Talesa was about to take on three opponents alone.

Not to show off—she answered directly to the Empress. She needed to face Hale herself and test his true skill.

Born an assassin, she thrived in one-on-one combat.

If she couldn’t defeat three students now? She’d resign in disgrace without hesitation.

True, sweeping all three might seem arrogant—disrespectful to the Papal Dominion.

Later, the embassy would shift the blame: *her* personal decision.

She was meant for the shadows. Reputation meant nothing.

This marquis title? Granted hastily by the Empress before departure. Keeping it—or tarnishing it—was irrelevant.

This way, she’d know Hale’s strength with absolute certainty.

All part of the plan.

She’d anticipated every contingency the night before.

Siman and the others bristled with anger.

She hated feeling dismissed. Young Master Andri also thought Marquis Talesa of the northern kingdom far too bold.

He’d heard Cathrine women were fierce—but not *this* reckless in state-level diplomacy.

Hmph. He’d teach her a lesson.

Hale’s inner monologue: *Damn. She’s really not letting me off the hook.*

Christine? Purely enjoying the show. Glad Talesa was pushing hard to expose Hale’s level—she wanted to observe closely.

Letitia simply believed in Hale. She wanted him to crush Talesa utterly.

And so, with hearts full of hidden motives, the swordsmanship match began.

At the arena’s center stood a vast 200x200 platform.

Beneath it, a magic array hummed—not just for protection. Once activated, it sealed the space inside, cutting off all contact with the outside world.

No stray spells would endanger spectators. No cheating possible.

Talesa stood at the platform’s far left, silver sword in hand.

Young Master Andri stepped up first.

His past victories made him dismissive of Talesa.

Papal Dominion nobility? Born at the pinnacle of the Western Continent.

But Hale had zero confidence in him. He’d seen Andri’s profile during Siman’s route: level cap barely over seventy, swordsmanship talent 【B+】—a chasm away from Talesa’s 【A】.

This game didn’t jump from 【B+】 to 【A】; 【A-】 sat between them. Veteran guides always flagged 【A】-tier talents for late-game pivotal events.

Vice Principal Reed, Marquis Chekhov, Dean Morgan—seasoned veterans like Hale saw it too.

Reporters weren’t masters, but Talesa’s aura screamed *danger*.

Indeed, only Young Master Andri believed in himself.

Less than three minutes later, Talesa sheathed her blade with effortless grace. She didn’t glance at the fallen Andri.

Coldly:

“You lose.”

Andri froze, unable to accept defeat.

Vice Principal Reed clapped for Talesa while signaling security to carry him off—*must preserve decorum; outsiders might think the Papal Dominion can’t handle loss.*

Siman sucked in a sharp breath.

She hadn’t fully grasped Talesa’s technique—only its blinding speed, its singular purpose: *end the fight*.

Noble swordsmanship was for show. Elegance over lethality.

After Hale’s stern lesson years ago, Siman had trained hard in the Feng family’s knightly style. But she was still a girl. Killing wasn’t her goal.

Her style lacked edge now. And fear flickered in her chest.

*What if I lose?*

Talesa’s sword was as sharp as northern winds.

That year Hale’s reputation shattered, Siman fled on winter break—to Cathrine.

They say *only winter reveals Cathrine’s soul*. Yet none of its snowy vistas struck her as deeply as Talesa’s blade defeating Andri just now.

“My next opponent?”

As security carried Andri away, Talesa’s gaze swept past Siman—locking solely on the black-haired youth.

*He was always the target.*

Siman noticed. After a breath, she stepped forward.

Calmly:

“It’s me.”

“Mm.”

Talesa nodded. A trace of disappointment flickered at the corner of her eye.

Defeating Siman? Still confident. Not difficult.

Siman’s heart hammered. *Afraid to lose.*

But not foolish. She saw Talesa’s true aim.

*Hale must be strong.*

She’d hoped he’d win one match here—to mend his standing at Sanctum University, in Saint Louis.

He’d said Papal Dominion tradition required him to yield a round.

But now? Talesa demanded three straight. He wouldn’t yield. *Would he go all out?*

Talesa was formidable. Even Hale’s full power might not guarantee victory.

*Then… can I wear her down first?*

If I win—he stays off the platform.

If I lose—his odds rise.

*Huff…*

Just as Siman steeled herself to step up—

An arm blocked her path.

“Siman. Let me take this round.”

“Huh?”

Incredulous. *He changed his mind?*

Across the platform, Talesa’s eyes lit with quiet delight.

*Perfect. Hale in the second round.*

“Let me handle it.”

Hale offered no explanation. Only quiet resolve.

He couldn’t tell Siman: *If you lose, the game’s mechanics might push you down the mana replenishment route.*

He knew what Talesa sought. He understood Cathrine’s secret codes.

Once the sealing array activated—cutting all magical contact—he murmured the Kingdom of Cathrine Intelligence Department’s cipher:

“Forfeit.”

Talesa froze.

Then—fury nearly stole her breath.