The quiet of the tent was broken by the abrupt rustling of canvas. Vel, the wood elf, stepped in, her gait swift but measured, eyes wide with urgency. She glanced apologetically to Xulian before her gaze fixed on Cilian.

  Your Highness, we have a situation back at the main force. A message has arrived.”

  Cilian’s attention snapped from Xulian to her. “Explain. Now.”

  “They were sent by Commander Brill as messengers,” Vel con

  “Your Highness, a party of adventurers has arrived,” she said, voice taut. “Disheveled and exhausted. They report an urgent situation from the main force.”

  She continued, bowing slightly. “The main force, while operating outside the dungeon, encountered a large Surillian army—six hundred knights and over a hundred mages, all bearing their banners. Overwhelmed by the enemy, they were forced to retreat into the dungeon and were pushed down to the fourth floor. This party was sent ahead to deliver the report to you immediately.”

  The tent fell silent for a heartbeat. Even Xulian, who had been quietly observing, stiffened imperceptibly. Her green eyes flicked to Cilian, uncertainty and concern clouding her expression.

  Cilian ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. “I see… The enemy created a trap, making us exhaust ourselves against the goblins before jumping in to finish the job. Our main force has been driven into the dungeon, and now we must support them before the Surillian army overwhelms them further.” He paused, his gaze softening slightly toward Xulian. “And I… I’m sorry you’re caught up in this mess. I know it’s sudden, confusing, and far from what you expected.”

  Xulian’s fingers flexed slightly, her voice low but measured. “Everything changes so quickly. But this situation is no different to me then when I first found myself down here.”

  Lilian leaned forward, voice calm but firm. “Do you plan to move to the main force immediately?”

  Cilian’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. They need support. We must reach them before the Surillian army overwhelms them—or before they advance further into the dungeon and cut us off entirely.”

  Sunette moved to the tent’s entrance, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her weapon. “Then we prepare to move at once?”

  “Yes,” Cilian replied, finally meeting Xulian’s gaze again. “We’ll move quickly, carefully, and as one. Those injured will be aided along the way. We must reach our comrades on the higher floors.”

  Vel glanced between them. “Orders?”

  “Pack what you can carry. Lilian, coordinate the supplies. Sunette, maintain the perimeter while we prepare to depart. We don’t know if an advanced force slipped through. Vel, guide the adventurers' party leaders and the knight officers to the command tent—we’ll need a plan. Xulian…” Cilian paused, studying her expression. “…I trust you’ll act with care and discretion. I know this is a lot to ask.”

  Xulian’s eyes flicked to him, noting the sharp line of his jaw, the noble arch of his brow, the almost storybook symmetry of his features. A prince straight out of a harem novel, huh? she thought. But I won’t be swayed by a CEO-style “handle it because I said so” routine. Not me.

  The elf, paladin, and saintess moved with quiet urgency. The air in the tent was heavy, tense, filled with anticipation. The knowledge that the dungeon no longer held minor threats weighed on them all. They knew what Xulian didn't—that this journey could very well decide the fate of the Marlow Ruin dungeon, and the contested border between the empires of Surille and Belgrúim.

  Cilian left Xulian with an apologetic look and headed for a larger tent, the air inside cooler and heavy with the scent of parchment and candle wax. A broad map of the Marlow Ruin dungeon lay spread across a low table, pins marking stairways, chambers, and known hazards. A handful of adventurers and knight officers hovered around it, murmuring as they reviewed notes.

  A ranger, slightly winded and dust-streaked, approached Cilian and bowed low. “Commander Brill’s orders were clear,” he said, voice steady despite exhaustion. “The main force engaged the Surillian army outside the dungeon, suffered heavy pressure, and retreated. They’ve fallen back to the fourth floor and are establishing a defensive line. We managed to salvage a few communication scrolls, but they await further instructions.”

  Cilian leaned over the map, tracing the corridors and stairways with his finger. “Fourth floor… That will be our priority. They need support, and we need to ensure the enemy doesn’t push deeper before we reach them.”

  The ranger nodded, tapping a scroll against the table. “Yes, sir. We can provide guidance and reconnaissance as needed. The floor is defensible, but if the Surillian army presses again, they will need reinforcements quickly.”

  Before Cilian could respond, a voice interrupted from the tent’s flap. “If I’m going to be dragged into this mess, I might as well be useful.”

  A knight stationed at the entrance stiffened, hand on her sword. “Um… miss—this area is restricted—”

  “I said I’m coming in,” Xulian cut her off, stepping forward with calm determination despite the slight limp in her steps, green eyes scanning the map and the gathered warriors. “I won’t just sit outside while decisions are being made.”

  Cilian paused, considering her stance and resolve. After a moment, he inclined his head slightly. “Very well. You may join us.”

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  Xulian moved to the table under his concerned gaze, observing the pins, annotations, and sketches. As she bent over the map, she saw it not just as paper, but as a living minimap of the dungeon in her mind—the winding corridors and staircases triggering memories of the dungeon-crawling games she had played. The pins marking traps, weak points, and stairways felt like familiar nodes on a grid she had once navigated digitally. The real stakes were heavier than any game, but the logic of space, movement, and control clicked into place.

  She rotated the positions in her mind: enemy placements, friendly units, potential reinforcements. Each corridor and chamber became a tile, each stairwell a chokepoint she could manipulate. Slowly, a strategy began to take shape. If this were a game… northern corridor is exposed, eastern stairwell is safer for reserves… main force needs to hold here…

  Cilian prepared himself, considering the approach to advance and assist the main force. As he studied the map in the midst of heated discussions and traced possible routes, he noticed a peculiar expression flicker across Xulian’s eyes—a spark, almost excitement, hidden beneath her usual calm.

  He looked up, curiosity piqued. “Do you have something to share?”

  Xulian’s eyes met Cilian’s, a quiet intensity behind her gaze. She drew in a breath and began, almost as if speaking to herself first.

  “There was a story I read once,” she said, her voice low but steady. “A small group of soldiers—no more than three hundred—held a narrow strip of land between two rocky cliffs. An army tens of thousands strong pressed against them. The soldiers used the terrain perfectly, forcing the enemy into a bottleneck. Every advance was slowed, every flank blocked. They held the line, and their courage and positioning became legendary. But in the end… the enemy discovered a hidden path through the cliffs and encircled them. Those three hundred were surrounded from behind and cut down. Their stand was remembered, but they were overwhelmed once the terrain advantage was lost.”

  Cilian tilted his head, letting her words sink in. “Are you suggesting we do the same here?” he asked, his tone calm but probing. “Using the dungeon corridors as a natural choke point? It makes sense—maximize our advantage, minimize exposure.”

  Xulian shook her head, a faint, determined smile tugging at her lips. “No. That story is about what worked for the defenders. We will do the opposite. We’ll take the same principles—but we’ll exploit what defeated those three hundred. We’ll turn their tactic against them.”

  A quiet murmur ran through the room as the adventurers and officers exchanged puzzled glances. Cilian’s brow furrowed slightly, though he masked it. “I… see. Explain further?”

  Vel, leaning closer to the map, suddenly gasped and pointed sharply at a section of the northern corridor on the seventh floor. “Wait! You mean here?” Her eyes widened as realization dawned. “If we use the enemy’s path, lure them into this confined area, and control the adjacent passages… this is brilliant! We can channel their forces exactly where we want, cut off their support, and force them into a trap of their own making!”

  The others’ confusion began to melt into astonishment, the pieces of Xulian’s plan snapping into place as Vel’s excitement made the strategy tangible. Xulian’s quiet calculation, once opaque, now gleamed with ruthless clarity on the dungeon map.

  Cilian leaned back slightly, quietly amazed at what Xulian had conceived. Her suggestion turned a chaotic battlefield into a controlled, calculated trap. For a moment, the usually composed prince allowed himself a rare, genuine smile.

  “This… this makes perfect sense,” he said softly, then nodded firmly. “We can refine it—adjust the timing of reinforcements, allocate reserves more efficiently, and secure escape routes in case the enemy reacts unexpectedly.” He began sketching additional markers on the map, integrating Xulian’s insight into a larger plan, the rhythm of their collaboration flowing naturally.

  Before the plan could be fully finalized, Vel approached, her gaze on Xulian. “You’ll need a better weapon for what’s coming. I can take you to the supply tent.”

  Xulian raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Right now? And you just… trust me with this?”

  Vel offered a small smile, graceful and assured. “I’ve seen enough to know you’re capable. Come on.”

  As Xulian followed Vel out of the strategy tent, she couldn’t help but glance at her companion, the elf’s calm poise and sharp movements leaving her momentarily awed. Met an elf lady this quickly… is she part of the hero harem too? The thought flickered through her mind, but before it could linger, a new presence made itself known.

  “Impressive work in there,” said a calm, deep voice. Xulian turned to see Luim in his white and gold temple robe, but with his hood lowered, revealing a shiny balled head. He stood slightly apart, his stance casual but commanding. His eyes held a quiet intensity. “You wield Qi. Like me. And I can see you use swords. Very few of our kind even pick up a blade.”

  Xulian’s eyes widened, a spark of surprise and curiosity crossing her face. “You… you know about Spiritual Energy too?”

  Luim inclined his head. “Yes. We generally call it Qi, and it’s rare to see someone of your level using swords effectively. I respect skill when I see it.” His gaze lingered for a beat longer, genuine admiration in his tone.

  Xulian felt a blush creep up, her thoughts scrambling for words unaccustomed to compliments, only to be swept along as Vel guided her through the camp with Luim in tow. Soldiers and adventurers alike turned their heads, whispers rippling through the tents. The story of the level ten girl who had almost bested the elite warriors had spread like wildfire, and now everyone watched as Xulian moved past, an aura of both curiosity and awe surrounding her.

  They approached the supply tent, the heavy fabric flap parting as they entered under the watchful eyes of the gathered camp. Xulian took a deep breath, her mind spinning from both the unexpected admiration and the weight of the plans she had just helped shape.

  Inside the supply tent, the scent of polished metal and oiled wood mingled with the earthy smell of stored provisions. Racks of weapons lined the walls, rows of swords, spears, and polearms gleaming under the muted candlelight. Xulian’s gaze swept across the collection, lingering on every sword with a keen, almost reverent attention.

  Though her face remained composed, internally she felt a flutter of shyness at the eyes of the camp upon her. She steadied herself, taking a deep breath, and allowed the persona of a sword cultivation fairy to fill her stance. Calm, graceful, deliberate.

  Moving to the center of the room, she spoke softly, more to herself than anyone else, but almost as if addressing the spirits of the weapons themselves. “Who wishes to be my partner?”

  A strange resonance filled the camp. Every sword—not just those in the supply tent, but every blade wielded by soldiers and adventurers across the camp—began to hum and vibrate, vibrating through hands, racks, and even the ground beneath their feet. Whispers and murmurs erupted as the collective astonishment of the camp grew.

  And then, the most astonishing moment: Cilian’s sword, still resting in the command tent, leapt from its sheath as if drawn by invisible threads, spinning through the air with perfect precision, and flew out of the tent. It landed effortlessly in Xulian’s right hand, the hum of all other swords echoing around her.

  She froze in shock, eyes wide, heart racing, the resonance of the entire camp’s blades filling her ears before slowly fading away as she stared at the sword in her hands.

  No fucking way…