The Anbert estate stood in the heart of Willshire's noble quarter, far from the weathered stone of Merrick Castle. It lacked the ancient prestige of a baronial fortress, but its polished wood and manicured hedges told a different kind of story—one of coin and quiet ambition.
On the second floor, in a room that smelled of oils and parchment, Anna bent eagerly over her canvas.
"Look at this one," she said, holding the edge of her sketch toward the man beside her. "I really tried this time."
Ruis—tall only in posture, slender in frame—gave her a small, approving smile. His blond hair fell just above pale, sharp eyes. He studied the garden scene she'd painted.
"Much better," he said. "The composition is improving. But… you see this here?"
He leaned in, lifting his brush.
Just a few strokes. A touch of sunlight in the sky, a softened edge along the path. Suddenly, the piece breathed.
Anna's eyes lit up. She tilted toward him, brushing her shoulder against his arm.
"You make it seem so easy," she whispered.
He glanced down at her. And for a moment, their hands met, and then—so did their lips.
Anna melted into the kiss, fingers slipping up his collar, the silk of her robe rustling as it slid from one shoulder.
But before she could press closer, Ruis pulled away.
Her brows furrowed.
"What's wrong?"
He hesitated. "It's not you. I just… I keep thinking about the duel."
"Listern and Quent?" she said lightly. "They're doing exactly what I hoped."
She sat up straighter, eyes bright with mischief and certainty. "After the duel—once the city is distracted—we leave. Together. Like we planned."
She reached for his hand.
"No one will stop us."
But Ruis didn't answer. His face was pale, jaw tight.
"Anna… are we sure we can escape? Out there, beyond the kingdom—things aren't safe."
His voice cracked a little.
"I've heard the roads are overrun. And your father—he's been watching me. I think he knows."
Anna's softness vanished.
She stood, eyes cold.
"You're scared," she said flatly.
"No," he said quickly. "I just—"
"You said we'd leave together."
"I—"
"Don't lie, Ruis." Her voice had gone flat and sharp.
The room fell quiet.
"I'm risking everything," she continued. "My name. My family. And you want to talk about bad roads?"
"I only meant—"
"No, I get it." She turned away from him, arms crossed. "You thought you'd marry into nobility. That you'd become someone. And now it's not so easy."
Ruis winced.
Because it was true.
He had never loved her—not really. She was beautiful, yes. Enchanting, even. But it was her position that had tempted him.
Until Listern had come along.
And then Quent.
And then the lies had grown teeth.
Anna glanced back at him. "You think you're in danger now? Back out, and you won't have to worry about roads. Because Listern won't let you live to see one."
Ruis swallowed hard.
"…I'll be ready," he said quickly. "We'll go. I promise."
She gave him one last look—long and cold—before turning toward her easel.
"Good," she said.
"Let's practice. My brushwork is still weak."
Miles across the city, the great stone walls of Merrick Castle loomed in the morning light.
Listern stood in the keep's ancient library, thumbing through brittle volumes. Dust floated in golden shafts from the tall windows, and the hearth had long since gone cold.
He set down the third book that hour and rubbed his temples.
Nothing. Not a single reference. No maps. No records.
The Chu Empire—a name that should have been ancient history in this world—was absent from every text. Not even a whisper of its jungles, its sky cities, or its legendary passive arts.
And yet… Listern remembered.
In Godsend's first expansion, the Chu Empire was the cradle of passive skill acquisition. A place where, long before players fought bosses or leveled stats, they learned to breathe, parry, observe.
Listern had been a fool in that first run. He'd ignored Chu for the glamour of power.
Not this time.
He had time—if barely. If he could reach Chu before the Players arrived, he could anchor himself in something they'd all missed.
He turned as footsteps echoed behind him.
Anker, his old steward, stepped into the room, a small scroll in hand.
"Well?"
Anker bowed low.
"My lord… we've heard nothing."
Listern frowned. "From the Duke's manor?"
"Yes, my lord. The message was delivered—directly to Lord Quent's valet. There is no doubt the boy received it."
"And still, no response?"
"None."
Listern's fingers tightened around the chair's edge.
Damn him.
That wasn't silence—it was a message in itself. Quent wasn't just ignoring him.
He was letting the duel stand.
Why?
If the rumors were true—if Quent had any honor, any shred of pride—then the affair with Anna should've been enough to make him cancel everything.
And yet.
Still nothing.
"Perhaps," Anker offered carefully, "the Duke forbade him from replying. Or Quent is under house arrest."
Listern shook his head slowly.
"No. If the Duke wanted to protect his house, he'd bury this duel. Quietly. Not let it go public."
Anker hesitated. "Then… what does it mean?"
Listern stood.
"It means," he said, voice cold and quiet, "that something about this entire affair is wrong. Very, very wrong."
Either Quent knows the girl is lying and doesn't care… or this was never about Anna at all.
Maybe it never was.
He crossed to the window, gazing out at the city spires in the late morning haze.
If word got out—if the city learned that the heir to a dukedom was fighting for a girl who'd been sneaking around with a commoner—the scandal would burn everything.
The Duke's name.
Quent's future.
And Anna's life.
Unless that's what they want, Listern thought grimly. Unless the duel is bait.
Either way, it meant one thing.
He would have to survive it.
Not just to win.
But to uncover who had set this all in motion—and why.