Clearly, Lilithia had made her own judgment—and Fiore acknowledged it. He chose to support the girl, answering her expectations. Should she ever plunge into the abyss chasing power, he would be the one to stop her.
After Fiore left, Lilithia finally returned to solitude. She hid the embarrassing outfit, then sat in silence, pondering her next move.
By her understanding, if she hadn’t purified her blood a second time through that near-transparent method, she’d either have died in agony or become Demonfolk.
Many texts classified Blood Magic as a branch of Life Magic. But now? Perhaps Blood Magic came first—Life Magic merely its evolution.
This state likely wouldn’t turn her into Demonfolk… but who could be sure? Who truly understood magic anyway? Certainly not Lilithia.
*Drink blood.*
If absorbing monster blood risked becoming Demonfolk… then drink human blood instead.
She’d joked about becoming Demonfolk being fine—but honestly, humans seemed more appealing. Though if both races shared the same origin, the difference mattered little. Her life unfolded on human soil. Staying human was simply more practical.
So—how could a human obtain enemy blood?
War.
The battlefield.
The Tulip Kingdom had become the Tulip Empire. Sword Saint Fiore’s emergence sent too many messages. War was inevitable. The Empire would soon flex its might. Border skirmishes already flared. A single spark could ignite full conflict.
Lilithia pulled out a test tube. Inside glowed a single drop of golden blood.
*So Saints’ bodies truly undergo terrifying mutations? Even their blood turns gold. No wonder they’re strategic assets.*
She’d traded a promise—"Next time we meet, I’ll wear something… interesting"—for this drop of Fiore’s blood.
Technically a gift. Yet Fiore’s "I’m not losing anything" expression left her conflicted.
*Was Fiore a lecher too?* She’d mistaken him for a pure-hearted male lead. Now, after *that* incident… if he demanded even less modest outfits, her inner gentleman would weep. But surpassing that scandalously revealing catgirl suit? Beyond outfits that simply couldn’t be worn in public, only maid or bunny girl costumes remained.
Maids had variations. But bunny girls? Everyone knew *that* design—the barely-there fabric clinging to every curve. Only a killer figure could pull it off.
Lilithia glanced down at her modest A-cup chest.
*Gotta drink more blood…*
*By sixteen, maybe I’ll reach B… With luck, even C…*
Nutrition was key to growth. Genes? She recalled her remarried mother—barely a B-cup herself.
*Was her future already sealed by DNA?!*
*No!~*
Lilithia sliced her arm. Fiore’s golden blood seeped into her veins. Instantly, she realized her stupidity.
If blood had rankings, a Saint’s was terrifyingly potent. This single drop wouldn’t flatten mountains like in cheap novels—but it could easily vaporize her if unleashed.
What kind of power was this?
She felt it—*depth*.
She’d heard the Demon King controlled Demonfolk lives. Betrayal meant death.
*Was this the same? Could Saints do it too?*
Worse: she couldn’t digest the blood. It coalesced on her stomach, forming a golden sigil.
*If this were pink… everyone would recognize it.*
Even if not—it looked like a personal seal. A mark of ownership. Could Fiore control her remotely?
*No. Saints don’t bind others like that. Fiore wouldn’t know anyway.*
…But Saint’s blood was precious.
*Didn’t this make her Fiore’s property now?!*
Her body probably reeked of his "aura" too. She knew tropes like *"I sense his presence!"* well.
As a swordsman, she hadn’t reached that realm—but she understood the basics. If his harem detected it… she was doomed.
*Rip-off.*
No power gained. Now she couldn’t escape Fiore. If she ever loved someone else—man or woman—they’d reject her for bearing "Fiore’s mark."
(Though Lilithia had no plans to love anyone.)
*No choice now!*
She’d long known how to break through to Mage. After two massive conversions, her mana was nearly there. She just needed to push herself.
The next day, Lilithia bought vats of monster blood, draining her savings.
Then she locked herself in, chugging blood like cheap wine. *Might as well go all out.* With Lisanna’s Magic Array protecting her, she could afford some recklessness. Lilithia stepped deeper into the world’s mysteries.
…
"Sword Saint Fiore," the woman on the throne began, draped in regal silks, her crown gleaming. She looked twenty-something—but Fiore knew the Tulip Empress’s lifespan was ending.
Magic preserved her youth superficially. Even Life Magic couldn’t save her now.
Only undeath remained. But a corpse ruling the living? Fiore would end her himself.
"To be called Tulip Empress at life’s end… I am content. So I ask this: Will you protect my child?"
Fiore knew her heir—the sole daughter mirroring the Empress’s ruthless will.
"I won’t make her Empress," Fiore sighed. "Power in her hands means war."
"War adorns a ruler’s crown. Victory is its brightest jewel. A true sovereign must know war." The old Empress had clawed her way up from battlefields—a warmonger. Had a Saint emerged earlier in Tulip history, she might have conquered the world.
"Let my child finish what I started. Just protect her."
"My father owed you a debt. I don’t. Your Majesty, I have power now. I have choices. I can refuse. He paid his debt long ago."
"Then that advisor was no strategist—they’d exploit you. Like someone else…" A smile touched her lips. "They must love you deeply. To spare you being used… or bullied… as a Sword Saint?"
Fiore’s expression softened. "You think so too?"
"So it’s a woman? And you love her?" The Empress chuckled. "Hearing a Sword Saint’s romance at my age… delightful. I was young once." She pointed at him. "Hear this, as a mother: whoever told you that considers you irreplaceable. They’d abandon anything—but never you." Her voice dropped. "So I don’t ask for my father’s debt. I beg you—as a mother. Protect my child. If she ever manipulates you into her schemes… until you deem her a lost cause… then abandon her. Will you?"
"...Agreed."
