“Mm, I hope Your Majesty will let me join your kingdom’s future work with Miss Alicia, like a lone reed slipping into the river.”

“What do you mean?” His voice cut the air like frost under a dawn blade.

King Alex felt out of step with a young man’s turns of thought, the topic hopping from him to his daughter like a sparrow leaping branches.

“No need to pretend you know everything, Your Majesty. With a mind so sharp, you must’ve guessed a thing or two, right?” Rick smiled like a cat lounging under moonlight.

Rick’s words made King Alex pause, yet his mind kept grinding on like wheels under rain.

“Could it be—!” His heartbeat thudded like a drum in a cold hall.

“Ah, that’s right. As expected of a brilliant king. A few hints, and you follow my trail like prints in wet clay.”

King Alex shook his head, letting the flattery slide off like rain on armor.

“But… it’s only conjecture. No one can prove Alicia is tied to the Elvenfolk or the Daemon.” His words floated like mist over a river.

Rick froze, then showed an odd smile, sly as a fox catching honey on the wind.

“Oh? So the Daemon invading your empire also have something to do with Miss Alicia?” His tone was light as feathers, thorns tucked like needles in silk.

King Alex jolted, shock flashing like lightning behind the eyes. He hadn’t expected the man to fish secrets out of his own mouth.

The man never spoke plain; he was laying a snare, making the king think their intel matched. In the end, he learned nothing, while his guesses were stolen like bait by a silent carp.

Guesses they were, yet rooted in fact like seeds in dark soil. A shrewd merchant like Rick would spin ten threads from them, a spider weaving at dusk.

His right hand tightened on the hilt at the armrest. A night-bloom of poison opened in his chest—he had to kill this man today, or regret would flower later.

“Don’t scowl, Your Majesty. And you can’t kill me now. You may not believe it, but my heart is linked to every factory in your empire. If my heartbeat flatlines, you’ll have a grand fireworks show across the night.” His words curled oily as lamp smoke.

King Alex’s hand trembled, then the flicked slender blade slid back like a snake into a basket. True or not, he wouldn’t gamble, not with the empire’s life hanging like a cliff edge in fog.

If the man pulled that stunt, the ticket price for that fireworks show would be the lives of the whole city, a ledger written in blood.

“As expected, Your Majesty is a merciful king. So, do you agree to my terms?” Silk over steel, his voice gleamed like a razor in velvet.

“You only want to join?” The question pricked like a needle.

“Of course, Your Majesty. A merchant lives to make coin. I won’t miss a chance like this.” His eyes gleamed like wet jade under lantern light.

“Fine. I agree. But whatever Alicia’s attitude toward you then has nothing to do with me. Got it?!” His tone rang like iron striking stone.

Rick bowed a fraction, and light couldn’t slip past his back to his face; King Alex saw only shadow, a mask carved from night, and he knew that hidden look was anything but kind.

“Then our deal is sealed. I’ll take my leave.” His words closed like a folding fan.

He set the map on the floor, then backed out of the hall. At the threshold, thick black smoke rose like ink from a brazier and swallowed Rick’s form whole.

King Alex watched the smoke thin, and the merchant’s shadow was gone, moth-quiet into lamp-black.

He rose from the throne. A dull ache in his back and waist made his face tighten, old wood creaking in a storm, yet he pushed on and picked up the map.

He gripped both ends and snapped it open. A swarm of tiny dots and ink-black marks bloomed in his eyes like stars pricked on parchment.

“Cough, cough!!” The sound was harsh as gravel raked in a bucket.

Halfway through, an itch clawed his throat and he hacked hard. No blood yet, but the oldness in his face deepened like winter lines on bark.

“Ju!” The name struck the air like a bell in a cold temple.

He breathed the name, and a girl in black tightwear dropped from the ceiling like a shadow slipping from silk.

Only the upper half of her face showed; the rest was wrapped tight. It framed her lithe shape, her deliberate shoulder-length crop, and those mismatched red-blue eyes—twin embers and a shard of sky—and her magnetism shone like moonlight on steel.

“Ju… take this to the front. Deliver it to a general yourself, steady as wind through reeds. Tell them the king orders a sound formation, hammered out like nails into wood, and set the lines. Unless the enemy advances, no one moves without my word, still as stones in a river. And if you get a chance, dig into Rick again—only with your safety intact, like a diver holding a lifeline. Last time’s intel looks fake, smoke painted on a wall.”

King Alex poured out the orders like a downpour from eaves. Ju’s eyes lost focus, drifting like a boat into mist, her first spark of allure stripped away.

To others, it looked like she wasn’t listening. King Alex knew she was carving his words into herself like a chisel biting jade.

Absolute loyalty, ruthless efficiency, and the creed of orders above all—three pillars holding a hall—were why he trusted her.

About a minute passed; Ju had likely run the mission paths in her mind and picked the best, dawn rinsing color back into her gaze like water over stone.

She dipped a bow. Her voice pressed through the cloth on her mouth, low and velvety like sound under snow.

“Mission received…” The words landed like a seal on warm wax.