Ye Wangxue watched Hale’s retreating back—never pausing, never glancing back.
It seemed there was no room for discussion.
*What’s with his attitude? Does this princess even care about his status?*
She just wanted someone familiar waiting in the Western Continent.
True—if she fled her arranged marriage to the Western Continent, utterly alone, having one acquaintance beforehand would be a blessing.
The black-clad youth had left a decent impression.
“You’ll regret this,” Ye Wangxue pressed. “Once this princess joins your Salvation Sect, I’ll surely rise among the Seven Sages. With your talent, you’ll likely become one too. Even if not, I’ll have your back. Don’t you see? Pure benefit—zero downside.”
“Enough. We’re almost there. Head east once you’re out. Don’t look back. I’ll check on Mandala.”
“Heh. Rushing to see your old flame?”
“I said—I don’t know her.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you want.”
Seeing Hale unmoved, Ye Wangxue huffed inwardly. *What’s his problem?*
She yanked off her veil, revealing a face of breathtaking beauty—moon-shaming, flower-blushing—yet edged with a hint of anger.
Hale wasn’t surprised; he’d seen her in-game character art. But in person?
*Even more stunning. That vivid presence… no sprite could capture this.*
Indeed, Ye Wangxue was radiant. A delicate plum blossom mark graced her forehead—elegant yet frost-kissed. When she frowned, it evoked “a peerless beauty from the northern lands.”
“This princess isn’t ugly. What’s wrong with asking your identity?”
“What logic is that?”
His retort stunned her.
Her mind drifted to her master’s words.
The Thousand Blade Sword Ghost—master of all weapons. To him, anything could be a sword.
On her departure day, bound for Saint Louis, he’d murmured:
“Disciple, remember: wield a woman’s sword when needed. Used right on a man, it may bewilder him… or wound his soul forever.”
She hadn’t understood—until hearing servants whisper: decades ago, a breathtaking woman died in his arms.
—*Your beauty is your weapon. You know your father’s intent.*
—*All the same.*
Ye Wangxue seethed. Time for her ultimate move.
Since birth, none denied the Little Princess of Great Xia possessed porcelain skin and moon-shaming grace.
Court officials even hired Western noblewomen to tutor her: aristocratic etiquette, how to wear an evening gown with crushing elegance.
As her instructor said: *“When you enter, other women should lower their heads.”*
No gown now—she’d make do.
“Go out veil-less and get caught? Not my problem.”
“Hmph! Just wait!”
She reached for her sword—then remembered Moonward was in Hale’s hand.
She jabbed a finger at him instead.
The black-clad youth felt nothing but relief. *Never cross paths again.*
…
Same moment.
Saint Louis, Understreet of District Six.
Letitia and Moyel rendezvoused with the Inquisition Bureau. The Great Xia swordsmen, seeing no opening, retreated.
Awkward silence followed.
Overseeing the sector: Siman—and Investigator Alman, who’d previously visited House Faxius.
“How did you end up here, hunted by Xia Kingdom spies?” Siman asked.
“Lady Siman, no need,” Moyel replied calmly. “Her Ladyship came to shop. Never expected Xia spies infiltrating Saint Louis.”
A sensible person would stay silent—like Alman beside her. He knew the unspoken rules.
Siman’s gaze, however, screamed suspicion: *contraband.*
Moyel added quickly: “The spies’ ambush ruined the purchase.”
Siman muttered, “Understreet’s full of scammers. Unsafe.”
Letitia kept glancing back, worry etched on her face.
Hale stayed behind alone. How many enemies remained? Those three swordsmen returning would only worsen his danger.
She met Moyel’s eyes. Moyel had briefly hoped Hale would vanish—less distraction for her ladyship.
But… he stayed to protect them.
*Could he truly be a Xia spy?*
His timing felt too perfect. Too scripted. Guiding them flawlessly.
An agent handed Alman a report.
Alman scanned it, then turned to Siman: “Sightings confirm Hale Faxius isn’t at the Faxius estate. He’s likely here too.”
Siman froze.
*His name was highlighted red in the magical missive.*
*Could he really be a traitor to the West?*
Alman’s implication was clear: prime suspect.
“If House Faxius bred a traitor,” Siman said stiffly, “I’ll see him imprisoned myself.”
The words tasted bitter. Espionage this grave meant heresy charges—death. At minimum, stripped of title.
*Why won’t he listen? So headstrong… Is that Xia agent really worth it?*
No defense left.
Moyel stepped forward: “Hale helped us fend off the spies—but his timing was suspiciously perfect…”
“Moyel, stop! Hale could *never* be a traitor!”
Gentle Letitia cut in—voice steel, conviction absolute.
Siman saw it in those rose-colored eyes:
Trust. Unshakable. Unbreakable.
“Duchess Letitia, we can’t be certain. You shouldn’t trust him completely—”
“Why shouldn’t I? And why won’t *you*, Lady Siman?”
Again, the rose-eyed princess interrupted—just as she had Moyel.
Siman fell silent.
Outmaneuvered… by a girl younger than herself.
