Among everyone, Gio Robel flinched like a struck bell.

His voice twanged under fear: "That's a treasure of the Heavenly Spirit Empire—the sacred blade Zoficar, the Thunderlight Knight’s sword. How is it in your hand?"

Lance gave a sheepish smile, polite but rough-edged: "Heh… picked it up."

He said he’d found it while cleaning the battlefield after the fight. Before he could return it, the Thunderlight Knight hurried back to her empire.

"Is that so." Hearing the neat excuse, the crowd let out their breath like mist dispersing at dawn.

But that wasn’t the truth.

While everyone lay unconscious, felled by the Calamity Wind from Fengrang, Fulin slipped in quietly and took the Thunderlight Knight’s sword, Zoficar.

Fulin did it on purpose.

Not because she coveted the blade, but because worry gnawed like frost.

What if the kingdom refused to pay the reward after such chaos?

What if Prince Dylan smeared Lance for election points, forcing me to drop this false identity?

What if that damn Blood Clan woman wasn’t alone, and her comrades hunted Lance like wolves after dark?

If any of those shadows became real, she could sell Zoficar for escape money, a cunning rabbit keeping three bolt-holes.

Though now those worries seem like needless fretting, in this light her move looks like clean foresight.

"When I reach the Empire, if I go to return the blade, the royal family will meet me," Lance said, voice steady like a drum.

Gio Robel nodded, eyes weighing the gate and the road. "Feasible. It’s a ticket into the Empire."

He added, tone cool as a night wind: "Just tread carefully, or it becomes a one-way ticket."

"Mm. I’ll be careful."

After they hammered out the Blood Clan extradition and the handover of Zoficar, the prince asked, "By the way, Lance, how do you plan to get to the Empire?"

Everyone knew the Heavenly Spirit Empire sat like a citadel in the clouds, ringed by mountains like knives, a border of cliffs—hard by land and harder by water.

Yet despite that lonely geography, goods and people still flowed like caravans of ants between it and the four vassal states.

Lance shrugged with a grin, as if pointing at a bridge in clear weather: "Ride their regular skyships, right?"

Those massive craft floated like ocean liners ripped from the sea, tools the Empire used to leap over distance and keep a hand on its vassals.

Every day, tens of thousands of Celestial Spirits board skyships and fly to the nations of Nordland for a hundred different reasons.

So Lance took it for granted: with such convenient air, just ride it straight to the Empire.

At that, faces froze, then cracked into shared, wry smiles.

"My brother, you forgot—only Celestial Spirits may ride the skyships," they said, the warning sharp as winter. "If humans are caught stowing away—"

"They’re tossed out mid-flight," said Gio, voice like a blade tapping glass.

"Hah… that so?" Lance kept a straight face, but cold sweat crawled down his back like rain down stone.

Miststride—Fulin’s flight trick—can’t carry anyone else. If they were found aboard, unless they hijacked the ship, only Fulin would walk away intact.

Lance sighed, a dry wind leaving his chest. "Then we take the trade road."

From the Kingdom to the Republic, then the Empire, crossing half of Nordland—the desert road under a burning sun, air like sandpaper, death traps glinting beside fortunes.

If skyships are out, the trade road is in.

Gio, prince-in-waiting and a man of many ‘movements,’ lifted a solution like a lantern. "No need to suffer, my brother. There’s the sea route."

"The sea?" Lance frowned. The Heavenly Spirit Empire is landlocked; there shouldn’t be a sea route.

"The ship’s unique," the crown prince said, gaze drifting toward the horizon. "A new luxury cruiser finished at Sand Bay, built with Elven craft. It sails the sea for a time, then vaults skyward like a skyship, and clears the mountains into the Empire."

Lance blinked, understanding but not agreeing. "Then why not fly straight to the Empire? Why bother with the sea?"

Gio’s reply held a shade of regret, like smoke after a fire: "It’s a luxury cruiser. It exists to serve Celestial Spirit vacationers."

"Vacation?" Lance’s brows pinched. Nordland’s lines fray, the Republic’s front is a drumskin stretched thin, and the sea erupts with clashes between humans and the Shadowspirit Legion.

With nerves strung that tight, who has the leisure to vacation?

Gio Robel spread his hands, helpless as a man watching rain. "Brother, you and I think it’s wrong—the Celestial Spirits don’t. They call themselves Nordland’s guardians, yet they don’t have to face the charge. They watch the fire across the water and turn it into pleasure."

The amphibious cruiser belongs to a vacation company.

That Imperial company serves the upper crust and designs trips that keep their cups full and their views scenic.

The cruiser looks like luxury, but lacks teeth. When it reaches grand yet dangerous waters, the Empire’s vassals must send escorts to shield it.

Layne couldn’t bear another word. He snapped up, anger flaring like thunder. "Those pale aristocrats! Do they even know how tight the front is? The Republic has no spare strength to protect a gaggle of rich boys!"

"The Republic doesn’t. We do," the prince said, voice steady as a judge’s staff.

"Even if we do, no one will go," Layne bit down, jaw set like stone.

Gio shook his head with a rueful smile. "You’re a straight man, Layne. Doran is not that straight. Our nobles will see this as a chance to curry favor with the Empire. Knights will volunteer in droves. You know it."

"Absurd!" Layne spat, the word striking like a thrown nail.

"Absurd or not, it’s our best chance," Gio said softly. "We have a new knight order."

He looked Lance up and down, measuring steel and flame. "It’s newly formed but already a thunderclap. Their captain will go in person, escorting the cruiser all the way to the end."

Eyes widened around the room. Jeremy slapped his forehead, a spark lighting in him. "Boss, His Highness is right—that’s a solid plan!"

The Mountain Wind Knight lifted his head, doubt grating like grit. "Nice words, ugly job—being lapdogs isn’t glorious."

"Easy, Mountain Wind Knight," Lance coaxed, voice like a calming breeze. "Gio’s right. It’s the safest path to the Empire."

"Don’t forget—we’re bringing a Blood Clan captive," Lance added, the reminder heavy as an anchor.

"If you walk the trade road," Gio said, "you’ll face the Imperial checkpoint—scrutiny like a net with no gaps. With an upper-class tour, you’re treated as attendants and waved through."

Silence settled, like snow absorbing sound.

Gio’s plan was the lightest load to carry, and everyone knew it.

His suggestion won quick assent.

"In the name of the royal house, I can set a diplomatic-scale departure," Gio said, already sketching banners and escorts in his mind.

Lance cut that thought with a small grin. "Pass. I want to keep this low-key, Gio."

He pointed at Yuna. "Yuna, it’s you and me on the road."

Her emerald eyes, clear as a lake at dawn, widened a breath. Then, with no hesitation and a businesslike calm, she said, "Understood, my master."

The room startled like a flock of birds.

Layne, Lance’s mentor, voiced the worry first: "Kid, can you suppress that Blood Clan woman?"

"Ever consider her meekness is a mask?" Layne warned, tone sharp as a spine. "She once steered Doran’s fate—cunning and vile."

"Ever consider she’s deceiving you?"

Fulin had already weighed that—whether Shelika feigned frailty, studied the opponent, then struck at soft flesh.

Because she had weighed it, she could make Lance say it plain: "She won’t resist me."

"Why?" Layne asked, eyes narrowing like slits in stone.

Lance glanced around, then raised his thumb toward himself with a half-smile. "Because I’m the Blazing Fire Knight."

Silence, clean and stunned.

"Is that enough?" Layne pressed, worry a slow river under rock.

"Mentor, if it’s not enough, I’ve got Zoficar."

He drew the blade up again, the secret gleam licking the air.

Gio’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and he whispered the legend like a prayer in shadow: "The judgment blade that can bury a Night Disciple—Zoficar."

"Kid," Layne said, admiration warming like morning light, "you’re not just brave—you’re shrewd. Time flows like water. I can hardly recognize the punk who kept trying to peek at my daughter’s bath."