"Sir, I truly have no idea when that assassin sneaked into my tavern’s cellar with Lady Elsa! When she emerged, I was utterly terrified!"

The tavern owner stammered innocently to the Holyflame Knights who’d rushed over upon notification.

"That assassin moved lightning-fast—vanished the moment she stepped out. I didn’t even see which way she fled."

"That woman… headed for the palace."

A hoarse voice cut in.

Elsa emerged from the cellar, wrapped in a thin blanket and steadied by two fellow knights. Her face flushed with shame and fury; weakened by the dual toll of exhaustion from pleasure and the stab wound, she looked visibly frail.

"Headed for the palace? Could the assassin’s target be…"

"Exactly. To rescue the traitor Plamia."

Gritting her teeth, Elsa held up an object. "Look closely."

It was the empty bottle Suran had discarded—the one that once held the "ineffective truth serum."

Elsa pressed it against the Solflare Legion emblem hanging at a knight’s waist. The emblem glowed as if awakened, and the bottle "revealed its true form," oozing thick, dark mist.

"This… is demonic aura!" Every knight present frowned deeply.

Infused with a grand mage’s magic, the Solflare Legion emblem could detect demonic presence.

Though Suran appeared human by day, at night she could unleash her Nightfiend Bloodline and become a demon. Yet from the moment she obtained the serum until now, she’d remained human.

Thus, the demonic trace on the bottle clearly belonged to its original owner—Black Hare.

The discarded bottle gave Elsa irrefutable proof of Plamia’s collusion with demons.

*Hehe… What a gift. Without your slip-up, I’d be sweating bullets right now,* Elsa thought, relief washing over her. Moments ago, she’d feared Suran might expose her scheme to frame Plamia. Now? This bottle was stronger evidence than any forgery she’d prepared.

"Lady Elsa, your orders!"

The knights bowed, awaiting command.

"I only told the assassin Plamia was in a palace secret chamber. She didn’t ask for details—acted confident she’d find it. So before she does, we execute Plamia first. Listen:"

Elsa’s voice turned icy, each word sharp.

"Her goal is rescue. By kidnapping only me to extract Plamia’s location, she proves this demonic faction lacks the strength to challenge the Auster Kingdom—they have no right to run wild in Rhine City!"

"Plamia’s execution is set for three days from now. Delaying it means the assassin lurks three more days. Even if she stays hidden, the fact she captured me proves she’s dangerous. Every second she remains threatens our people."

"Execute Plamia first. Strip her of her target. She’ll have no reason to stay in Rhine City."

The knights nodded firmly.

"No time to report to His Majesty. Move out!" Elsa commanded.

"Yes, ma'am!!"

...

Rhine City. Auster Royal Palace.

Inside the lavish hall, torches blazed as nobles hosted the city’s elite in an all-night feast of music and dance. So long as the king’s rest remained undisturbed, revelry was permitted.

At midnight, the Holy Flame Order rotated shifts—knights stationed and patrolling the palace grounds. Even here, vigilance was vital: a criminal was imprisoned within, and earlier that day, a bold assassin had struck in broad daylight.

Soon, guards at the secret chamber spotted a furtive figure creeping closer.

"Hey! Halt!"

The figure spun and fled.

"After them!"

The patrol knights moved in perfect sync, swiftly encircling the intruder. But as they drew near and recognized her face, every knight stiffened and knelt.

"Y-Your Highness, Princess!"

It was none other than Philoire Auster, Fourth Princess of the Auster Kingdom.

Golden-haired, emerald-eyed, with a porcelain-doll delicacy to her features—baby fat still softening her cheeks—she was barefoot, clad only in a nightgown. Clearly, she’d snuck from her chambers. Her purpose needed no guessing: to see Plamia.

"Your Highness, His Majesty forbids contact with the criminal Plamia. Please return to your chambers," the knights urged respectfully.

"No! I worked so hard to get out—I’m not going back!" Philoire refused instantly. "I *will* see Sister Plamia today. Try dragging me back if you dare!"

She bolted, attempting to break through.

Not one knight moved to stop her. They knew Philoire’s frail constitution; even a slight bump could bring ruin upon them. Yet letting her pass risked the king’s wrath.

Awkwardly, they trailed her at a careful distance, voices gentle.

"Stop persuading me! Pretend I was never here—I’ll pretend I never saw you!" Philoire called over her shoulder. "I swear on my honor as princess: if you let me pass, *I* alone bear the punishment!"

The knights slowed, returned to their posts, and watched silently as Philoire slipped into the chamber.

Perhaps this was the only way.

But the moment she shut the heavy door, a cold draft swept her spine. She shivered.

Philoire turned—and froze.

The chamber window stood open, wind howling through.

Perched on the sill sat a figure, staring straight at her.