The protagonist and the prince led the terattack, rallying what remained of the imperial forces to fight back. Their as solidified William’s reputation, painting him as a leader worthy of the throne. His favorability among nobles skyrocketed, pushing his cim as emperor even further.

  Meanwhile, Eugene uncovered a critical clue about the mastermind behind the attack.

  That moment marked the end of the William Arc. From there, Eugehe capital to pursue the vilin behind the attack, and a new cast of characters joined him in the arc.

  Ravenna sighed, rubbiemples.

  "All I o do is leave the room before the attack happens aurn safely afterward," she murmured.

  It wasn’t a plicated pn. She didn’t o interfere. She didn’t o be a hero or a vilin. She just o stay out of the way.

  She closed the floating system window and exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling.

  “Hopefully, this trip doesn’t cause any major plot deviations…”

  But deep down, she had a sinking feeling.

  Day at the Western Beach, Jo City, Jo Isnd

  With a sharp whip through the air, a steel-tipped arrow cut through the wind, slig ly across the salty breeze before striking its target—a small, circur archery mark tied to a wooden pilr on the beach. The target, suspended by a rope, swung wildly with each gust of wind, making it a difficult mark to hit.

  Then came another.

  Whip! Thud!

  And another.

  Whip! Thud!

  Each arrow nded, embedding itself into the target’s outer rings. The strikes were rapid, precise, yet none found the bullseye.

  "Again! I’ll try again!"

  A determined voice rang out across the shoreline, filled with frustration and resolve.

  Standing atop a rge roation a few meters away, Marie readied another arrow, her fingers deftly loading the crossbow with practiced ease. Her brown hair, tied loosely behind her, was tousled by the coastal wind, strands whipping against her face. But she hardly noticed.

  Her focus was singur.

  She had to hit the bullseye.

  "Nope! You o stop and review why you missed first!"

  The firm yet patient voice of Dame Aisha carried over the sounds of crashing waves. She stood he pilr, arms crossed, her sharp eyes assessing Marie’s form.

  The knight’s tone was strict, but there was an unmistakable smirk on her lips. She had trained Marie for months and knew her better than ahe girl’s stubbornness was unmatched.

  Marie groaned but lowered her crossbow.

  This art of her daily training routine, an essential part of her bat drills. However, today was different. In just a week's time, she would be leaving with Ravenna for the capital. It was more important thahat she honed her skills—especially if she was to defend herself in unfamiliar nds.

  But Marie wasn’t oo let a few missed shots deter her.

  "Oh, e on, Master Aisha! I do it—just pce them back!"

  She beamed at the older woman, her eyes filled with determination. The o breeze carried her voice, light yet unwavering.

  Aisha shook her head, chug softly. Marie’s eagerness was obvious.

  She wao impress Ravenna before they departed. With a sigh, Aisha finally relented.

  "Fine. Only once," she said, amusement flickering in her gaze.

  Marie gririumphantly.

  Wasting no time, she adjusted her stance, brag herself against the wind. Aisha turned back toward the target, resetting the worn wooden frame. The rhythmic crash of waves echoed across the shore, the st of salt thi the air.

  But Marie barely noticed. This time, she would hit the bullseye. She took a deep breath.

  Steady grip. Focused aim. Pull the trigger.

  Whip—!

  But somethi wrong. The moment she fired, a sharp sting shot through her hand.

  "Ouch—!"

  She gasped, instinctively dropping her crossboaihrough her finger.

  Dame Aisha’s head soward her.

  The bolt had fired, but Marie’s finger had gotten caught in the meism. A thin line of blood welled up along her skin, the fresh cut standing out against her pale plexion.

  Aisha’s eyes hardened, and without hesitation, she rushed toward her.

  "Let me see that!" Her voice was sharp with .

  Marie flinched but didn’t pull away in time. Aisha had already grabbed her injured hand, her fingers firm yet careful as she examihe wound. A small but gash stretched aarie’s finger, a slow trickle of crimson seeping through.

  "We o stop the bleeding—e o's get to the church for a proper healing."

  Marie’s rea was far too quick.

  Before Aisha could even finish, Marie yanked her hand back, ing it tightly with a piece of cloth in one swift motion—so fast it startled Aisha.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Why was she ag like this?

  "It's just a small cut—don’t worry about it!" Marie forced a casual smile, but there was tension in her voice. Her posture had shifted, her shoulders tight, her gaze flickering toward the ground.

  She was avoiding eye tact. Aisha’s brows furrowed. Somethi off.

  Marie’s feet shuffled slightly as if she were preparing to run.

  Aisha moved quickly, gripping her arm before she could slip away. "Hold on. What are you—" Her words died oongue.

  Aisha’s sharp instincts screamed at her. She stared.

  The blood was gone.

  The wound that had been open just seds ago—pletely vanished.

  Aisha’s breath caught ihroat.

  "What in the world...?" she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Marie froze. Her expression was a storm of emotions—fear, panid something else. A silent plea. Her wide brown eyes locked onto Aisha’s, silently begging her not to say anything.

  But at the same time, there was a deep-rooted terror—as if even Marie wasn’t sure what was going to happen to her.

  Aisha slowly let go of her arm. "Marie…" she started, her voice ge firm.

  Marie opened her mouth, struggling for words.

  "I... I—"

  But before she could finish, a voice echoed from behind them.

  "She is the Saintess."

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