What a racket...

Fiore gazed down from the throne at the squabbling ministers. Their decisions would reshape the nation’s policies, casting ripples across the entire realm.

His eyes flicked sideways to the Tulip Queen beside him. Silent, she surveyed the chaos below. The ministers’ clamor seemed to amuse her; she made no move to silence them.

Who would guess this composed sovereign’s life was nearing its end?

Fiore cared little for politics. He had no desire to understand it. He only knew this: do what must be done, stay true to himself. Nothing more. Nothing less.

His thoughts turned to Lilithia. He knew she was unharmed—logically. Yet news of the border raid gnawed at him.

*What if something happened to her...?*

As the worry tightened its grip, a sudden sensation pierced him—not the Sword Saint’s passive awareness, but something deeper. In an instant...

He *saw*. He *heard*.

Before him stood Verutan.

And the voice—Lilithia’s?

He realized with a jolt: he was seeing through Lilithia’s eyes.

*"Listen, Verutan,"* her voice rang out, sharp with triumph. *"This sea cucumber? Fiore’s blood can revert it to its true form. Absorb it, and your magic surges. Don’t you want that power?"*

*"I’d rather not vomit blood."*

*"You don’t get a choice!"*

A single drop of golden blood flew straight into Verutan’s mouth.

Fiore watched Verutan writhe on the ground, gasping. After long moments, she tore at her clothes in panic—a golden sigil now burned on her stomach.

*"Hah! Serves you right for mocking me! Got your own now, huh? Sword Saint’s blood—most people would kill for this!"*

Lilithia’s grin was pure, unrepentant mischief.

*Is this blood link why I see through her eyes? Then...*

Fiore focused. Instantly, Lilithia’s face filled his vision—her familiar, smug smile.

*So she bears the mark too?*

His pulse quickened. But worry followed: *Won’t she be furious?*

*...She never mentioned it last time.*

*Avoiding lies by avoiding the topic? That’s... kind of cute.*

*"Damn you! You twisted witch! This isn’t over! When I become Empress, I’ll drag you to the block myself!"*

*"Ungrateful wretch! Do you think power like this falls from the sky? With that pea-brain of yours? Dream on!"*

The two bickered like children on the empty battlefield.

*"Hmph! Fine. I, Lilithia the Magnanimous, forgive your pettiness. I’ve better things to do—like getting stronger."*

Then Fiore saw it.

Lilithia pulled out a pitch-black vial. Inside swirled inky, viscous blood.

*"Blood Transmutation!"*

A violent explosion echoed within her body. She doubled over, coughing blood.

A pang shot through Fiore.

*Why push yourself like this? Just dispose of it. There are other ways to grow stronger—*

Verutan voiced his exact thought.

Lilithia merely smiled faintly, face pale as parchment. *"There are many paths to strength. But I refuse to live with regrets. I don’t know what horrors tomorrow holds. I won’t stand before some unimaginable crisis wishing, ‘If only I’d pushed harder then... if only I hadn’t feared the pain...’ I hate that feeling. If doom comes, I want to say: ‘I gave everything. This is my limit. I have no regrets.’ Do you understand?"*

In that moment, she radiated an aura of invincibility.

Clothes stained, blood on her lips, exhaustion etching her features—yet undeniably magnificent. That unshakable will, that grace—she stole the breath from two onlookers at once.

*"Besides,"* she added, wiping her mouth, *"I told you: whatever our Sword Saint achieved here, I’ll surpass it. That’s my promise to myself."*

Fiore pulled his awareness back.

*This spying... it’s wrong. I shouldn’t do it.*

*...But seeing her when I miss her? That’s not so bad.*

His consciousness snapped back to the throne room.

*"So, Sword Saint,"* a minister pressed, *"your thoughts?"*

His very presence here was a statement—

*The Saint stands with the Sovereign.*

A signal. Some Saints refused such bonds. But the Sword Saint’s place beside the ruler proved his vow: he guarded the nation itself.

In some nations, Saints involved themselves in politics. There were even countries where Saints held the reins of power.

*"I don’t meddle,"* Fiore stated flatly. *"Politics is yours. I make no decisions."*

That was the Sword Saint’s stance. Fiore’s stance. He guarded the realm. Nothing more. Nothing less.

*"However... regarding this battle. You may proceed without fear. The remnants there have been cleansed."*

The Tulip Queen’s gaze locked onto Fiore. Then, her decree fell like a blade:

*"Dispatch the Holy Maiden to the border. Comfort the people and soldiers. Hold prayers. Prepare the counteroffensive."*

In this realm, the Tulip Queen’s authority was absolute. With the Sword Saint’s tacit support, her power had never been sharper. Her will was law.

The ministers’ squabbles were merely performances—reasons laid bare for her judgment.

*"Understood!"*

As the courtiers dispersed, Fiore retreated to his chambers. His duty required proximity to the Empress, not constant attendance.

A knock echoed at his door.

*"Fiore~"*

He opened it.

Standing there—radiant, regal, immaculate—was the Holy Maiden.

Silver hair like Lilithia’s. Tall, draped in solemn white robes. A slender holy sword rested in her hand—an artifact, though not one for Saints.

Saint Bernadette.

*"What do you want?"* Fiore’s voice was ice. *"I thought I made it clear last time. We shouldn’t meet again."*

Bernadette’s expression tightened with sorrow. So pure was her grief, it seemed the world itself mourned with her.

Fiore remained unmoved.

*"There’s no misunderstanding, Bernadette. You used me. That’s fact."*

*"It was—"*

*"And you cost me my mother’s pendant."* The memory cut deep. *"We have nothing left to discuss."*

Bernadette slipped past him before he could shut the door.

*"Yes, I used you. I apologize. But it brought you strength too, didn’t it?"* She couldn’t fathom his hatred. He’d grown powerful—why resent her?

*Annoying.*

*So annoying.*

He’d earned that strength through pain, through will, through facing hell itself. What did Bernadette have to do with it? As if he couldn’t have reached this height without her scheming?

*If it were Lilithia...*

*"That pendant held forbidden blood magic,"* Bernadette pressed. *"Church doctrine warns: those who play with blood will be betrayed by it—"*

Fiore’s eyes turned arctic.

*"This is not a theocracy. If you believe it is..."*

*"I am the Empire’s Sword Saint."*

His hand drifted toward his blade. Saint or not, past friendship meant nothing now.

For a heartbeat, Bernadette looked like any weeping girl. Then the Holy Maiden’s mask snapped back into place.

*"So... the one at the border changed you?"*

*"If you intend harm,"* Fiore said quietly, fingers tightening on his hilt, *"believe me—I’ll reach you before you act."*

*"And if you move against her,"* he added, steel whispering free, *"I’ll eliminate you here and now."*

The Holy Maiden fled.

Fiore stood like a lion guarding its cub.

*Just as Lisanna said. Their feud is folly.*

But Bernadette’s deepest confusion remained:

*Fiore was gentle. His kindness was saintly—like scripture made flesh. Who could twist such a man?*

*That unseen girl, Lilithia... what darkness does she wield?*

*To restore him, I must cleanse that corruption at its source.*

Saint Bernadette resolved to purify the wicked girl. Mind and soul. Root and branch.

The next day, the Holy Maiden departed for the border.

Fiore’s killing intent followed her every step.