With determination burning in her eyes, Nymeria lunged forward gracefully with her little steps.
She had barely reached halfway when the old cultivator stopped her mid-stride.
"Lady Nymeria! You mustn't raise your weapon against the Prince!" the old cultivator exclaimed, his face horrified. "It would be treason!"
"Grandpa Oswin, I'm only playing sword-sword, just like I play with you," Nymeria pouted in protest, her cheeks puffing out.
"Th-this is different, Lady Nymeria," the old man named Oswin insisted. "The Prince mustn't be harmed, or we will face the wrath of the heavens."
Taranis, who had been listening to the conversation from the sidelines, grew angrier with every word that left Oswin's mouth. The reaction Oswin was giving was exactly the same as the one countless parents had shown whenever their children tried to get a little closer to him—resulting in the same unbreakable wall being erected between them and Taranis.
