faced with a hazy order, Jeremy asked no more. He roused himself and called the others, “Alright, workers, with me!”

The retainers roared, “Oh!” like crashing drums.

Jeremy and the rest headed downstairs. The room held only Yuna and Lance, finishing the last prep.

Ready now, Lance stepped through the door. Yuna paused and asked, “Why do they obey you so much? They don’t look controlled.”

Her confusion carried a thin edge of anger, like a blade under silk.

“Control…?” Lance rolled the word on his tongue, then urged, “Less thinking, more doing. In the end, it’s your lot of screwups that may force me into another big job.”

“Deeply sorry,” Yuna said, eyes closed like shutters, offering no rebuttal.

“We’re going,” Lance called.

“Yes.”

Night thinned the crowds in the commercial district, yet compared to other cities it still buzzed like a beehive.

Even so, Lance’s group, marching with a strange beast, drew eyes like moths to a flame.

Fulin, in Lance’s guise, ignored it. “Yuna, take us to the Duke’s consulate.”

“Right now? Understood.” Yuna asked no questions and led, steps quick as rain.

“Wait, hold on!” Halfway, Jeremy rushed ahead to block Lance. “Boss, are we just walking into the Vanilla Duke’s castle like this?”

“Problem?” Lance’s commanding tone carried haste, like a bowstring pulled too tight.

“Problem, yes—big ones!” Jeremy blurted, panic fluttering like bats.

“What, you don’t want in?”

“Not that.” Jeremy scratched his head until the lice might fall. “Boss, it’s not that I don’t dare. It’s just—how are you sure Miss Reina’s in the castle? If she’s not, we’ll be trespassing in the Duke’s keep. That’s a death sentence!”