"Ugly freak?" Xia Feng shook his head with a wry smile—his first time enjoying such a lofty title.Noticing the dy’s quizzical look, Axel quickly expined, “Those are my two cousins—joining me to see the capital this time.”

  He wasn’t ready to reveal Yaoji’s princess status.

  Her eyes brightened again. “You’re heading to the capital? Perfect—I’m returning to my family there to honor my te father. Oh, I haven’t introduced myself—to my saviors, I’ll conceal nothing. I’m Shen Dan, consort of Southern King Yan Gonghai. For travel’s sake, I use my husband’s surname, calling myself Lady Yan.”

  “Southern King’s consort?” Axel jolted in surprise.

  Eastern Xuan Kingdom had four titled vassal kings guarding its borders: Eastern King in the east (including Eastern Ling City), Southern and Northern Kings in their respective domains, and Western King—renamed King Lie due to “west” being taboo, given the enmity with the Great Western Empire. These four ranked just below the emperor in prestige.

  Axel hurriedly paid respects, introducing her to the group.

  Ji Xuanxuan and Yaoji showed astonishment; Xia Feng shrugged it off. To him, a king’s consort was just a woman—better groomed, maybe.

  The two parties merged, setting off for the capital overnight.

  With a rger group and greater stakes, Axel grew more anxious about the road ahead.

  Thankfully, they’d exit Dayao Mountains by the next day. Beyond y bustling towns where neither necromancers nor Gray Wolf bandits could easily strike amidst crowds.

  Xia Feng mulled over how to find Dumas across this sprawling continent, while Lady Yan seemed preoccupied, speaking little.

  Each lost in thought, they pressed silently toward Eastern Xuan’s capital.

  Jin City’s autumn nights were cold and damp, the chill a persistent shadow seeping through clothes, piercing skin into bone, sending shivers from the core.

  Old Cao, the Compiler, hunched closer to his oil mp, as if its faint glow could lend warmth.

  Outside, the second watch’s drum faintly sounded, yet sleep eluded him. He kept shuffling his divining rods, calcuting tirelessly.

  Having served under Emperor Zhengde, Emperor Yong, and now Emperor Yu, Cao was the court’s sole three-dynasty veteran.

  His survival owed less to his minor role—overseeing royal archives—and more to his quiet nature, never offending any faction. But he credited his knack for divination, dodging peril with uncanny foresight.

  Tonight, though, his rods—nearly snapped from frantic use—yielded no crity. Three times they warned of dire camity—great danger, unrelenting—without hint or remedy. A first in his life.

  Doubt crept into his craft. Days ago, he’d idly divined the realm’s fate and Eastern Xuan’s destiny; the rods foretold a cataclysmic disaster, a once-in-ten-thousand-years ruin.

  Perplexed, he sighed inwardly: Maybe age has dulled my skill.

  Packing the rods, he rose to leave his study, mp in hand. Turning, a shiver racked him—back iced, scalp prickling, nearly tumbling. A bck figure stood silently behind him, less than a foot away.

  “Who?” His voice quaked, retreating three steps to colpse in a chair. The shadow stepped forward, answering in a bone-chilling tone, “I’m a messenger of the god.”

  “God’s… messenger?” Cao echoed, incredulous.

  He squinted at the figure.

  Despite a forced friendliness, the bck robe and deathly pale face oozed menace. Cao didn’t need to ponder—surely no divine envoy, more like a devil’s minion! Thinking it, he blurted, “You… you’re not!”

  “Need proof?” The figure grinned, baring stark white teeth.

  He raised his hands, palms facing. A faint glow sparked between them, swelling into a shimmering line—like lightning on a stormy night—linking his hands. It bzed brighter, casting eerie blue light.

  With a flick toward the void, the line sshed free, streaking past Cao to his desk. A fsh, then gone. The room stilled, his hands dimmed.

  Cao gnced at the desk, curious about the blue streak. Gasping, he saw it split cleanly in two, sliding apart—its cut smoother than the finest saw mark.

  Stunned speechless, he’d never heard of such a thing, let alone seen it.

  Yet he still wouldn’t buy this as a god’s messenger—maybe hell’s, at best.

  He recalled his divination—spot on, it seemed.

  “Does it matter if I’m divine?” the figure mused, as if reading his mind, smiling faintly. “I just want to ask about some old affairs from over a decade back.”

  “Wh-what affairs?”

  “Seventeen years ago, Emperor Zhengde was sin by the usurping Emperor Yong. Amid the pace chaos, when order returned, Yong couldn’t find a sacred relic of Eastern Xuan. Where’d it go?”

  “The Imperial Seal was found, wasn’t it?” Cao frowned, confused.

  “Not the seal—something holier, more precious,” the figure stepped closer, his pale face glowing demonically in the mplight, dark eyes like bottomless wells locking onto Cao. “I mean the ‘Dragon Blood Pearl.’”

  “D-Dragon… Blood Pearl?” Cao stammered. “I-I don’t know what that is!”

  “If a three-dynasty elder like you doesn’t know, no one does,” the figure sighed, eyes glinting.

  Cao dodged his stare, babbling, “I really don’t—it’s not with me!”

  “Of course it’s not,” the figure said, closing his eyes. Silence fell. A faint glow seemed to flicker at his brow, then vanished.

  Opening his eyes, he said calmly, “In your left sleeve, twelve silver coins. In your right, two coppers and a kerchief. A red birthmark on your waist, a scar on your back. Downstairs, your young concubine’s bedroom—under her pillow, a man’s jade pendant, probably not yours.”

  Cao’s face froze in unprecedented shock, jaw dropping. Seeing him rattled, the figure pressed, “Tell me—where did Zhengde hide the ‘Dragon Blood Pearl’? He wouldn’t leave his compiler without a secret record.”

  Sweat beaded down Cao’s aged face, but he clenched his jaw shut. The figure coaxed softly, “Speak—keeping secrets is tough. Don’t lie, though—I’ll know.”

  Cao stayed mute. The figure sighed, “Must I turn you into a drooling fool?” His dark eyes glimmered again, fixing on Cao’s.

  The old man thrashed, unable to turn away or shut his lids. His gaze fogged, hand creeping to his waist. Grasping a dagger, he yanked it free and plunged it into his chest.

  The move caught the figure off guard—too te to stop him.

  Checking the wound, he saw the bde had pierced the heart, blood gushing from the slot.

  With his st breath, Cao grinned triumphantly. “I’m dead—you can’t read me now.”

  As he slumped, the figure shook his head regretfully, then glided out the window like a wraith.

  Moments ter, he galloped down Jin City’s empty streets on a Mao horse, its padded hooves silent, rider and steed a spectral blur in the night.

  Letting the horse run free, he stared at the fleeting darkness, muttering, “Sky Eye sees a thousand li—why can’t I find it? Is the ‘Dragon Blood Pearl’ beyond Eastern Xuan?”

  Cao’s death stirred little in court. Though a high-ranking compiler, his post held no real power—a mere fixture. His reclusive nature made him a backdrop to most, and his suicide only fueled idle gossip—specution on motives sharpening courtiers’ imaginations.

  No one knew of his study’s halved desk or its uncanny cut—details deliberately hushed.

  Only King Lie, Lin Xiaoyu, cared deeply. Since aiding Emperor Yu’s rise, he’d lingered in the capital, not his western fief.

  At news of Cao’s death, he rushed to the scene.

  Seeing the split desk, he inhaled sharply. Even a battle-hardened veteran couldn’t fathom a weapon so precise.“Could it be the legendary ‘Bde of Darkness’?” he ventured hesitantly.

  A white-robed elder beside him, past seventy, shook his head. “Even the ‘Bde of Darkness’ couldn’t do this.”

  Lin Xiaoyu froze—trusting the old man’s judgment—his bewilderment growing. “Not the ‘Bde of Darkness’? Then what? The Holy Sword of Light?”

  The elder didn’t answer at once. After a long silence, he sighed, “I’ve never seen a cut like this.”