Night fell. Bonfires blazed in the village square as villagers danced and sang to celebrate their victory. To honor the Sword Saint, they brought out every delicacy they owned. Soon, the men were roaring drunk, shouting over each other. Mio slipped quietly away from the feast, scaled the wooden fence, and slipped beyond the village.

Moonlight bathed the fields in silver. Wisps of cloud glowed with silver edges. Mio crept past the watchtower—then froze. Two figures stood in its shadow: Penny and Baldur, locked in a tender embrace. Before their lovey-dovey aura could blind her, Mio ducked into the moonlit fields. She vaulted the stone wall bordering the forest—a barrier against wild beasts—and vanished into the trees.

Mio sought the bandit corpses from earlier. Two blue-skinned bodies had caught her eye. After a brief search, she found them exactly where they’d fallen. But now, a Reaper stood beside them, purifying the tormented souls of the slain.

“Deus?”

“YIPE!” Deus yelped, shrinking into a trembling ball.

Mio kicked his shin. *Since when do Reapers fear ghosts? Is this guy just a clown?* Ignoring him, she pulled out her mana scanner. Under the beam of her glow-stick flashlight, she examined their faces. Beyond their blue skin, their features were strikingly androgynous. And both had pointed ears—clearly not human.

“What are you doing, Mio?” Deus asked.

“Just curious,” she said, switching off the scanner. “These two aren’t quite human. But their mana levels aren’t high enough to be mana-mutated monsters.”

“Ah, them,” Deus replied. “Demi-humans. Darkfolk. They’re born with Scout skills. Earlier, when bandits chased you? Probably their doing.”

“What?” Mio gaped. “Demi-humans? Scout skills? Darkfolk?”

“Your world might not have them,” Deus explained. “But here, many demi-human races exist. Ancient gods used to… *visit* mortals often. Their descendants inherited diluted divine blood—hence the non-human traits.”

“No reproductive isolation between gods and humans?”

“Reproductive… what?”

“Never mind,” Mio coughed. “So they’re god-human hybrids?”

“Not quite,” Deus corrected. “They’re descendants of *those* hybrids. True god-human mixes are demigods—powerful enough to become minor gods or divine servants. Demi-humans? Their divine blood’s too thin. They’re barely stronger than humans.”

“What a messy family tree.” Mio scratched her head. “Hey Reaper—you ever sneak off to… *visit* some girl?”

“Impossible! Humans can’t see or touch me—”

Mio kicked his shin again. He hopped on one leg, howling.

“See? I can touch you.”

“Ow! My leg! You’re not exactly human anymore—not with all that death inside you!”

The words struck deep.

“Sorry,” Deus mumbled, head bowed. “I misspoke.”

“It’s fine,” Mio said softly, staring at her hands. “I accepted this long ago.”

A figure emerged from the moonlight. Mio’s hand flew to her pistol—then stilled. Aimee stepped from the shadows, her golden curls shimmering under the moon.

“Stargazing, Mio?” Aimee smiled.

“I…” Mio hesitated. “Investigating the enemy.”

“Same reason I came.” Aimee’s gaze swept the corpses. “Darkfolk assassins. That brand… Labyrinth-trained. Someone’s spending heavily to eliminate rivals.”

“The Royal Selection?” Mio asked.

“You didn’t know?” Aimee turned, hands clasped behind her back. “The Emperor died last year. The Senate’s holding the Selection. Out here in the west, a minor noble’s daughter somehow qualified. Poor girl activated the Orb. Her parents knew what that meant. The Selection has no rules—no open lawbreaking or civil wars, but survive to the end, and you become Emperor. It’s a deathmatch. Assassination’s standard practice.”

“Why tell me this?” Mio tensed. She knew Aimee could end her in a heartbeat—even with her enhanced body, she stood no chance against a Sword Saint.

“May I see what’s in your pocket?” Aimee’s smile didn’t waver. “Left front one.”

Mio reached in—and froze. A round object. The Orb she’d found by the wrecked carriage. The girl who’d held it had been torn apart by wolves. As Mio lifted it, crimson light erupted, banishing the forest shadows.

“So it’s you,” Aimee sighed. “It all makes sense now. That bandit group probably ambushed real bandits, stole their gear, and planned to eliminate you quietly. Bad luck running into me. But I never expected a Selection candidate to fight like you. Your parents must be minor nobles… with an exceptional mentor.”

“You’ve got it all wrong.” Mio grimaced.

“Wrong?” Aimee blinked, then smiled again. “Don’t worry. The Hamodia Swordsmen remain neutral in the Selection. We’ll only back a true leader—or someone worthy of commanding us.”

“Stop. You’re *completely* wrong.” Mio sighed. “First, I’m not some noble’s daughter. That girl died. Wolves shredded her. I just found this Orb. We’re the same age, but I’m not your candidate.” She took a breath. “My name is Theresa. Daughter of Reynard, King of the Northern Lands. After Frostwind Fortress fell to the Empire’s 19th Legion, I fled into Imperial territory. I’m just… wandering. My kingdom’s gone. I’m worthless to the Empire.”

Out of desperation, Mio used the name of this body’s original owner. But at “Theresa,” Aimee froze.

“Your Highness.” She rushed forward, pulling Mio into a crushing hug. “You’re alive. Thank the gods… you’re alive…”

*This is too sudden!* Mio thought, struggling to breathe. Yet the embrace radiated raw sincerity. A memory surfaced: a warm childhood moment, playing with a golden-haired girl older than herself.

“Tira?” Mio whispered the name.

“Yes! It’s me!” Aimee squeezed her head, planting a loud kiss on her forehead. “You remember me! My mother was your nursemaid. We left the North years ago with my master. I thought I’d never see you again. When Frostwind fell… I almost marched north to find you. But you came to the Empire instead.”

“Your master?” Mio dug through hazy memories. “That white-bearded old man?”

“Yes. The previous Sword Saint.”

“I thought you’d been sold off.”

“He paid Mother well. Very well.”

They stared at each other—then burst out laughing. Mio’s fingers brushed the scar on her chest. The warmth flooding her wasn’t hers—it belonged to Theresa. But it was real. *Someday I’ll tell her everything,* Mio vowed, carefully accepting this borrowed emotion. It was the legacy of the girl sacrificed on that altar. As her inheritor, Mio would guard it.

“For certain reasons, I’ve abandoned my old name,” Mio said softly. “Call me Mio. And keep my past secret. Not as a princess’s order—as a friend’s request. I won’t be Theresa again.”

“Understood,” Aimee nodded firmly. “I’ll guard it with my life.”

“More urgently—I must quit the Selection,” Mio held up the Orb. “I won’t compete for a throne. I have a mission. I can’t stay in the Empire.”

“That’s impossible,” Aimee sighed.

“Why?”

“The Orb’s a magic device. Activating it binds you in a temporary contract. Its location is trackable—all candidates’ movements are exposed. Winning requires raw power. Hiding won’t work.”

Mio nodded—and hurled the Orb deep into the forest. Aimee cried out too late.

Seering pain lanced through Mio’s body. She screamed, collapsing into violent spasms. A speck of light zipped back, the Orb hovering before her face.

“Discarding the Orb triggers punishment,” Aimee said gently.

“You could’ve mentioned that sooner…”

As the pain faded, Mio scowled and drew the Punisher. She loaded a black-iron round—designed to shatter artifacts—and aimed at the Orb. Aimee slapped the barrel aside just as she pulled the trigger.

“Trying to put a hole in yourself, Mio?” Aimee said. “The Orb’s damage reflects entirely onto its wielder.”

“Can’t throw it. Can’t destroy it. Then what?” Mio holstered her gun, frustration thick in her voice. “I *must* keep moving. My mission can’t wait.”

“Only one way,” Aimee said. “Go to the Imperial Capital. Formally renounce the Orb during the Selection ceremony.”

Mio groaned. *Perfect.*

“How many candidates?” she asked.

“Three to five. Only five Orbs exist. After the ceremony, they seek worthy bearers—but secondary bindings like yours are rare. Normally, an Orb returns to the Elector’s Hall upon its wielder’s death… unless it finds a new candidate immediately.”

“What rotten luck…”

“Not luck,” Aimee corrected. “Proof of your noble blood. Orbs don’t choose lightly—lineage matters most. That minor noble family? They descended from the first Guardian Duke. Their bloodline faded over time. But you—Theresa, heir to the Northern King—traveling freely in the Empire? The Orb chose you for a reason.”

“I see,” Mio murmured. “I understand now.”

Mio put away her gun and stuffed the jewel into her pocket. "Anyway, I'll head to Seralni first," she said. "I'll try not to keep Rukhus's family waiting too long. Then next... to the Imperial Capital to end this farce."

"'Calling the Royal Selection a farce feels a bit off,' Aimee chuckled with a soft 'hehehe.' 'But this is the Theresa I know—the beautiful princess in the tower.'"

If Aimee knew Theresa's "purpose" was to be a sacrifice, she wouldn't call her the princess in the tower, would she? Mio sighed inwardly and resolved to keep this secret forever. Suddenly remembering the Reaper was still here, she scanned the area for Deus—only to find he'd already left.