Why hadn't Lancer initially recognized Leone?
Simple—because when he first met her, Leone had worn a tattered cloak, cropped her hair short, and deliberately smudged her face with dirt. Combined with poor nutrition and tightly-bound wraps hiding her figure, Lancer hadn't even realized she was a girl.
But now, almost two months since Lancer had "bought" her, Leone's boyish haircut had grown out enough to unmistakably reveal her gender. With her naturally striking features now properly cared for, she radiated a youthful, lively charm.
Yet, at this moment, seeing the silver-haired man's unsettling smile, Leone couldn't help feeling a shiver down her spine.
"Let me go! My master's a Colonel in the Imperial Guard!"
"Oho~ A Colonel~?"
Leone had thought mentioning Lancer's rank would scare the man off. After all, the Imperial Guard carried serious weight in the Capital, especially officers at the rank of Colonel or above. While General Budo's strict rule—"The army must never interfere in politics"—limited their political influence, everyone knew the Imperial Guard held the Emperor's utmost trust. No noble dared casually antagonize them.
But to Leone's astonishment, her usually foolproof tactic failed spectacularly. The man showed no fear at all, only a twisted amusement.
"So what if your master's a Colonel? You really think he'd pick a fight with me over a mere slave? Ha! Once he knows who I am, he'll probably hand you over with a smile."
Although Leone now looked significantly better than she once had, she was still just above average at best. Yet Syura—perhaps bored from recently sampling too much "high-grade merchandise"—suddenly craved something ordinary.
Besides, Syura hadn't just been bluffing. With his father's influence, he'd wreaked havoc as a governor's son in the countryside. Only after arriving in the Capital had he learned what truly "high-quality goods" looked like. And best of all, none of those women dared defy him openly. Their fearful, forced smiles thrilled Syura's increasingly twisted tastes.
Now entering a period of boredom, Syura felt a sudden rush of nostalgia looking at Leone, whose wrist he tightly gripped. She tried to resist but was helpless—exactly like the first time he'd tasted power. How old had he been back then? Barely in his teens, perhaps, when he first felt curiosity toward women's bodies and assaulted a maid in his household. She had worn the same desperate expression—defiant yet utterly helpless.
"Women are born to be conquered. I promise you'll enjoy it more with me than with your master. Trust me, you'll be begging for—"
Clang!
Before Syura finished his sentence, the sharp ring of metal echoed near his ear. A shirtless man had appeared beside him and Leone without warning, a dagger now embedded at their feet.
Syura had trained at the Imperial Fist Temple since childhood, albeit half-heartedly. But his exceptional natural talent, combined with Honest's influence, still made him stronger than most of his peers. His current pathetic state was only because he'd just come from entertaining two noblewomen.
Realizing he'd narrowly avoided being killed by that dagger, Syura's face twisted with rage.
"Who?! Who dares ambush me?!"
In response, a blue-haired young woman calmly stepped out from a nearby alleyway.
"I was going to let this play out a bit longer, but you—your arrogance really ticks me off."
It was Esdeath!
She'd heard from passersby that the Imperial Guard had already escorted the Emperor back to the Capital. Lancer, therefore, would likely return soon. Unable to resist her anticipation after nearly two months without their usual sparring sessions, Esdeath had come early to wait at Lancer's villa.
What she hadn't expected was to arrive just in time to see Lancer's maid getting harassed. She'd originally planned to hide and watch the show, but Syura's bold declaration—"Women are born to be conquered"—triggered an irresistible urge to intervene.
Even more surprising was that her supposedly perfect sneak attack had been effortlessly deflected.
Already excited by the thought of seeing Lancer again, Esdeath's eyes narrowed dangerously. Anyone familiar with her knew this expression signaled she was fully engaged.
"My lord, please be extremely cautious."
"Huh?"
Syura, still annoyed at being scared by a mere woman, suddenly froze at his subordinate's solemn tone. His father's bodyguards had never shown such caution before.
"This woman… She's the champion from that recent tournament."
"Ha? You mean the one who got knocked unconscious?"
Was Syura truly careless or deliberately suicidal?
He'd stepped on two of Esdeath's biggest landmines in quick succession. Shuten, who'd positioned himself protectively in front of Syura, instantly turned pale. He saw that the dangerous woman had lost all trace of amusement, her hand already gripping her sword hilt.
You idiot! Being defeated doesn't mean she's weak—it only proves her opponent was stronger!
As a veteran member of the Four Rakshasa Demons from the Imperial Fist Temple, Shuten had survived countless battles. Right now, his finely honed instincts were screaming at him that this woman was extremely dangerous.
He'd guarded Honest secretly during that tournament, so he hadn't paid much attention to the details. But he was certain this girl had never exhibited the kind of deadly presence radiating from her now.
How had she grown so terrifyingly strong?
These thoughts churned rapidly inside his mind, yet Shuten's outward expression remained perfectly composed.
His earlier deflection of Esdeath's dagger hadn't been luck. While it seemed she held the weapon advantage, no fight in this world was ever a guaranteed outcome. If he could dodge her initial strikes and get close, victory would quickly swing to his side.
Syura, despite his recent reckless lifestyle, was no fool. Feeling Esdeath's lethal intent lock onto him brought immediate clarity. He grabbed Leone roughly, picked up the fallen dagger, and pressed it tightly against her throat.
"Stop! Or I'll kill her!"
"Go ahead."
"What?!"
At Syura's startled cry, Esdeath's blade flashed from its scabbard in a blur of icy steel, the razor-sharp point aiming straight for Syura's head.
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