On an unnamed country road, a blond man with a wooden expression shook the large white hemp sack slung over his shoulder.

He’d been munching corn the whole way—about half the sack remained.

Starving didn’t cover it. Counting the feigned-death period, he hadn’t eaten in months. He’d devoured half a field’s worth, walking and chewing, leaving a trail of stripped corn cobs behind.

The burning hunger eased slightly, but that didn’t mean Fate was full. To him, corn felt like cotton—lightweight yet bulky. Stuff a whole room with it, and it still held little substance.

The corn merely suppressed the hunger pangs. True satiety remained far off.

His appetite had always been huge, but never *this* extreme.

Was it because the Fox Demon Bloodline now dominated his body, demanding more energy to generate Mana Essence? Or was a fox demon lodged inside him, stealing bites? Or… were nutrients being siphoned elsewhere??

Fate rubbed his chest.

Christine’s gargoyle illusion pendant offered near-flawless disguise. Only someone deeply familiar with his aura might see through it.

Yet no disguise, however perfect, was real. Beneath the seemingly flat chest, fabric strained against surging curves. A slight reach would brush those swaying “white cotton balls.”

She could no longer revert to male form—but she still clung to denial, trying to trick her senses: *I’m still a man with a dick.*

Senses could lie. Touch and body truth could not.

After miles of walking, she felt her stamina sharply diminished. Worse, those thick “front armor” mounds—supposedly cushioning—threw off her balance badly.

She knew what it meant: adapting to this new body would take time.

A rookie warrior relies on reflexes; a veteran trusts muscle memory forged in countless battles.

Lifting a sword, blocking, countering, slashing—even a hair’s deviation could decide life or death.

One clean strike versus two? Worlds apart. Speed, precision, ruthlessness—non-negotiable.

These changes risked sluggish motions: mind racing ahead, body lagging behind.

As for “Intent”—it was the prerequisite to activate a “Heart Resolution,” like oil to an engine.

On the battlefield, warriors wielding Heart Resolutions could multiply their power, escaping death’s grasp again and again.

Heart Resolutions branched into three types: “Divine-bestowed,” “Common,” and “Bloodline.”

The first two required only Intent and basic conditions. Bloodline variants demanded ancestral lineage.

Still, Heart Resolutions were common—not the continent’s apex threat.

True supremacy belonged to “Magic” and “Secret Arts,” fueled by “Mana Essence.”

Anyone could grasp Intent through momentary insight.

But Mana Essence? A privilege of ancient bloodlines. Only their descendants could command it.

Beyond the Six Great Ancient Races, countless smaller clans preserved this legacy.

Magic itself split into “Common” and “Bloodline” forms.

Prestige-wise? Magic utterly overshadowed Heart Resolutions. Activation barriers weren’t just stricter—they existed on another plane.

Same tier? Utterly mismatched destruction.

Basic-tier Heart Resolution: slightly усиливает a slash.

Basic-tier Magic: conjures a fireball for area blast.

Heart Resolution wounds? Blocked by decent armor.

Magic damage? Ignores armor entirely.

In short: the Alren Continent bows to mages. All other power systems? Mere juniors. Mages reign supreme.

The old Fate was ordinary—suppressing the Fox Demon Bloodline left him devoid of Mana Essence.

No longer.

The bloodline now ran wild within him, joyfully churning. His veins surely swam with Mana Essence.

Converting Intent to Mana Essence? Impossible.

But reversing it? Feasible.

As the pinnacle system, Mana Essence could fuel nearly any power’s foundation—including Intent. Cost? Threefold, or more.

She tested it. Her Intent was “sealed” upon the Fox Demon Bloodline’s awakening. From now on, releasing Heart Resolutions meant converting Mana Essence into Intent.

Staring at the pendant-forged hand, she felt the future slipping through her fingers.

She shook her head. *Again… slipping back into old habits.*

Yes…

From today, she was no longer a knight. No longer Fate Saint Lune.

A traveler. A villager. A groom. A peddler.

Just… not a knight.

So why cling to worry?

The Dawnbreaker Knight had fulfilled his duty perfectly. Done all he must.

He was no longer needed. Let others carry the burden.

At that thought, Fate’s brows softened. From the mountainside, she gazed toward the horizon—where a village curled with wisps of cooking smoke.