"Linen Norton… you're being a little too extreme."
Even though she wanted Mordiana torn to pieces, Teresia still felt she had to warn Linen not to act on impulse.
Tonight, backed by a powerful, mysterious heroic spirit, Linen had maneuvered three Cardinals—and the gods behind them—into crowning him the one-and-only chosen of three gods. Under the Empress's protection, he had even driven back the Mana Spirit tide. His achievements were dazzling.
But compared to the enemy they were about to face…
That brilliance was nothing.
It was precisely because Teresia recognized Linen's potential—and acknowledged his ability—that she'd opened up to him, trying to draw closer as an ally. She'd even been willing to sacrifice herself in exchange for a promise: that one day, Linen would hunt Mordiana down.
But she wanted even less to see him swell with arrogance, misjudge his own strength before he fully matured, and throw his life away against an enemy he had no business facing.
Before, she didn't want that.
Now… she wanted it even less.
Hearing her concern, Linen only smiled.
"Don't worry, Miss Teresia. I'm very aware of my limits. If a peak Eighth-Ring powerhouse is the bright moon, then even if I play every last trump card I have, I'm not even a firefly before Mordiana."
"And speaking of which…" Linen chuckled. "So you actually care whether I live, Miss Teresia?"
Faced with his teasing, Teresia could only fall silent.
Because he wasn't belittling himself on purpose. He was stating a fact.
Back when she still served the Tower of Chronomancy, she'd once seen a Ring-bearer in action with her own eyes—during a joint mission.
Their target had been a key minister of a small country. The assassination failed. In his final moments, the man drank a secret potion and forcibly transformed into a blasphemous monster, instantly killing the strongest assassin among them.
Teresia remembered it clearly: a Sixth-Ring dual-path combat assassin—both mage and warrior—who had boasted before the mission that even a Seventh-Ring could be fought.
And yet the potion-boosted monster killed him in one blow.
Just as Teresia thought she was about to die, a scene like divine revelation unfolded.
Time froze. Space split.
A figure in a black robe appeared as though it were nothing, seized the monster—something that could kill a Sixth-Ring in one blow—as casually as lifting a baby, and left just as calmly.
Teresia only learned afterward that the person who'd intervened had been one of the Tower's Ring-bearers—and that they hadn't been "saving" her team at all.
The blasphemous monster was simply a test subject that Ring-bearer needed for an Arcana experiment.
A creature that could kill a Sixth-Ring in one blow was, to a Ring-bearer, nothing but a toy.
Mordiana was also a Ring-bearer.
Teresia had long accepted that her road to revenge would not be easy.
So no matter what, she couldn't watch her greatest support—her greatest hope—walk into death here.
That was all.
As for what came after they finished taking revenge together… the debt of being imprisoned and humiliated by Linen was a different matter. When that time came, she would repay His Highness in full.
"If you're counting on your mother—the Red Dragon Empress—I suggest you don't place too much hope there."
Teresia chose her words carefully.
"House Norton's dragonblood knights and Her Majesty Tivira are formidable, yes. But maintaining a city-class barrier alone is already a heavy drain, and even leaving the gap aside… she can't keep Mordiana here. If Mordiana escapes, you could be in danger."
"I suggest you withdraw with the nobles first, then make plans."
That was the real point: the gap was real.
A knight might beat an Arcana Mage in a straight fight, but an Arcana Mage had endless tricks—especially one whose authority involved warped spatial attributes.
Even weakened, the Empress might not lose to Mordiana.
But if Linen chose that moment to show his face—given that smug blond-prince face of his, his sharp tongue, and the fact he'd just destroyed her singularity—he might draw aggro so hard the Shadow Queen lost control.
And then it would be anyone's guess whether Mordiana's hatred turned on the Empress… or on Linen.
"You've gambled too many times tonight, Linen Norton," Teresia said, unusually earnest.
"But you can't keep praying forever for the Goddess of Luck to stand on your side."
Linen kept his gaze on the castle, not answering.
Only after a long while did he lift his palm toward the brightening dawn and speak, unhurried.
"Gambled too many times?"
"Miss Teresia… what if I told you that everything tonight—surprises aside—has still been within my grasp?"
"Would you believe me?"
Teresia pressed her lips together.
If it were anyone else, she wouldn't.
But it was Linen. Somehow, in the worst situations, he always produced a solution that fit the crisis perfectly. Teresia couldn't swear his words were true—yet she couldn't dismiss them as lies either.
"Mordiana didn't even spare attention for her own singularity," Linen said lightly. "So where do you think she is now?"
"An Eighth-Ring Knight can't keep Her Majesty here. But what if you add another Eighth-Ring Knight…"
"And a dueling space that forbids escaping with the Spatial Arcana?"
"Would that be 'qualified,' do you think?"
Linen asked with a smile.
A second Eighth-Ring Knight willing to fight to the death?
Where would you even find one?
And Mordiana right now was probably already inside the castle—
Teresia was about to retort when her eyes widened, pupils trembling.
"Don't tell me you're planning to—"
"Who knows?" Linen spread his hands. "We have to gamble one more time."
"But I've built up a lot of luck tonight. The Goddess of Luck ought to smile on me at least once."
"Madman. You're actually insane." Teresia swallowed hard. "Those odds… the Goddess of Luck would have to favor you like crazy. You'd practically have to be her chosen."
"And people say Zijinghua doesn't worship gods—" she muttered. "Your Highness is great at grabbing a goddess by the thigh in an emergency. But hugging that many thighs at once—aren't you afraid you'll tip the cart?"
"I'd prefer the goddesses wore black stockings," Linen said politely, deliberately ignoring the warning in her tone.
"But you're being shallow, Miss Teresia. Most people who tip the cart by hugging too many divine thighs do it because they're idiots who deserve it."
"Oh?" Teresia sneered. "And you have a higher understanding?"
"I do." Linen nodded and pointed at the marks of three gods' favor on his body—nearly drained before, now slowly recovering.
"As long as I hug enough thighs…"
"I can't tip."
Even gods competed with each other.
And right now, he badly needed the Holy Light Goddess to keep protecting him.
"So what are you doing first?" Teresia asked.
"First, obviously…" Linen said, pulling hair wax from his spatial ring, "I gel my hair."
He smoothed his slightly messy hair from the night's fighting. Then holy light washed over him, and the blood-stained clothes became pristine again.
"I can't show up looking like a wreck for my favorite part, can I?"
Favorite part? What was he even talking about?
Teresia frowned, utterly lost.
...
Inside the castle, in a shadowed corner, a tall silhouette slowly rose from the darkness and stepped forward.
The female figure, still forming, let out an annoyed snort and glanced at the clearing sky outside.
"I didn't expect there to be capable people among those useless soldiers and Shadow Knights. They actually destroyed my singularity."
"Was it that brat Quinn…? Or some self-preservation trump card the Flame Rose Empire's emperor left for his youngest daughter?"
"But whatever."
She fully stepped out of the shadow. That arrogant smile returned to her sharp, beautiful face as she lifted her chin.
"As long as the final result is good, the more twists the process has, the sweeter victory tastes."
She looked toward the huge hall doors, signaling the tall figure standing there—silent as a reef, both hands on a greatsword.
"Right…?"
The tall figure didn't answer. He lifted the greatsword from the floor with one hand, planted the other on the doors, and pushed.
Rumble!
The lockwork shrieked. Brutal force ignored it entirely, forcing the banquet hall doors open anyway.
Mordiana's sightline opened at once—past overturned dining tables, across the dance floor still shimmering with decadent light, over the red carpet threaded with gold, up the steps—
To meet the lone figure seated on the throne, dressed in deep-red formalwear, staring back from afar.
From the shadows, Mordiana slowly spoke the name.
"Tivira Norton… Your Majesty?"
"Shadow Queen. Mana Spirit Calamity. Mordiana." Tivira's long phoenix eyes narrowed. "Is it you who would overturn my empire?"
The air around the throne warped. A faint crackle sounded, like invisible heat rising along tight seams.
The queen of the Shadow World and the Empress of reality faced each other for the first time.
One woman's smile grew wider and wider.
The other's lips—once faintly curved—slowly flattened, her brows darkening.
Because the person who was supposed to be "watching"…
Was standing behind the Shadow Queen.
Reinhardt hadn't stopped Mordiana. After opening the doors for her, he followed her into the ballroom.
"How does it feel, Your Majesty?" Mordiana's smile deepened, nearly curling into a grin. "The one and only Empress in all of history."
At last. The moment the victor revealed everything, flaunted her triumph—and delivered the backstab.
A painful, fatal betrayal.
Mordiana's favorite part.
"Did you think you'd already won, Empress?"
"That legion. That singularity. I can make dozens of them in a single night." She laughed lightly. "And your subordinates are cheering like idiots because they destroyed one shoddy little work of mine—like they accomplished some grand victory—without the faintest idea what their great Empress is facing right now."
She flicked her eyes toward the man beside her, amused.
"The lion you spent over a decade trying to tame is following behind me like a good boy, answering the Tower's call and standing in the proper place."
"Are you surprised? Shocked?"
Her eyes glittered with mockery and anticipation.
"I really wanted to see it—see that jealous look in your eyes…"
"What a shame. You always disappoint me, great Empress."
Tivira ignored her. Her gaze stayed locked on Reinhardt, crimson eyes burning like fire.
"The North… and you." Her voice was cold. "I should never have tolerated either of you."
The Duke of the North remained silent.
Mordiana frowned.
"Hey, Reinhardt. Her Majesty is speaking to you. It's only polite to answer."
Reinhardt gave Mordiana a sidelong glance and spoke in a low voice.
"I have never, for a single moment, regretted my choice. Not now. Not on any day."
A laugh rang out—wildly out of place.
Mordiana dabbed at her eye, waving a hand as she laughed.
"You people really are entertaining!"
She looked at Reinhardt, smiling.
"Even at this point, you still call each other 'subject' and 'Your Majesty.' This harmonious sovereign-and-minister tableau…"
"It makes me want to vomit."
The atmosphere in the hall snapped taut as a drawn sword.
Tivira rose from the throne. The once-gilded seat that had served its purpose crumbled into ash. Tangled shadows in the corners twisted, as if devils were about to claw their way out. The old lion's spirit surged; on the two faces of his lion-tooth greatsword, two utterly different figures were reflected.
"Heh. Everyone's here." A calm voice broke in. "Looks like I arrived at a bad time."
At the very moment three Eighth-Ring powerhouses were about to clash, a figure strolled in from outside.
After fighting all night, Linen looked every inch the elegant noble. Not a speck of dirt stained the hem of his formalwear. He even wore a fashionable round-brim hat and carried a silver-trimmed cane.
He didn't look like someone who'd fought to the death—
He looked like a rich young rake heading into the front row of an opera.
Inside his right hand, Lily curled her lip.
You look slick now, but when you used divine power to sprint here, you looked pretty pathetic.
"You're Linen Norton?" Mordiana licked her lips. "Perfect timing."
She hadn't forgotten her promise.
From afar at the ball, she'd only thought this prince looked pleasing enough. Up close… he made her burn even hotter.
She could hardly wait to force Tivira to watch while Mordiana toyed with her favorite child at leisure.
It would be Linen's honor to be "graced" by her.
"You came back fast," Tivira said, expression still flat, as if Linen's arrival was nothing. Only silently did she divert a portion of her blessing to him, preventing him from being crushed by the pressure of three Eighth-Ring powerhouses.
"Reporting to Your Majesty," Linen said with a bow, "after casually destroying a small singularity that attempted to harm you, I immediately returned."
"Oh?" Mordiana arched a brow. "A 'small' singularity? You destroyed my shadow singularity?"
"Yes. Is there a problem?" Linen turned toward her and spread his hands earnestly. "I've honestly never seen such a low-quality spatial singularity. Even an Arcana Mage like me could break it apart."
"And by the way—I'm only Third Ring, you know~"
He waved three fingers cheerfully.
After a brief silence, Mordiana laughed softly.
She could feel her temperature rising.
She really hadn't misjudged him.
She was even more interested in this prince now.
She couldn't take it. She wanted Linen—wanted him—wanted to—
Should she pour an entire mass of shadow power into his Weave?
Or simply toss this elegant prince into the Shadow Realm until he mutated?
In an instant, Mordiana's presence surged, and the delicate balance shattered.
"Sharp-tongued little prince." She smiled as she walked toward Tivira alone. "Now get out of the way. I hope when this is over, that nimble tongue of yours can still amuse me the way it does now~"
She had said it from the start: the Red Dragon was her prey.
Reinhardt was just an old dog that had crawled to the Tower. She wouldn't allow him to interfere with her hunt.
But now that Linen had appeared, Reinhardt could still be useful—he could keep an eye on the interesting prince. If Linen got shaken to death by the battle's aftershock, that would be such a waste of fun.
""Reinhardt, move.""
Mordiana froze.
Because at almost the exact same moment she gave the order, another voice echoed the same words—nearly perfectly in sync.
She instinctively snapped her gaze toward him.
He was standing farther back, smiling like a man watching an opera.
Unease and warning flared in her chest—and just before those thoughts could fully take shape—
Skkrt!
A wide, heavy greatsword tore through her shadow defenses and burst out the other side, skewering Mordiana straight through—chest to lower abdomen.
"Cough… cough…"
The Shadow Queen turned her head in disbelief, trying to look back.
"You… old dog…"
She had been on guard against the "defector" duke the whole time—yet she hadn't expected that with his size and that weapon, his thrust could be so fast, so vicious.
In a blink. In a single opening.
All-out.
Like a lion striking prey.
The Duke of the North—silent, reserved, a towering man who seemed unrelated to the word "lion" at all—wore no expression. But every muscle in his body bulged, making the armor beneath his robe clank.
Azure battle aura wrapped around the greatsword that had nearly split Mordiana in half. With a snarl of force, he drove it in again.
"This is our country."
The old lion's eyes blazed. His blade flung up a spray of blood.
"The ones who should get out… are you."
"..."
Now the "main character" Empress—who had been ready to fight two enemies head-on—was abruptly reduced to a bystander.
For once, Tivira looked… faintly awkward, as if she didn't know what expression to wear.
She even felt a little unnecessary.
So she very wisely looked toward her son, who had just entered the hall.
Linen held his hat in one hand and raised his cane in the other to shield his face from the splattering blood. His eyes sparkled with bright excitement.
A backstabbingl!
My favorite part—thank god I made it.
Quinn didn't get to see this…
She's gonna cry her eyes out~
---
T/N: WHAAAAAAAAAAATTTT???? I NEED AN EXPLANATION
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