Warm water filled the wooden tub. Bathing came next, then feeding. Rogue had grown used to this routine after doing it so many times.

Language lessons continued. To Rogue’s relief, Lilitha finally pronounced the word "master" correctly twice while repeating each syllable slowly.

Mostly, though, she said it with a hint of confusion. She likely still didn’t grasp its meaning.

No matter. Rogue was already learning Dragon Tongue. He’d teach her bit by bit.

Thunderstorms had kept Lilitha from sleeping well for two days. So tonight, Rogue added sleep-inducing herbs to her bathwater to relax her body and mind. He also minimized the warehouse’s exposure to the outside storm.

Constant mental pressure wasn’t good for her.

Early the next morning, Rogue opened the door again. Lilitha was still deep in sweet slumber.

Rogue reached out and gently touched the broken stub of her dragon horn. He wondered how it had snapped off.

Dragon horns were the toughest part of a dragon’s body. Even enchanted blades forged a hundred times might not cut through a pureblood’s horn. Yet this break was unnaturally smooth. Whatever happened when she was captured as a slave must have been no small thing.

Her previous owner needed investigating too.

Why investigate? Their existence threatened Lilitha’s upbringing. It’d be safer if they vanished from this world. They were all scum anyway. Rogue wouldn’t hesitate.

Besides, how could anyone else bully his Young Dragon Princess?

Until she was fully trained and handed over to Lady Aria, Rogue was Lilitha’s sole caretaker.

His movement woke Lilitha. Just out of sleep, her hair was a messy tangle. Her expression was drowsy as she rubbed her sleepy eyes with tiny hands—so adorably pinchable.

But the moment she saw Rogue, Lilitha let out a startled yelp. She yanked the blanket and shrank into the corner.

She still distrusted him.

Unexpected. Rogue had thought their days together might have opened her heart a little.

As her caretaker, he showed no reaction. His calm face only seemed like the prelude to anger.

While Rogue pondered, something surprising happened. Lilitha cautiously crept back—not to him, but to her sleeping spot.

Her body trembled slightly, as if making a decision. She suddenly dropped the blanket, revealing her pale form. Her hands slipped behind her back. She lifted her chin just a fraction and closed her eyes.

Her long lashes fluttered. Her heart was anything but calm.

Rogue understood her posture from above.

The raised chin? He often pet her head and scratched under her chin. Hands behind her back meant zero resistance—she’d accept any punishment he gave her body.

Usually, Rogue carried or led her to the tub. This refusal meant she feared his anger.

Her earlier flinch was just instinct, amplified by the cramped warehouse.

Rogue’s gloom vanished. He crouched down and scratched under Lilitha’s chin. Her tense body instantly relaxed.

For her, his head pats and chin scratches were signals of kindness.

She didn’t know why he did it, but she didn’t dislike the gesture.

Lilitha was well-behaved this morning.

As a reward, Rogue added jam to her post-wash breakfast.

Once everything was done, he stood to leave. But his sleeve was tugged lightly. He turned.

Lilitha clutched her chest with one hand, the other gripping his sleeve. Her expression was fearful. She shrank her neck and glanced at the floor.

She pulled his clothes, wordlessly begging: Don’t go.

She feared thunder. She hated the dark. With Rogue here, it was warm and comfortable. No terrifying sounds.

Once dependence began and brought comfort, that feeling would spiral uncontrollably.

Such was human nature.

This initiative was a signal.

Indulging her now would slow her training progress.

So Rogue didn’t hesitate. He shook his head, gently pried her hand away, and walked out. He had other duties. He couldn’t stay all day.

The door shut. Thunder roared. Rain lashed.

Certain Lilitha would be fine, Rogue returned to his room. He pulled out a leather-bound journal. One name caught his attention.

Moy Gracy. Former member of the Hero Squad. Ranked second strongest in the team. A vanguard swordsman. Also the youngest human Sword Saint—a Legendary powerhouse.

Rogue hadn’t idled during his free time. Gathering prisoner intel was part of his duty.

Gracy Kingdom wasn’t the strongest among humanity’s three great kingdoms militarily—it was actually the weakest. Its power lay in its name: Gracy.

A Sword Saint lineage spanning a thousand years.

Gracy Swordsmanship was famed across the continent. The family generously shared all non-secret techniques, letting anyone study their manuals. Many elite swordsmen hailed from their tutelage.

"Disciples everywhere"—that phrase fit the kingdom perfectly.

Moy’s name shone brightest. At just twenty-four, she was a Legendary Sword Saint. Stunningly beautiful. Blessed with a Divine Edict from the God of Glory. Chosen as the Hero to slay the Demon King.

Before the failed campaign, she’d been every young swordsman’s idol.

Lilitha’s condition had stabilized. This Sword Saint had twice requested to see him. Rogue had time now to ask questions.

He needed to understand what happened three years ago between the Hero and the Demon King.

Walking toward the cells, Rogue recalled Lady Aria’s orders: Extract the Divine Edict the God of Glory had given Moy.

A Divine Edict was a Deity’s guidance. A believer’s lifelong duty. The truest path to touch the divine.

This task was near impossible. Lady Aria had already tried brutal torture. Moy refused to break. Killing her outright wasn’t an option. That’s why they’d sent her to Rogue for interrogation.

Rogue tucked away the journal and strode toward the cells.

Moy Gracy’s life would end the moment she revealed the Divine Edict.