Fate rarely wondered why the goblins were so fixated on his current form—his attention was elsewhere.

Earlier, he’d merely tested the waters: checking whether his swordsmanship had suffered after the transformation.

The result? As expected.

It had declined—and severely. Though every sword technique remained etched in his mind, his body had changed. Balance, strength control, muscle memory—all thrown off.

Take balance alone: far worse than before.

Lighter frame, slender bones, shrunken skeleton, diminished muscle—all contributed.

But the true disruptor? Those two undeniable burdens on his chest. Impossible to hide. Their weight shattered her sword-swing equilibrium.

Still, Fate was a swordmaster. He could adapt—a new style tailored to this body. But it would take time. And diminished power was unavoidable.

Still… even weakened, a pack of goblins shouldn’t be a problem.

“You.”

Fate raised the rusty longsword, pointing it at the goblins.

“???” The goblins blinked in confusion.

“Send out your commander.” Each word crisp, deliberate.

“I challenge him to an honorable one-on-one knightly duel.”

“???” They exchanged baffled glances.

*What nonsense is this human woman spouting?*

Luckily, goblins didn’t understand human speech—or they’d be utterly speechless.

Uncomprehending, flankers crept closer, aiming to ambush.

“No interest in a glorious duel?” Fate arched an eyebrow.

“Wawa gaga!” Bizarre cries erupted. Ambush exposed—they lunged as one.

Fate’s brow furrowed slightly.

No duel. Just a mob.

No armor. Summoning [Tianhui] would drain too much [Yi]. Without protection, he was as fragile as any mortal—swordsmanship meant for singles, not swarms.

He could handle ten. But dozens charged.

To avoid disaster, Fate stepped back, recalling Christine’s warning:

*“You can no longer use [Yi] directly. Convert internal [Maso] into [Yi]—but efficiency is abysmal. Three times the [Maso] for a single unit of [Yi].”*

*“And channeling [Maso] boils the kitsune blood in your veins… breaking the disguise.”*

No choice now.

Hands gripped the sword before him. Eyes shut.

[Yi] dwells in the heart. [Maso] flows in the blood.

Extract. Refine. Channel into the heart…

First time converting [Maso] to [Yi]—yet not wholly unfamiliar. He’d seen it done. Basic knowledge remained.

Goblins inches away.

[Maso] surged, transformed into [Yi].

Blood boiled. The blood-drop stone pendant flickered… then dimmed completely.

*Crack.*

The disguise shattered like glass. A gust whipped up, lifting golden strands of hair.

“WAWA!” Eyes bloodshot, goblins surged forward—eager to pounce on the knight maiden…

Unfazed, the golden-haired knight maiden stood firm. The iron sword in her hands glowed with brilliant starlight.

Eyes snapped open. Blade swept horizontally.

[Saint Lune Ancient Sword Style: Gilded Starlight]

A crescent arc of gold surged from the blade.

Tiny goblin eyes widened—engulfed, purified by the gilded tide.

Silence returned.

The golden crescent swept onward. Shattered remains littered the ground. Trees hundreds of meters ahead stood neatly “trimmed”…

“Huff… huff…”

Kneeling on one knee, sword propped beneath her palm, her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. Hair spilled over shoulders, cascading down her arms, pooling near knees and the soft valley between her breasts.

Fate panted. She never imagined unleashing this technique would drain her so utterly—one strike, and exhaustion claimed her.

The disguise was gone. Reality stared back.

This feeling… truly awful.

The pendant’s illusion had been seamless—letting her ignore this new form subconsciously.

But now…

Moonlit arms, flawless. Fingers slender, soft, uncalloused. Glancing down—her own toes hidden from view. A hollow ache settled in her chest.

She was no longer the knight she once was.

*Clatter.*

She tossed the sword aside, collapsing onto her side. Golden hair flowed over her curvaceous frame, spilling across her hips.

Eyes closed. Body curled tight. As if blindness could erase everything.

*The pendant resets by dawn. Just endure tonight.*

“…So hungry.”

Curled around her knees, the knight maiden murmured in a songbird-soft voice, pitiful and small.

Stomach growled. Dinnerless. Starving.