At this moment, on the second floor of a small inn in the Understreet of District Six.

A cold sweat broke out on Ye Wangxue’s back.

Is she okay?

Why does she look like she’d kill me just because I like Hale?

Moreover, Ye Wangxue sensed a trace of seriousness in those words.

If the other made even the slightest suspicious move, Ye Wangxue would draw her sword by reflex.

“Hahaha… Just kidding, Seventh Princess Ye.”

Mandala’s laughter suddenly shattered the room’s silence.

She pinched Ye Wangxue’s cheek; Ye Wangxue, disgusted, slapped her hand away.

“I hope you skip such bloody jokes next time, Miss Mandala.”

This woman… Ye Wangxue always felt her help wasn’t sincere.

Yet Mandala’s skill and insight were flawless. In Saint Louis—under the Inquisition Bureau’s watchful eye—besides her, Ye Wangxue had no other reliable ally.

“Oh dear, really? Would I kill Xia Kingdom’s Seventh Princess over a man?”

Mandala chuckled lightly. Ye Wangxue fumed.

This woman!

“Who *are* you? You know my true name, yet I only have your alias.”

“Don’t worry who I am. I’m here to help. You owe me. And you’ll be useful later. …Kidding again. Maybe I *would* kill another woman for a man.”

“Heh. Poor guy who catches your eye. Though with your strength… which lucky man *has*?” Ye Wangxue retorted dryly.

“No more jokes. We move now. The Inquisition Bureau’s active. Still chasing Letitia? I bet she’s in the Understreet today.”

“She’d come *here*?”

Unbelievable. Letitia was the epitome of high society—born utterly out of place here.

Not like Ye Wangxue, trained for covert work.

“Buying medicine. Probably succubus blood.”

“Then hurry. Succubus blood’s contraband in the Papal Dominion. She can only trade in shadows. Last chance.”

Ye Wangxue’s spirits lifted instantly.

If exposed, House Childe would pay heavily to bail their mistress out—and Letitia herself would face stern reprimand.

“Alright. Move out.”

Mandala pulled a pocket watch from her black robes.

Inside, a photo nestled behind the clock face:

Left, a younger blonde girl in a vibrant flower crown, hands clasped as if praying.

Right, a purple-haired girl with elegant poise, sword at her waist, radiating confidence.

Between them, a black-haired boy sat on a countryside bench, reading, face turned from the lens—expression unreadable.

“The time’s come?”

Mandala’s gaze lingered a moment before snapping the watch shut.

“Definitely. I’ve got eyes on the black-market bar selling succubus blood. Coming with me?”

Ye Wangxue was already eager.

Mandala glanced at her.

“Correction—I go alone. You catch Letitia. I’ll handle the Bureau’s spies.”

“*So* kind of you, Miss Mandala.”

“Don’t fail, Seventh Princess.”

“And *you* don’t get caught, spill my whereabouts under torture.”

Ye Wangxue left without another word.

Mandala stayed.

After Ye Wangxue descended the stairs, Mandala leaned from the window and tossed something after her.

“Huh? A Musical Casket?”

Ye Wangxue caught it, puzzled.

…

“Miss… why visit the Understreet at this hour?”

“Mm. Heard things here can’t be bought above. Wanted to see.”

Meanwhile, deep in the Understreet of District Six—

Letitia moved under Moyel’s guard. Her elegant attire stood out sharply.

So did Moyel’s gleaming silver sword.

“Miss flatters us. House Childe obtains *anything*. If not… elders simply underbid.”

“I want contraband.”

“?”

Letitia’s quiet words startled Moyel.

She almost objected—but felt profound trust.

*Contraband?* Trivial. Family connections could secure even heretical texts.

But Letitia chose secrecy. And entrusted *only* Moyel.

This trust settled deep. Moyel nodded.

“Please hurry, Miss. Bureau and White Knights patrol District Six now. If caught buying contraband… we’d just pay the Church to look away.”

“I know.”

Letitia sought succubus blood.

Succubi—cunning demons disguised as maidens—lured male adventurers to death in mystical realms or the Demon Lord Realms.

Yet valuable: a juvenile succubus fetched fortunes.

Blood applied to skin, or a forbidden ritual marking the lower abdomen, could spike allure toward the opposite sex—briefly.

Letitia’s aptitude stats were exceptional; her Divine Healing Theology and Support Magic grades were genuine A+.

She’d read every arcane text in House Childe’s library.

Moyel, vice-captain of the female knights, knew Saint Louis’s districts by heart.

This black market thrived near Sanctum University—some professors were regulars.

Soon, a bar adorned with magical lamps appeared on the corner. Shabby. Unremarkable.

Moyel exchanged coded words with the door bartender.

He nodded.

“Esteemed ladies, follow me. Boss has what you seek. For discretion—write your request, then wait in a private booth.”

Letitia scribbled “succubus blood.” Moyel respectfully looked away.

All part of Letitia’s plan.

She played docile before Hale—but was far from naive.

The bartender took the slip and vanished.

As Letitia reached for the door—

“Wait! Don’t go in!” Hale’s voice cut from behind.

But in Moyel’s peripheral vision—three swift sword flashes already sliced from the shadows.