Shelika stared at the girl in the mirror, her reflection drifting like a face on still moonlit water.

“A refreshed impression indeed, Master,” Yuna said, her voice soft as silk in a quiet room.

Her style had shifted; a black rose was traded for a blooming violet under dawn light.

If you didn’t know her, you’d never recognize her now, as if wrapped in a veil of mist.

She glanced at the mirror twice, then lowered her head; cheeks flushed like sunset petals, a shy ripple crossed her eyes.

“Thank you, Yuna,” she said, gratitude slipping out like a hush behind fog.

“This is what a humble girl should do, and—” Yuna spoke while flicking a look back at the mirror, like a bird checking the water.

“And what?” Shelika asked, nerves fluttering like a skittish fawn.

“This look suits the Master you are now; you can’t tell it’s the person herself,” Yuna smiled, calm as winter light.

“The person… herself…” Her deer-quick heartbeat cooled in a breath, like embers losing heat under snow.

She lifted her gaze again to the mirror, where a violet-bloom girl stood like spring waking.

“The true Shelika is already dead,” the girl said, sadness falling like a petal into a dark stream.

The sorrow lasted one blink, then resolve rose like a sun clearing fog—steady and vast.

“But she left a blessing. It will stay with me, and together we’ll walk toward a peaceful world,” she said, like wind carrying a prayer.

Her eyes drifted from the dim mirror to moonlight pouring from the window, silver as rain.

The Shelika played by Fulin raised her right hand to the moon, palm cupping its spill of light like cool water, then closed her fingers.

“I will live a peaceful life,” she vowed, a promise set like a stone in a quiet lake.

“I will be with you, Master,” Yuna said by the moonlight, bowing like a willow bending to breeze.

Silence spread for a moment, soft as night snow over roofs.

“All right, I’ve checked this body enough—” Shelika turned, back to the quiet moon’s glow, eyes closing as flames coiled around her like a sudden dragon.

The blaze roared for an instant, then vanished like a spark in rain.

“Before I reach that peaceful life, I have a lot to do.” The darkborn silhouette faded, and a young knight stepped in like dawn replacing dusk.

“I’m the Blazing Fire Knight now,” Lance said, tossing a cloak over his shoulders like a banner catching wind. He headed for the palace’s exit. “Let’s go, Yuna.”

“Understood, my Master,” Yuna replied, following like a shadow under lantern light.

On the way, Lance remembered the evening—between leaving the Feng Wolf Marquis’s manor in the Eternal War Armor and entering the palace, like crossing twilight’s bridge.

“Yuna, you said someone wanted to see me. Who exactly?”

“Two of your comrades, Jeremy and Klein,” she said, names landing like pebbles in a clear stream.

Lance saw them in his mind at once, faces opening like familiar doors.

Jeremy, ex-mercenary, once a street rogue, the first companion Lance found after leaving home, rough as wind and loyal as iron.

Klein, the Mountain Wind Knight, a man shaped by hardship, now handling the order’s duties for Lance, steady as a mountain line.

Both were brothers through fire and rain, so Lance was surprised, a stir like a falcon’s wing: “Why didn’t they come straight to me?”

Yuna lifted her glasses and closed her eyes, composed as a calm pond. “You’re the Blazing Fire Knight now, the kingdom’s strongest knight, Doran’s hero—”

“Am I…” Lance answered, expression mixed like clouds before storm, glancing at the Eternal War Armor standing like a bronze giant.

He scratched his head. “Right. Once you have a title, everything turns cumbersome,” he said, like vines tangling around a tree.

“Yes,” Yuna replied, brisk as a clerk’s stamp in a quiet office.

Lance patted the armor’s thigh plate, a signal for the chest to open, metal shifting like a shell parting, then asked, “Where are they? I didn’t see them at the Feng Wolf Marquis’s.”

“At the consulate,” she said, simple as a bell note.

“I see.” He dropped his gaze to think, thoughts circling like smoke.

He raised his head soon after. “Let’s go. We’ll meet them now,” he said, choice firm as a blade set straight.

“Understood.”

The consulate lay just outside the palace; the Eternal War Armor parked out front drew stares like moths to firelight.

Lance and Yuna entered through the main gate, steps clear as drumbeats on stone.

He pushed open the doors, ready to head for the front desk, when ceremonial guards fired small salute cannons; little drums tapped like rain, and voices rang together: “Blazing Fire Knight, present!”

The hall burst bright and loud, like a festival lantern suddenly lit; heads turned toward Lance, a tide of faces.

When they saw it was truly the Blazing Fire Knight, gasps and applause rolled over like waves to shore.

For a heartbeat, Lance stood at the center of everything, a lone pine under a thousand eyes.

He frowned without thinking, anger pricking like a thorn. “That bastard Gio,” he muttered inside, a spark in dry grass.

He was used to it, even if he loathed being watched every moment, like living under noon’s glare.

He played the big shot, shoulders square, stride long as a marching line, moved to the front desk, then down the corridor like wind through a hall.

In the guest room.

“Boss, you’re badass!” Jeremy barked, words leaping like dogs off a chain, joy tumbling at the reunion.

“Blazing Fire Knight, you’re famous across the land now, right?” The Mountain Wind Knight pushed off the wall, smile warm as a campfire.

Lance looked them over, eyes steady as a scout’s.

Jeremy wore civilian clothes but still kept that scruffy air, rough as sand on a road.

The Mountain Wind Knight still preferred to lean on walls, not sit; a habit forged by battlefields, like scars under cloth.

“Half a year gone. You two haven’t changed,” Lance said, laughter easy as spring rain.

“Yeah! Boss, you went to the Republic and vanished for six months. I worried sick and worked myself to the bone!” Jeremy complained, words rattling like pebbles in a jar.

Klein had been just as busy, though he didn’t gripe; he only sighed, calm as dusk. “True. Six months. I lost my sense of time once work hit.”

They’d been buried by two burdens: the knight order and Mubay City, tasks stacking like bricks.

The order Lance formed after winning the Knight Festival needed running like a small company—recruitment like sowing seeds, a creed set like a banner, goals short and long like mileposts, image raising like cleaning a shield, and real work—hunting threats, keeping peace—each task a stone you can’t drop.

Mubay City was a wreck after Lance toppled the First Prince’s faction—not because the Prince struck back, but because the Iron Duke’s daughter, Alice, aimed to become the first duchess in history; her dream soared like a kite, but reality tugged hard like mud.

Many enterprises in Mubay had relied on the First Prince’s webs of favor; with him cut down, lots of things stalled like carts in ruts. The two pushed hard, nine bulls and two tigers worth, until the Golden Eagle Legion returned; Lance’s feats reached Mubay like banners in the wind, hearts rallied, and the situation finally opened like a locked gate.

Lance bowed deeply. “You’ve worked hard,” he said, respect laid down like a sword at one’s feet.

Jeremy took it with a broad grin. “Nah~~ we’re just repaying your lift-up, Boss. Without you, I’d be nowhere~! Same for the other brothers~!” His words spilled like ale from a cracked mug.

“Oh—” Jeremy slapped his forehead, then grabbed a saddlebag by the sofa, rummaging like a raccoon, and drew out an item with care. “A gift from me and the boys for you~!”

A bottle of red wine, packaging as fine as lacquered wood under lamp light.

“This wine’s crazy expensive! They say it tastes like blood—Boss, drink it and tell me if that’s true!” He piled on the noble praise, stories fluttering like gold leaves.

Lance never touched liquor, but he accepted with gratitude, a nod like a quiet bow.

The Mountain Wind Knight looked over. “Speaking of, Blazing Fire Knight, I’ve got something for you too,” he said, words steady as stone.

He took a letter from the bag, paper crisp as dry reeds. “From the Iron Duke. And this—”

He fished out a bright badge, a flame-shaped gold sigil made of secret-forged metal, gleaming like a coal in the dark.

“What’s this?”

“I think the Duke said ‘highest honor’… sigh, I forgot,” Klein rubbed his temple, like smoothing a crease. “He should’ve given it to you himself.”

“It’s all the same, haha.” Lance smiled, easy as wind, and put it away.

They chatted, threads weaving like looms.

“How’s the Republic?” the Mountain Wind Knight asked, eyes curious as a cat at the window.

“It’s a great place,” Lance said, tone dry as old wood, a joke gliding like a shadow.

“Sorry,” Klein said, apology soft as mist.

“No need to apologize,” Lance soothed, voice a hand on water. “The Republic has a legend, right? If everyone sings one song together, the world’s conflicts stop.”

“Mm. The Sea God’s Ballad. In the south, that legend does exist,” said the Mountain Wind Knight, detail flowing like a river.

“What the heck?” Jeremy blurted, bafflement blinking like an owl at noon.

The talk flowed on, easy as a stream over stones.

They spoke of partners back in Mubay, names rising like smoke signals.

“Blazing Fire Knight, Alice and Jasmine miss you. Can you make time to see them?” Klein asked, hope gentle as evening light.

“And the other brothers, plus the new ones—can’t wait to see the Boss!” Jeremy added, excitement hopping like sparks.

“Hmm…” Lance hesitated, a pause like a held breath, thinking of schedules packed for the next three days, stacked like ledgers.

“I’ll make time,” he said at last, promise firm as a knot.

“I’ll let them know,” Klein said, a nod like a seal pressed.

“Deal!” Jeremy chimed, bright as a bell.

A knock sounded on the door: tap tap—thud thud, two crisp and two heavy, rhythm distinct as drum patterns.

The unique beat snapped Klein to alert, breath held like a string; his hand settled on his hilt, a falcon ready to dive.

“It’s Gio’s Spy Mage,” Lance said, stopping him with a word, calm as a palm on a blade.

“Is that so…” Klein loosened slowly, watchfulness ebbing like tide.

The door opened from outside; a Spy Mage stepped in, red scarf like a slash of dusk, moving with assassin hush, a battle caster cloaked in shadow.

Seeing others present, he offered a brief greeting, then entered with a face grave as a storm bank. The matter was no small ripple.

Lance felt trouble at once, a chill like wind through armor. “What does His Majesty need at this hour?”

“Not His Majesty,” the Spy Mage reported, disbelief tight as wire. “Someone from the Heavenly Spirit Empire requests audience—a royal named Shadia. She claims to be your ‘friend.’”