Mu Long's voice dropped to barely more than breath, his lips hardly moving as he leaned closer to the Chief. His eyes never left the marketplace ahead, as if the noise and movement there were merely scenery masking something far more dangerous beneath.

"Chief," he murmured, tone casual yet edged with calculation, "tell me something. Which do you think is easier–and more reliable?"

The Chief did not turn his head. He kept walking, posture straight, expression unreadable, though the question tugged at his attention.

"Playing dumb while hiding truth and crimes…" Mu Long paused deliberately, then continued, "…or playing wise and walking straight into a trap?"

The Chief's brow furrowed.

"You–" he muttered under his breath. "What kind of question is that?" He exhaled slowly. "Aren't both unreliable? Why would you frame it that way?"

Mu Long's lips curved faintly.

"If the one in question is prey," he said, voice soft but deliberate, "then the first shows confidence. The second shows overconfidence–out in the open, exposed."

He glanced sideways, just enough to see the Chief's reaction.

"But if the one in question is a predator…"

The Chief's gaze sharpened.

"…then it reverses," he replied cautiously. "But only under one condition."

Mu Long's interest flared.

"Haha–Chief, what condition?"

"Perspective," the Chief said after a brief pause.

"And prediction."

A third voice slipped cleanly into their exchange–uninvited, precise, unmistakably amused.

"So you two were whispering about me all this time?"

Mu Long stiffened. He turned sharply.

"You–" His eyes widened slightly. "You can hear us? Damn it…" He clicked his tongue. "Merchant Woman, you really are something."

The woman smiled faintly, unoffended.

"Small matters," she replied calmly. "But stop calling me Merchant Woman. My name is Hylisi."

The Chief nodded once.

"She's right. Courtesy costs nothing."

Hylisi's gaze moved between them, lingering just long enough to be uncomfortable.

"I won't lay hands on any of you," she said lightly. "Don't worry."

Then her eyes slid–openly, unapologetically–back to the Chief.

"…Except this handsome one."

Although Princess had guided Kiaria a short distance away earlier, his attention had never wavered. From the corner of his vision, he saw it clearly–Hylisi stepping closer, posture relaxed, confidence unbroken.

There was no fluctuation in her aura.

No provocation.

No visible intent.

And yet–

Kiaria's monochrome gaze sharpened.

He bent slightly and picked up a dry leaf from the ground. It was brittle, lifeless, veins cracked and gray. Without sound, sword intent flowed into it–not violently, not explosively, but with precision.

Then–

A vertical slash.

A monochrome wave tore forward, silent and absolute. It carved cleanly into the ground between Hylisi and the treasure hunters, splitting stone and soil with surgical exactness. The mark was deep. Final.

A boundary.

Territory claimed.

The wave dispersed the instant it finished its task.

Princess watched closely–and relaxed, just slightly.

The strike had been measured.

Exact.

Controlled.

If Kiaria had been angry, that slash would not have ended like that.

Kia's control has grown again, Diala thought grimly.

If he had truly lost himself… that strike would have erased lives and livelihoods alike.

Silence crept through the market like a slow infection.

Then it broke.

Villagers stopped pretending not to notice. Merchants paused mid-sale. Buyers lingered longer than necessary. A loose circle formed–curiosity feeding on itself.

Whispers rose.

Low at first.

Uneven.

Testing.

"Look at her," a man muttered, not bothering to lower his voice.

"Always alone," another added.

"No husband. No protector," someone scoffed. "What does she expect?"

A chuckle rippled.

"She looks at men like that and acts surprised?"

"Those eyes–don't pretend she doesn't enjoy it."

"She raised her son alone, didn't she?" a voice sneered. "You know what that means."

Snickers followed. Louder now. Bolder.

"She threatens people with beads, but plays helpless when stared at?"

"If she didn't want attention, she'd dress better."

"Or keep a man."

A woman's voice cut in–sharp, resentful.

"She thinks she's special. Selling things, talking loud, acting bold."

"If she behaved properly, none of this would happen."

Laughter followed.

Crude.

Entitled and hungry.

Public judgment rained down without mercy.

Kiaria looked at the treasure hunters.

None moved.

He shifted his gaze to Princess. Her fist was clenched tight at her side, faint poisonous vapors seeping from the seams of her armor.

Then Diala. Her teeth were clenched so tightly the sound was audible even from a distance.

These hunters too are scum, Kiaria realized coldly.

Moments ago, virtuous words. Now they stand silent while a woman is torn apart.

Princess and Diala's attention drifted–

And in that instant–

Kiaria vanished.

He reappeared above the crowd, suspended in the air as if the sky itself had chosen him as its axis. Rage burned openly across his face–no longer restrained, no longer patient.

His Seventh Sense erupted fully.

Unrefined spiritual energy poured in from the nearby forest, drawn violently toward him. Monochrome essence spilled from his body like dawn mist rolling across a battlefield.

The luminous monochrome crown and flowing cape had always been there–yet only now did the crowd perceive them, and with that realization came an unfathomable sense of superiority pressing down on their souls.

Fear followed in crowd.

Unavoidable.

His irises glowed misty white as his gaze swept the crowd–not wildly, not angrily, but selectively.

Predatory.

One by one, he locked onto his targets.

Those who had spoken.

Those who had accused.

Those who had smiled.

Dark gray-black shadows formed around their heads, rot made visible beneath his sight.

Kiaria blurred.

He seized a man hidden within the crowd–grabbing him by the hair and dragging him screaming into the air. The instigator. The first voice.

Held aloft for all to see.

From around the Crescent Loop Moon Blade, one of the nine palm size orbiting moon blade rings of Crescent Loop Moon Blade miniatures detached. It shrank rapidly, compressing into a blade no wider than thirty-five millimeters.

The man screamed.

The ring entered his mouth.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

It sliced his tongue inch by inch–not to kill, but to teach.

Only when the darkness around his head dissipated completely did Kiaria stop.

Blood poured like an underground spring.

Then the rain came.

Not water–

Rings.

They fell upon every man and woman who had slandered Hylisi. No matter how far they ran, they were found. No skin broken. No flesh torn.

Only tongues severed.

Speech ended.

Treasure hunters remembered purification at Infant River.

When it was over, the market stood empty.

Only Kiaria, the treasure hunters, Princess, and Diala remained.

Diala and Princess had both imagined striking them themselves.

The urge had been there–sharp, instinctive, almost physical.

Diala had felt it in the tightening of her chest, in the heat rising behind her eyes when the crowd's words turned obscene.

Princess had felt it in her fingers, the familiar tension of poison preparing to bloom, the reflex born from years of watching injustice dressed as public opinion.

Yet neither moved.

Not because they lacked the strength.

But because hesitation bound their hands.

Diala hesitated because she was still learning what kind of justice the world allowed a girl to carry.

Princess hesitated because she knew too well what happened when power acted without sanction, how easily righteous action could become political disaster.

Kiaria had no such restraint.

Where they paused, he advanced.

Once, long ago, Kiaria had been a man who spoke before acting. He had believed words could redirect cruelty, that reason might temper instinct. He had been kind–not weak, but open. Gentle–not soft, but patient.

That man still existed.

But he had learned.

His foster father had taught him that the world did not move on kindness alone. Those hierarchies were real, whether named or denied. That justice was not something people naturally accepted–it was something that had to be enforced, cleanly and without apology.

His kindness remained.

His methods changed.

Princess, raised within royal courts where law was written in blood as often as ink, did not flinch at what he had done. She had seen executions justified with gentler language than the crowd had used moments earlier. Compared to that, Kiaria's punishment was precise–almost merciful.

Diala, only eight years old, should have been terrified.

By all reason, she should have turned away, covered her ears, buried her face.

Yet she did not.

Because the justice burning in her small heart mirrored his too closely. She did not see cruelty in what he did. She saw correction. She saw balance restored where voices had tried to crush dignity.

Kiaria's rage did not fade with the silence.

It merely changed direction.

His gaze turned slowly toward the Chief.

The Chief understood immediately.

That look was not unfamiliar. It was the same gaze Kiaria had worn on battlefields, when decisions were already made and hesitation no longer existed.

But understanding did not grant movement.

The Chief's body refused to obey him.

Every instinct screamed to stand firm, to meet the stare without flinching, to uphold whatever dignity remained. He forced himself not to blink. He locked his gaze in place, even as his eyelids began to burn, muscles trembling under invisible pressure.

The blink came anyway.

A single, involuntary failure.

When his eyes opened again, the ground rushed up to meet him.

He was already lying on it, body immobile, breath shallow.

Mu Long lay beside him.

Neither had felt the strike.

Neither had seen it.

Only when Hylisi stepped forward–placing herself between Kiaria and the fallen men–did the pressure finally recede. The monochrome tension dissolved like mist under sunlight.

Kiaria exhaled deeply.

Not in relief.

In control.

"LOOK," he said sharply.

The word cracked through the silence like a command carved in stone.

"Look at who defended you."

His gaze pierced the Chief, stripping away pretense, rank, and excuse.

"I thought your love for your wife was real," Kiaria continued, voice steady but edged with disappointment. "Respectable." His eyes hardened. "But you are no different from them."

He turned his head slightly, fixing Mu Long with the same unyielding stare.

"If Elder Mu Li were alive and standing here," Kiaria asked coldly, "would he have watched silently as you did today?"

The name struck deep.

"You know how he acted," Kiaria went on, "even when he was nothing more than an ordinary mortal boy–when a woman was helplessly trapped in the hands of hooligans."

Neither man could answer.

No argument formed.

No defense rose.

"Chief," Kiaria continued, voice low and unyielding, "you proudly claim to be searching for your missing wife and son, wearing the title of loyal husband and father as if it absolves you."

He paused.

Silence expanded, heavy and suffocating.

"For what?" he demanded.

He turned back to Mu Long, his words cutting sharper now.

"You were taught by Elder Mu Li. You walk this world branded as criminals–wanted, feared, known for ruthlessness." His eyes burned. "Where was that today?"

Finally, Kiaria faced the Chief again.

"Whether this woman is cunning or not," he said evenly, "whether she desires you or plots around you–none of that matters."

His voice dropped.

"Your life is still alms of her kindness. You destroyed her business. And she still saved you."

The silence that followed was not empty.

It was condemning.

"Is this how you repay her?" Kiaria asked quietly.

Princess stepped forward then, placing her hand gently on Kiaria's shoulder–not to stop him, but to anchor him.

"Enough," she said calmly. "They won't learn."

She looked at the fallen men without contempt, only understanding.

"Somewhere deep inside, most men are like this," she continued. "Your words won't change them. Their priorities are fixed–unless the woman is their own kin."

Her grip softened.

"But Shade and I," she added quietly, "we're proud to stand beside you."

Hylisi returned then, holding two Golden Berry Beads.

She offered them to the Chief and Mu Long without ceremony.

Both hesitated.

"Take them," Kiaria said firmly. "You have no right to refuse her kindness."

They did.

Later, Hylisi spoke in a low voice.

"At night, I'll tell you everything I know. Daytime has too many eyes."

Kiaria nodded.

"That's fine," he replied. "Everyone needs rest."

Then he added, after a brief pause, "Before we leave… I will give you a gift."

His gaze met hers steadily.

"Please," he said evenly, "don't refuse it."

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