"Every throne is built on secrets — and every secret waits for its turn to draw blood."
The chamber was dim. Only the cold blue glow of spirit lanterns illuminated the air, their flames flickering as if afraid to burn too brightly.
Three cloaked figures knelt on one knee in perfect silence, their heads bowed low before the man seated at the center of the room.
He wasn't old — barely in his twenties — but the weight of his presence pressed against the air like invisible gravity. His posture was relaxed, elegant even, but there was something about him that demanded obedience without words.
This was Prince Mikhail Asterion, third son of the royal family — scholar, strategist, and the one they called The Serpent of the Court.
His black hair, streaked faintly with silver, caught the lantern's glow. His eyes, a cold shade of storm-gray, flicked lazily between the kneeling men.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was smooth, almost gentle — and that made it worse.
"How are the preparations?"
The lead of the three cloaked figures bowed lower. "Your Highness, everything proceeds according to plan. The invitations have been distributed, and the royal decree has already reached all five noble factions. The banquet will take place as the Crown Prince ordered — at the Grand Hall, three weeks from now."
Mikhail's gaze didn't move. "And their reactions?"
The man hesitated. "…Uneasy, my lord. The factions remain cautious. Each suspects the others' intentions, but none dare defy a royal decree. Still, the sudden timing of this event has them… nervous."
Mikhail smiled faintly, tracing the rim of his teacup with one finger. "Nervous people make mistakes. Good."
The three spies lowered their heads even further.
Another man spoke up, his voice low. "There is one matter, Your Highness. The movement of the banquet forces our operation to advance. We may have to—"
"Move early," Mikhail finished for him.
"Yes, my lord."
He leaned back in his chair, silent for a moment. "So be it. Adaptation is the nature of survival. The Crown Prince may hold the throne's favor, but even favor fades when the tides shift."
A faint ripple of killing intent passed through the room — so subtle that only cultivators of high rank would have noticed it. The kneeling men, however, felt it like a chill up their spines.
Mikhail's smile returned, soft and polite. "Now tell me — what of my dear brother, the Second Prince, Noah?"
The second spy answered this time. "Still in seclusion within the Imperial Sect, my lord. But our sources confirm he will attend the banquet. His presence has already been announced."
"Ah," Mikhail mused, lifting his cup. "The prodigal son returns."
The third spy — a man with a scar across his cheek — cleared his throat. "There are… whispers, my lord. Talks of his impending engagement to the General's granddaughter, Lady Crystal."
Mikhail's cup paused midair.
"Oh?"
The spy continued quickly. "It appears the Second Prince's faction has been pressing for it. However, the General remains neutral — perhaps out of caution, or pride. He has resisted the idea for now, but Lady Crystal herself has been… persistent. Rumors say she wishes to secure the union."
Mikhail's expression didn't change. His voice, when he spoke, was as calm as a frozen lake.
"Persistent, you say?"
The man nodded. "Yes, Your Highness."
A faint chuckle escaped Mikhail's lips — soft, but carrying an edge that made the air tighten.
"Persistence can be charming," he said. "Or suicidal."
He took a slow sip of his tea, the sound of porcelain faint in the silence.
"Tell me," he said, setting the cup down. "Is the General still at the border?"
"Yes, my lord. Negotiating with the Eastern Tribes."
"Then the old lion still roars," Mikhail murmured. "Good. Keep watch on him — but from afar. I want no mistakes. If we are to play this game, we'll do so quietly."
The spies bowed. "As you command."
He waved a hand dismissively. "Go."
They vanished into the shadows like smoke dissolving into the night.
When the door slid shut behind them, Mikhail leaned back and exhaled, gazing at the dim lanterns above.
"The Second Prince," he whispered, a faint smirk curling his lips. "Still chasing power through love. Or was it love through power? Hard to tell with him."
The blue light reflected in his eyes like twin flames.
"Crystal Asterion…" He said her name slowly, as if testing its taste. "Let's see what kind of woman makes men betray heaven itself."
The lantern flickered once — and went out.
Meanwhile, still at the Enchanted Palace thrived with life.
Its marble floors glimmered beneath spirit lamps, and the air was heavy with the scent of lotus wine, roasted meat, and wealth. Laughter echoed from private rooms where merchants, nobles, and cultivators struck deals worth entire cities.
Silk-clad dancers twirled gracefully in the main hall, their movements leaving trails of golden qi. Enchanted instruments played without touch, weaving melodies that could lull even a beast's rage.
On the third floor — the most exclusive of all — a single attendant guided two women through a long corridor lined with crystal lanterns.
One of them, dressed in a dark jade cloak, walked with quiet confidence. The other followed behind, holding her sleeves nervously as she glanced around.
Crystal's gaze swept the palace as they moved — the opulent décor, the faint hum of protective formations, the undercurrent of danger hidden beneath the laughter.
Everything here was beautiful, but nothing was innocent.
They sell slaves and spirit pills under the same roof, she thought grimly. And yet everyone calls this a palace.
Mari, her maid, tried to keep pace but could barely take her eyes off the surroundings. "My lady, are we really safe here?"
Crystal smiled faintly. "No. But danger has better wine."
Mari blinked, unsure if her mistress was joking.
The attendant leading them bowed slightly as they approached the grand staircase leading to the third floor. "Honored guests, your private suite has been prepared. This way, please."
They began to ascend, the marble steps glowing faintly under their feet — an enchantment to reveal anyone carrying hidden weapons or spiritual intent.
Crystal's mind, however, was elsewhere.
She was still turning over everything she'd learned — and everything she hadn't.
The blood world. The system. The green thread tying her life to something unseen. The impossible task of creating a soul sea. The haunting memory of Noah's betrayal.
Each thought weighed heavy on her, but beneath it all was one burning truth: she wasn't going to die again.
Whatever this second chance was, she'd use it — to fix her sins, to save what she could, and to end what needed ending.
She reached the top of the stairs, the faint light casting shadows across her face.
And then she stopped.
Three figures stood at the landing ahead — three young women, each wearing robes of matching silver and white.
Their beauty was striking, but what drew the eye wasn't their faces — it was their aura.
Cold. Controlled. Dangerous.
They looked like sisters — or perhaps disciples of the same master — and each carried herself with quiet confidence.
For a brief moment, silence hung between them and Crystal.
The faint music from below drifted up like a whisper, the air thick with unspoken tension.
Mari's hand twitched nervously at her side.
The attendant glanced between them, uncertain. "Ladies…?"
No one moved.
Then, slowly, the lead of the three sisters smiled.
"Fancy meeting someone interesting this early in the day."
Crystal said nothing.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, studying them — the way they stood, the faint flow of qi in their bodies, the restrained power in their calm expressions.
Whoever they were… they weren't simple guests.
And neither was she.
"In a palace of masks, even silence is a declaration of war."