The Spy Mage’s declaration failed. That crowd carried death orders; they wouldn’t swallow flashy tricks. Enemy mages aligned their spell-sights on the Spy Mage. To a mage, that lock is a blade at the throat, your life held like a fragile bird.

He didn’t flinch, even under several sights, standing like stone in rain.

He didn’t posture. He sharpened his words like a silk blade. “Am I to understand you’re openly opposing the Crown?”

The line stunned them like cold water, but the Gendarmerie Chief was seasoned; a counter came to his tongue like a drawn spear.

He barked like a war drum. “Arsonist and murderer Lance Morrison is cunning. He deceived the Crown. To defend its image, we must purge the traitors near it!”

In the yard, Lance shrugged, a dry leaf in wind. “Are they planning a rebellion?”

To cleanse the court is the first step to seize the throne, like gripping a dragon’s tail. In Nordland’s Doran, not everyone caught Lance’s meaning.

Feng Wolf Marquis, nervous and puzzled, spoke like a thin thread in a storm. “Mr. Lance, they seek to arrest you. How does that tie to rebellion?”

“If people know I’m under the Crown’s protection, yet still seized, they’ll see the Crown as toothless. Its authority will crack like ice. The ambitious will test and hammer, until the Crown is replaced or chained.”

In Xia, the clearest example is the King of Chu reaching for the throne.

After all, in raw power, the Golden Flower and Silver Silkworm marquises could choke the Crown like twin vines on a tree.

And now the King’s Selection looms; before the dukes declare, any misstep in Maple City will bruise the Crown’s authority like soot on silk.

Feng Wolf Marquis remained fogged, his mind a misted window.

Not just the marquis; Jeremy and others were half-lost, like sailors in haze. Without a long lecture, Lance’s point wouldn’t land.

But Prince Gio was different; among crown heirs, he stood like a bright banner, an activist in stride.

He looked at Lance with a curious light, admiration ringing. “Lance Morrison, your eye is astonishing.”

“Why not walk beside me and change this country?” He offered an olive branch, spring after frost.

Lance laced his hands behind his head, lazy as a cat in sun. “Pass. A quiet life fits me.”

Prince Gio nodded, calm as moonlight. “Each has his path. If you change your mind, you’re always welcome.”

“However—” His gaze sharpened like a cliff edge. “I’m guessing they really mean to rebel.”

“What?!” Feng Wolf Marquis jolted like a drum struck.

The prince didn’t explain; he clenched a fist softly, eyes wavering toward the gate like a bird testing the sky.

He decided, voice steady as a blade. “I need to step out.”

Meanwhile, the yard outside darkened like a storm. They gave the Spy Mage no room and spat a threat: “Count to five. Stay, and you’ll be executed on the spot!”

The countdown turned into a casting timer. With each tick, dozens of mana waves swelled like a rising tide.

At that sight, sweat beaded on the Spy Mage’s brow like cold dew.

Even as a high-level battle mage, against dozens of mid-level casters, he could only evade, a fox dodging hounds.

As the Spy Mage weighed plans, Prince Gio stepped from Maple Manor’s gate, a blade of frost in the night.

His austere face carried storm-light. “I heard your words. Speaking for myself—”

“You’re bold to a fault, aren’t you?” His words cracked like thunder.

Realizing who stood there, they all jolted like crows scattering. They hadn’t expected a royal in person.

“Your Highness?!” the Gendarmerie Chief cried, a snapped bowstring.

“You know it’s me. Why aren’t you leaving?” The prince wore a domineering air, a storm lord on the terrace.

They were crushed into silence, grass under snow. The mages halted, hands cooling.

Facing the prince’s declaration, the Marquis troops had no immediate answer, their camp quiet as a pond.

A winter wind swept the street, carrying ash and the thick tang of gunpowder, smoke fingering through branches.

The wavering Gendarmerie Chief steeled himself, words hard as iron. “Since it’s Your Highness, we must protect you all the more!”

“All units, listen!—Seize the prince. Don’t let him get hurt!” He shouted, drums pounding in his throat.

“Understood!” The front line of gendarmes pressed forward like a rolling wall; the knights followed, shadows at their heels.

Seeing the tide of bodies, Prince Gio grit his teeth, waves crashing in his eyes. “Damn it!”

He cursed while he backed up, retreating like a crab before surf. The Spy Mage vaulted down from a flying buttress.

They rushed back into the yard. Prince Gio’s voice carried apology, soft as mist. “Sorry. We botched it.”

“It’s not your fault.” Lance clenched his fist, knuckles pale as chalk.

“Boss, what now?” Jeremy asked, worry fluttering like a trapped sparrow.

Outside, the Marquis troops pressed closer, a tightening noose. They’d burst into Maple Manor any moment!

Fulin, feeling prudence like cold rain, played Lance’s role and chose caution. “We fall back.”

There was no other choice. Everyone fell silent, stones in fog.

Symbolically, they shut the gate, then fell back to the hall, footsteps echoing like hollow drums.

After a few dull thuds, Maple Manor’s gate burst open, a water bag torn. Marquis troops poured in, a flood of boots.

Helpless, they retreated again. The hall doors shut; they fell back to the main building, deer slipping deeper into woods.

The Marquis troops pressed on, blasting the hall doors. The Chief set his muddy boot on the broken boards like a stamp.

He pointed toward the main block, momentum rising like a storm front. “After them!”

They advanced while sealing exits, a slow, thorough carpet sweep, ice creeping over a pond. Lance’s side felt crushing pressure.

Feng Wolf Marquis wore a funeral face, fear chilling his voice. “Should we surrender?”

Lance clenched his fist, a coal under snow. “No. Not yet.”

“We keep falling back.” He kept directing, a steady drum in the dark.

They locked doors as they fell back. Leaving the main block, they reached the last refuge, a small chapel where the path ended, a cliff’s edge.

Strictly, the chapel was the Feng Wolf family’s ancestral shrine to the Feng Wolf Knight. The refined, old building had been their lodging. Now it stood as their last bastion, a lone lantern in wind.

Outside, the Gendarmerie Chief crowed loud. “Lance Morrison, you’re a bird in a cage. Surrender, now!”

With the megaphone of power, he twisted facts. “And you, Feng Wolf Marquis—you ordered the Blazing Fire Knight to storm the Golden Flower Family’s estate. You share his crime!”

“Bastards!” Feng Wolf Marquis flushed sickly blue, memories piling like dust. He’d eaten their scorn for over a decade since his father.

Now, a leaky roof met a night of rain. Before the Knight Festival stage, the Feng Wolf family might already be finished.

“Ancient iron and blood…” He beat the wall, unwilling as thunder. He looked up at his ancestor’s statue, shame pooling like shadow.

“Gio Robel, you’re the crown prince, yet you shield sinners. Forgive us for cleansing the traitors at your side!”

A mass of Marquis troops ringed the chapel, arrayed lazily at the front door like wolves lounging before a pen.

Inside, the pressure weighed like a millstone. Despair dyed the air, and spirits sagged like wet banners.

Then Prince Gio asked Lance, voice a calm stream. “Lance Morrison, I hear you survive peril often. What will you do now?”

“Run, of course,” Lance said, crisp as flint. “But running is impossible—and I don’t need to run.”

The prince’s eyes widened like lamps sparked. “Meaning?”

“Maple City is under the Golden Flower and Silver Silkworm families, but she’s still the Royal City. They make a big move under His Majesty’s eyelids… Would the King’s Army sit idle?”

As the words fell, horns blared outside Maple Manor. In a night of scattered fire, the trumpets split the sky.

Next came a dense, orderly tremor, the ground humming in waves like the voice of earth.

Finally, the march—tight, bright, and brisk. Its rising is the King’s Army’s tradition.

In Doran’s rites, only the King’s Army may play the march. It carries the king’s majesty like a banner of wind.

In a night strewn with starlike sparks, the winter wind cut sharp. The dry-cold, hot-breath air carried the music from all sides.

Focused too tightly on Lance, the Marquis troops missed the real shadow. Twenty thousand King’s soldiers formed ranks across streets, sealing Maple Manor in a ring of steel.

They had swaggered moments ago; now they were besieged on all sides, a lonely boat hemmed by storm songs.

Like the panic in each chest, the Chief’s hands trembled on his weapon. The pleasure on his face drained like color from leaves.

With the King’s Army arriving, relief fell in the chapel like fresh rain. Tension eased from shoulders.

The prince spoke with respect, a smile like dawn. “Lance Morrison, had you already foreseen this step?”

Lance wagged his finger, playful as a breeze. “Isn’t this Your Highness’s idea?”

The prince neither denied nor affirmed, then asked, probing like a needle. “If I had ignored your call, Lance Morrison, what then?”

At that thought, fear pricked the room like thorns.

But Lance spoke calmly, a lake under wind. “The outcome you speak of is the stake I wagered for victory.”

“But they gambled too. Why would the winner be you?”

The prince wasn’t wrong. The Marquis dared because they bet the King’s Army wouldn’t deploy at once. Lance could’ve stood alone, a reed in wind—not a sure win.

Fulin found the question hard, her thoughts knotted like vines.

But—

“I only want a quiet life.” The thought rose like smoke.

Fulin recalled the last half year, every step taken for that single wish. She had never wavered, a candle guarding its flame.

At that, her mind cleared, clouds parting before sun.

She could list reasons: the Crown guards its authority and won’t let marquises rampage; the two families lean toward the Heavenly Spirit Empire; patriots would act to defend honor—stones laid in a row.

Those answers felt like hindsight lanterns. If there was one thing she could trust, it was—

“Strong conviction can tug on fate,” Lance said, exaggerating as always, but sincere as firelight. “I’m the Blazing Fire Knight. They believe I bring victory, so we win.”

The prince fell silent, words stilled like snow.

The Spy Mage patted his shoulder, warm as tea. “See? He’s that kind of interesting fellow.”

“This is the man who saved Golden Bay City…” the prince breathed out, a long sigh like wind. “Unbelievable.”

Meanwhile, the King’s Army began pressing the Marquis troops, a grinder turning under iron skies.

Under the sheer weight of numbers and steel, the Marquis troops folded quickly, grass before fire.

Once the scene was controlled, a towering figure moved from the King’s ranks, knights clustered like hawks. His artifact-grade full armor, magic-stone powered, stamped small pits with each step.

The armored man lifted his visor, revealing a hard, vigorous face in midlife, lines like sword cuts.

“Your Highness.” By rite, he knelt on one knee before the prince, an oak bending in wind.

“Rise. You’ve had a hard march.” Among the crown heirs, Gio Robel held real power, a torch in dark halls.

“Yes.” The armored man rose. His bright gaze swept the group, heavy as mountains. He was an Earth Knight, the King’s personal knight, “Black Gold.” Most looked away; only Lance met his eyes—it would be rude not to.

“I’ve heard your name, Lance Morrison.”

“A pleasure, Black Gold Knight.”

“Your father was brave. His courage and calm saved my life.”

“I’m honored.”

“Mm…” Their talk didn’t move far. Black Gold seemed thoughtful, his mind a deep well.

He looked at the scatter of star-fire, then at Lance, weighing iron on a scale.

“The King’s Selection is near. Before spring, should we wager at the Knight Festival as well, Your Highness?” he asked, voice steady as stone drums.