"You... who are you?"
The scarred man pointed a trembling finger at the silver-haired girl, his face pale as if he had seen a ghost.
The silver-haired girl, with an air of elegance, walked toward him slowly.
As she advanced, the scarred man stumbled back, step by step, until finally, with a loud thud, he fell to the ground, sitting in a heap.
"Weren't you going to take me into the capital to find my family?" the silver-haired girl smiled.
"You... you're the... princess..." the scarred man stammered.
Even if he were an idiot, he would have realized what was happening by now. He had run straight into a wall—no, an armored vehicle.
"You're the only eunuch here."
The silver-haired girl frowned, then kicked out sharply. A dark blur flashed as her foot struck his abdomen. His stomach caved in from the blow, his eyes bulged, and his body flew backward like a cannonball. Blood spurted from his mouth.
"Boom!"
The scarred man slammed hard into the remaining portion of the city wall, smashing a large hole into the dilapidated structure. Cracks spider-webbed across the wall, stones crumbling and falling, sending dust swirling into the air.
"Cough, cough..." The man clutched his chest, coughing uncontrollably as blood trickled from his mouth, clearly having sustained internal injuries.
"Oh dear, seems I hit a little too hard." Kaguya walked over, crouching down before him with a smile. "But do you know what you look like right now?"
The scarred man, gravely injured, stared in terror at the silver-haired girl before him. Her smile, which had initially seemed innocent, now resembled the grin of a demon. What he once thought was a defenseless lamb turned out to be a ferocious predator. The roles of hunter and prey had been swiftly reversed.
"I asked you a question. Are you mute?" Kaguya frowned, then stood and kicked him in the face.
With a dull thud, his already ugly face twisted into an even more grotesque expression, as several of his teeth flew from his mouth.
"Can you speak now?" Kaguya asked, her eyes narrowing with amusement.
"W-what?" the scarred man struggled to speak, choking on the blood that dribbled from his mouth.
"To me, you look like nothing more than a cockroach." Kaguya's smiling face turned icy. "How dare a disgusting worm like you think you can lay a hand on me."
The scarred man was too terrified to speak, his mind paralyzed with fear. He wanted to beg for his life, but his throat felt blocked, preventing any words from coming out.
"How revolting," Kaguya's expression turned to one of disgust. "I feel like killing you now, but I'm feeling generous today. I'll give you one more chance. I have some questions. If you don't know the answers, well... then I'm afraid you're out of luck."
"W-what do you want to know?" the scarred man stammered, clinging to this fragile thread of hope. "I-I'll tell you anything! Just spare my life."
"Prime Minister Honest has a son, Syura. Where is he now?" Kaguya asked, her voice laced with a dangerous edge.
Hearing Syura's name, the scarred man's body stiffened, his eyes wide with terror.
"Did you not hear me?" Kaguya's voice grew impatient. "Is living really that bad? You seem eager to die."
"I-I know, I know! Please, don't kill me!" The scarred man was frantic now, his desperation evident.
"My patience is wearing thin." Kaguya sighed. She was starting to regret not using an illusion technique from the start. This was turning out to be a waste of time.
"He... he lives on the west side of the capital. He returns there every day around noon," the scarred man spat out hurriedly, blood dribbling from his lips in his panic. "Please... spare me..."
"You kept your word, so I'll keep mine." A strange light flickered in Kaguya's clear eyes. "I won't kill you."
"T-thank you, thank—"
Before he could finish his words, the scarred man's voice cut off. His face froze in confusion as his head slowly slid from his shoulders and dropped to the ground with a dull thud. Blood spurted from his neck, spraying into the air like a crimson fountain.
"My apologies. I lied," Kaguya said, flicking her wrist to shake the blood off her blade. "But it seems there are still some pests left to clean up."
She turned her head, eyes gleaming as she looked at the scattered guards lying on the ground, her lips curling into a radiant smile.
"Ahhhhh!"
A chorus of terrified screams pierced the sky, only to be abruptly silenced. The battlefield fell into an eerie quiet.
In the noble district of the east side of the capital—
"Bad news!" a guard rushed in breathlessly. "Something terrible has happened, Lord Syura!"
Before the guard could finish his sentence, a dark figure darted toward him with lightning speed.
"Thud!"
The unsuspecting guard was sent flying by a swift kick, crashing to the ground like a broken kite. He coughed up blood as he hit the floor.
"Who gave you permission to barge in here?"
A sinister voice came from a half-naked young man who stepped forward, his tone dripping with malice. His cold eyes gleamed like sharp blades—it was Syura.
On the bed behind him, a woman lay sprawled, sweat glistening on her body. The scene made it clear that some rather intense activity had just taken place.
"My lord, forgive me!" The guard scrambled to his feet, trembling as he knelt on the floor.
"Speak. What happened?" Syura's voice was icy. "If it's not important, you'll be spending some quality time in the interrogation chamber."
At the mention of the interrogation chamber, the guard's entire body trembled. Almost losing control, he stammered, "Th-the princess... she's returned..."
"Who... who returned?" Syura's brow furrowed in confusion.
"Th-the princess! She's back!" the guard stuttered, his voice quivering.
"What?" Syura's expression darkened, his face shifting between disbelief and rage. "Where is she now?"
"She's heading this way, my lord. She's already passed through three gates and is nearing this district," the guard replied frantically.
"Goddamn it! Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Syura shouted, kicking the guard in the chest. The sound of cracking ribs echoed as the guard was thrown into the wall. He slumped to the ground, blood trickling from his mouth, barely clinging to life.