The next day, before dawn had even broken, Horatu was already stationed outside the elevator of the VIP suite.

Right on the dot at five o’clock, when no one emerged, he immediately asked the guards to escort him to knock on the door.

He thumped the wooden, patterned door loudly—*thud-thud*—the sound gratingly insistent.

When Verlith opened it, her face was visibly displeased.

She’d only just fallen asleep after staying up late; expecting a cheerful greeting would’ve been absurd.

But remembering yesterday’s agreement, she held her tongue.

Facing her, Horatu clearly had no desire to chat either. He turned and knocked on Alyssa’s door instead.

Alyssa had risen early, maintaining her noble etiquette. She stepped out gracefully, fully dressed.

Though attending to Alyssa’s daily attire was technically part of Verlith’s duties as her lady-in-waiting, Alyssa was down-to-earth. She never treated Verlith like a servant—preferring to handle things herself whenever possible.

Verlith, accustomed to high status—either being served or living alone—had never mastered such routines. Her sister Cleia, fiercely independent, often took care of Verlith more than the other way around, handling groceries and daily errands.

Overlooking these details was natural. Since Alyssa never demanded such services, Verlith settled into the role of a "nominal maid."

Horatu led Verlith and Alyssa toward the parked carriage without uttering a single word along the way.

Thus, the two girls departed the Rest Station.

Meanwhile, the gravely injured Finks and his four companions were discovered in their rooms just as the sky began to lighten.

In the century since the war ended, the continent had advanced rapidly—even in medicine. After treatment by military medics and expensive potions, not only were their lives saved, but their superficial wounds were visibly healing. Though bone mending would take time, metal splints allowed them to walk normally.

The diligent medics had reattached their severed manhoods—but the cuts had been too precise. Even reattached, they’d serve only one function: urination.

Hearing this, four wretches wailed, clutching their heads in despair.

—Naturally, Lal was the exception.

Thanks to Verlith’s restraint, his injuries were mild, requiring only a common potion.

Yet the bed meant for Lal’s rest lay empty. He’d vanished without a trace.

But he was insignificant—no one noticed his absence.

When questioned about their injuries, Finks and the others exchanged uneasy glances, none willing to confess the truth.

After all, being maimed by a petite girl was unbearably humiliating.

If word spread, they’d become lifelong jokes.

So that day, a rumor spread through the Rest Station:

*A giant of a man—eight chi tall, eight chi wide, chest hair thick as fur, beard wild as a storm—had secretly infiltrated the station, grievously wounded officers, and fled.*

The station’s leadership ordered an investigation to capture the culprit.

Naturally, they found nothing.

Verlith’s deeds at the Rest Station were miraculously buried.

But Finks, recovering in bed, refused to let it go.

After hours of hesitation, he finally sought out his brother that afternoon—the station’s commander, Centurion Smith.

*"What did you say? The one who beat you and cut off your manhoods… was a woman?"*

Smith’s eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at his brother.

*"You were reduced to this… by a woman?"*

*Damn it!* Finks groaned inwardly.

*I shouldn’t have come…*

But不甘 burned too fiercely. Gritting his teeth, he nodded.

*"Yes—a woman. But not an ordinary one!"*

*"Not ordinary? You mean a woman eight chi tall, eight chi wide, with chest hair and a bushy beard?"* Smith scoffed, gesturing wildly.

*"No, Brother!"* Finks’ long face flushed crimson.

*"She’s… prettier than most women!"*

*"Slender waist? Long legs? Full chest?"* Smith took a drag on his cigarette.

*"How many does that make now? When will you grow up, little brother?"*

*"Heh… you’re right, Brother,"* Finks chuckled dryly, head bowed.

*"I was never ambitious. Food, drink, women—that was enough for me. But now… even that’s gone."* He glanced at his bandaged groin. The fresh pain screamed of karma’s delayed reckoning—a lifetime of regret ahead.

*"Sigh. What am I to do with you?"* Smith shook his head.

*"Fine. One last time. This woman dared to humiliate my brother after he took an interest in her? I’ll make her pay."*

*"Yes! You must avenge me!"* Finks pleaded, face drawn.

*"When do we leave?"*

*"Hah. You want to come?"* Smith flicked ash, smirking.

*"Look in a mirror first. See how battered you are—you’ll stay here and heal."*

He rose slowly from his recliner, buttoning his coat as he prepared to summon men.

But his usually obedient brother stood firm this time.

*"No! I’m coming! I’ll make that girl regret crossing me. I’ll sell her to a brothel—let her suffer a lifetime of torment!"*

A vicious glint flashed in Finks’ eyes. He’d return her cruelty tenfold.

Smith stared, then shook his head again.

*"Do as you wish. But I won’t use Rest Station troops. What you see with me stays secret."*

*"Huh?"*

Finks had long suspected his brother commanded a hidden force. Now he’d witness it firsthand.

*"I swear silence."*

Smith grunted, leading him to a horse. They galloped away from the Rest Station.

…

Meanwhile, a swift caravan raced along the Eastward Path through Tree Spirit Forest.

Aosufu—captain of the Volthus Empire’s knights and leader of this unit—wore a merchant’s disguise: head wrapped in a cloth, body draped in a long robe.

His three hundred cavalry had shed their heavy steel armor, hiding it in wagons. Now clad in light chainmail, they flanked the carriages.

To the untrained eye, it looked like a wealthy merchant traveling with mercenaries.

But a discerning observer would note their unnatural discipline—rare even among elite mercenary bands.

The caravan moved in utter silence, riders focused solely on their mounts. Only Aosufu occasionally scanned the horizon, barking new orders.

They rushed because hours earlier, scouts had reported:

*The target—a breathtaking silver-haired maiden who turned heads wherever she went—had just left the Rest Station. She’d folded her wings, disguised as an ordinary girl, and joined a mercenary caravan heading east.*

Aosufu had mobilized instantly, chasing Verlith’s trail.

*"She won’t get far,"* he sneered.

…

At the same time, farther east on the Eastward Path, Smith and Finks led over a hundred armed men through a shortcut, cutting ahead of the road.

These weren’t imperial troops. They were Smith’s private army—funded by embezzled Rest Station funds.

Former bandits or farmers, they now obeyed only him. Dissenters were already dead.

For years, merchants near the station had reported bandit attacks. All were Smith’s doing; all spoils filled his pockets.

He couldn’t use official guards for personal vengeance—command would punish him severely.

If Finks had reported the truth immediately after waking, none of this would be necessary.

*But my brother’s a fool,* Smith thought bitterly.

Still… he was family. And now, castrated? Pity and blood ties left no choice.

Knowing Verlith’s group had a head start, Smith—the local expert—chose a shortcut through dense forest to ambush them at a narrow canyon ahead.

His men hid along the Eastward Path, waiting for Verlith’s caravan.

He’d miscalculated.

Unbeknownst to him, cautious Horatu—alerted about patrol checks—had abandoned the main road.

*His mercenary caravan had veered off the Eastward Path, vanishing into the thick woods.*

After a brief formation, Smith ordered his men into position.

They didn’t wait long.

As dusk fell, the *clip-clop* of hooves echoed down the Eastward Path.

Through the gloom, a fast-moving caravan drew near…

*"Get ready to fight!!"*

Smith tensed, barking the command.