The bottleneck at the fourth rank—the condensation of the magical core—was actually a trial of one’s spirit.
Once broken through to the fifth rank, the soul undergoes a fundamental transformation; cultivating magic becomes inseparable from cultivating the soul.
The first eight ranks were like water dripping through stone, gradually accumulating like a lake, but the ninth rank was a complete test of a person’s willpower, or rather, a second ascension of the soul.
Enya still remembered that during her challenge against Duke Frennard, she let go of the obsessions in her heart.
In that very moment of transcendence, she ascended to the legendary realm of the ninth rank.
And then… she was pushed back to the eighth rank by Arhettina, and her mindset plummeted along with it.
Enya asked Pandrake, “If the ninth rank is the unity of heart and action, then what is the tenth?”
“Unspeakable.”
“Heh… When I asked Antiros back then, she said a few more words than you.”
Enya looked at herself in the mirror and slowly raised the hand holding the mask. As she placed it over her face, she said, “She said everyone has their own path.”
The black mask was less than ten centimeters from her face.
Enya swallowed hard, then with her other hand she swept her bangs aside, gritting her teeth as she snapped the mask firmly onto her face.
A path… we’ll just have to see where it leads.
The moment the mask adhered to her face, she released her hand. The mask didn’t fall—it seemed to require no fastening at all.
Then, the edges of the black mask seemed to come alive, sliding down to cling to Enya’s fair, delicate skin, traveling from her neck down to her collarbone, and finally merging all the way down to her feet.
The black covering enveloped her entire body.
A dark purple light shimmered, and the pale gray camisole dress was replaced by a form-fitting gown.
The gown was primarily black, with thin white stripes running vertically at intervals.
The contrast of these lines made Enya’s slender waist and full curves even more eye-catching.
On her chest was a gray diamond-shaped patch embroidered with a white circle.
Inside the white ring was black, and at the center was a tiny hollow ring.
Around the ring’s edge was a faint purple radiance, giving off the impression of a strange eye.
It looked like some kind of religious symbol.
A black headscarf trimmed with white lace covered her silver hair, which was tinged with a layer of purple sheen. In the mirror, Enya now resembled a nun—except eerily, she had no face!
Her face seemed to be a void, entirely black.
Yet Enya could breathe normally, see clearly, and speak without issue.
“Tsk, Antiros’s style is really twisted…”
She felt the all-encompassing tightness binding her body and couldn’t help but mutter a complaint about her master’s strange tastes.
Enya’s voice had also changed significantly—her breath no longer human but demonic.
If she went out like this, she would surely attract many pursuers.
Looking inward to the sea of consciousness, sure enough, something new had appeared—a purple glow quietly resting there.
The moment she put on the mask, Enya had sensed a new presence enter her body.
But with her Dragon Bloodline, that small entity was immediately suppressed into silence.
This had to be the Fragment of Authority.
“Is this the fragment?”
Pandrake confirmed it, and Enya then withdrew from her sea of consciousness.
She lowered her head and gazed at the white ring on her chest.
Her gloved hand lightly lifted the hem of her skirt, supported by a hoop, revealing black thigh-high stockings and a pair of black heeled ankle boots.
“This color scheme—perfect for a funeral, huh?”
“Typical Antiros fashion. She wouldn’t want me collecting the Goddess of Night’s Fragment of Authority just to suppress the Dragon Blood within me, would she?”
Enya suspected it was exactly that.
After turning around a few times in front of the mirror to familiarize herself with her new image, Enya prepared to head to Henna’s room—not for a night attack, but to deliver her a dream.
Red Pine City, Asades Castle, Lord’s Manor.
In the study, Henna sat upright at the desk, carefully reviewing the data on the reports before her.
Though she had gone over them many times already, she couldn’t help but review them once more, always trying to find where expenses could be cut.
Unfortunately, she had already trimmed all possible costs.
“Sigh…”
Henna sighed deeply, setting aside the papers and leaning back in her chair, a small smile breaking across her face.
Today had actually been quite a good day.
First, the search for Estelle had turned out easier than expected; she was staying just outside the north gate, safe and sound.
Henna had also discovered that the woman named Anna, who wanted to buy a large block of land near the north gate, had actually adventured alongside Estelle.
Gathering intelligence from various sources confirmed they had entered a ruin together.
Not only had Henna gotten an interest-free loan, but she also secured a significant sum of emergency funds, which helped fill the financial gap caused by sheltering so many refugees from White Stone City.
This kept her from being stretched too thin.
Additionally, she had visited Madam Phil’s house.
Though she hadn’t been able to convince Madam Phil to dance, she had promised to paint a portrait for her, which was certainly something to be happy about.
Everything seemed to be getting back on track.
Henna exhaled in relief but didn’t fully relax—there were still many places in the city that required cleaning up.
She stood and walked to the door just as a woman appeared in front of her.
Henna instructed her, “Send more people to protect Madam Phil and her daughter, but do not disturb them. Also, three days before the banquet, escort them to a safer location.”
The woman nodded and swiftly disappeared into the night.
Henna looked up at the star-filled sky; it was already late.
She glanced down at her clothes and decided to take a bath.
Enya had arrived at the Lord’s Manor but didn’t immediately seek out Henna. Instead, she leisurely wandered for a while.
Then she came to the study’s door.
Last time she had been here, Henna wouldn’t let her in, which piqued Enya’s curiosity.
Squinting slightly, she studied the door, lingering at the threshold for a long moment before simply walking right through the wall and entering.
“Hehe~”
She grinned mischievously and looked around.
This study was in a completely different league from her own; the shelves were packed with books, and the floor and walls were cluttered with papers and wooden racks.
Enya noticed many crumpled papers on the floor. She bent to pick one up and was about to open it when something else caught her attention.
On the wall beside the desk hung a color painting.
It depicted a silver-haired girl holding a sword, her face bright with a radiant smile like sunlight.
The dazzling image made Enya take a step back.
“Shh…”
Is that me?
It really looks like me.
Enya stared at the painting. Though her face was hidden beneath the mask, a hint of surprise showed through. Over time, that surprise shifted into realization.
She had seen the story of Henna in the Book of Rose Priestesses before.
At that time, she had recalled that Henna was a noble lady she once saved.
To Enya, saving someone was hardly a memorable event—it was routine.
But for Henna, it was different.
Henna had deeply imprinted the image of that silver-haired Sword Maiden and later painted her from memory.
Suddenly, Enya turned her head toward the door.
Click.
The door opened, and a woman in a thin red nightgown stepped in—it was Henna, having just bathed.
Her wet, wine-red hair clung to her skin.
Her cold white skin was bare to the air.
Her long, narrow eyes drooped in a lazily beautiful expression.
At this moment, she had shed the imposing air of a female lord, appearing simply as herself.
Henna passed by Enya, but the two were in different worlds—she couldn’t see Enya.
Enya’s gaze followed Henna’s body as she sat at the desk and leaned back in the chair, lost in thought.
Enya watched quietly.
She wasn’t dull and could tell Henna had some feelings for her.
Enya even found it amusing enough to tease her.
But she and Henna were simply not from the same world.
So Enya couldn’t agree to be Henna’s dance partner—this was a subtle refusal, not an intentional stringing along.
Henna daydreamed for a while, then read some more.
She mixed a palette of colors and sat at the easel facing a blank canvas but never made the first stroke.
Enya waited until Henna had fallen asleep leaning on the desk before approaching.
Her black patent leather boots clicked sharply on the floor.
Though she was physically in the real world, and Henna was in a dream, it was impossible for Henna to notice her approach.
Just as she neared Henna, the latter stirred slightly, freezing all of Enya’s movements.
Of course, it was only a slight, unconscious twitch.
Enya opened her hand, and a reflective black orb appeared above it, about the size of an apple.
The orb floated toward Henna.
Hovering above Henna’s head, the sleeping woman furrowed her brows.
Enya covered her mouth and silently chuckled.
“Sorry to bother you~”
After a while, Henna suddenly woke from the dream.
The black bubble above her head popped with a soft “pop” at the moment she regained consciousness, disappearing without a trace.
By then, Enya had already left.
Henna stared blankly at the open paper on the desk, where two red characters were written clearly:
“Be careful…”
Enya had compressed the conspiracy of the three marquises and the Lord of Mist Church into a dream package, forcibly showing Henna the entire process.
Henna rubbed her temples, frowning.
“Who is it? Who exactly is helping me? No, this isn’t the time to think about that…”
She was wide awake now.
Rising, she hurried out of the room.