“It’s Princess Lindsay Flameheart! She’s the beloved daughter of Ignatius Flameheart, head of Earthfire Pavilion,” someone exclaimed. “What is she doing here, though?”
“I heard Princess Lindsay is a prodigy. She may be young, but she’s already at Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Five. Mr. Flameheart and the elders at Earthfire Pavilion love her to bits. She rarely leaves the Pavilion, yet here she is, marching beside Elder Flameheart himself.”
“Look… She keeps glancing at that guard named Jared Chance.” “Tsk tsk… Lucky devil. A single look from Princess Lindsay could make a man happy for life.”
Soft murmurs rustled through the air like wind over dry leaves. Vermilion Demon Lord nudged Jared in the ribs, his voice sliding along a private tide of sound. “Not bad, Jared… You’ve barely set foot in level eleven, and you’re already collecting admirers. Win her over, and Earthfire Pavilion could be at your bidding.”
Jared threw him a warning stare. “Stop it, Mr. Vermilion. She’s only looking at me out of curiosity.”
Vermilion Demon Lord chuckled. “Out of curiosity? I doubt it. That look held more than curiosity. Seize the opportunity, young man. She’s lovely, noble, gifted—exactly your type. And since you never lack for women, what harm is one more on level eleven?”
“Stop right there,” Jared interrupted with a weary wave of his hand. “We have enough problems as it is. Let’s not invite more.”
Even so, why does her gaze feel so oddly warm, almost as if she somehow approves of me? Lindsay Flameheart… Her eyes are clear as spring water. Is it because I possess chaotic celestial energy and the Golden Dragon Bloodline, which triggered a response from her sensitivity to fire-type spiritual energy?
Just then, a young disciple from Earthfire Pavilion descended on a swirl of wind and bowed. “Mr. Chance, Her Highness requests your company in the carriage…”
Jealous heat flared around them as dozens of eyes stabbed forward like tiny daggers. Jared hesitated only a breath, then inclined his head. “Very well…”
Vermilion Demon Lord’s grin stretched wide as Jared followed the disciple toward the lead carriage. The door swung open, releasing a puff of cool, perfumed air. Clearly, intricate cooling arrays hummed within, holding back the desert heat.
“Mr. Chance, please step inside,” the maid who had earlier unlatched the window said. Jared mounted the short stairs and crossed the threshold.
The interior was far larger than the carriage’s modest exterior suggested—an intimate salon lined with mink-soft furs and moon-stone panels. At the head of this mobile parlor, Lindsay Flameheart lounged sideways on a cushioned bench. One elbow propped her chin, and her fiery amber eyes tracked Jared with curiosity.
All this satin and privacy… surely the princess didn’t summon me here because she wants a little carriage adventure, did she?
Upon noticing how intently Jared was staring at Lindsay, the maid’s voice dropped to a scolding whisper. “You stand before a princess. Mind your manners…”
“Jared Chance pays his respects to Your Highness,” the man hurriedly said and bowed.
“Don’t worry about the formalities… Sit.” Lindsay’s tone rippled like water over stone. “I heard from Elder Zuver that you shattered a Level Seven Combat Puppet’s Flame Dragon Slash with your bare hands. Is that true?”
She blinked, wide-eyed, with no royal stiffness about her—more the inquisitive girl next door, desperate for a good story. Jared settled opposite her as the maid poured translucent tea.
“It was just a parlor trick. Forgive me if it disappointed Your Highness,” he replied, letting the steam mask an unreadable half-smile.
Lindsay’s lips puckered in disbelief. “A parlor trick? Elder Zuver swore your sword energy punched straight through a Level Six Trial Pillar. Also, that Spirit-Measuring Crystal couldn’t even detect your cultivation level and flashed seven colors of chaos… You’re quite the mystery, eh?”
The next second, she leaned forward, her eyes like living flame. “Tell me… What’s your cultivation level? Are you really only at Heavenly Immortal Realm Level One? I don’t buy it. And your cultivation technique is strange. Your aura feels familiar, yet foreign at the same time…”
Jared’s pulse ticked once, but he masked it behind a sip of tea. Deep down, he was truly impressed by Lindsay’s keen perception.
“My cultivation level is only at Heavenly Immortal Realm Level One,” he answered calmly. “I admit my technique is unconventional. It lets me strike above my level, nothing more. The strange aura you sense likely comes from that technique.”
“Nothing more?” Lindsay uttered as she cocked her head. “A Heavenly Immortal Realm Level One cultivator smashes a Level Seven Combat Puppet, and that’s nothing more? If that’s the case, how are the rest of us supposed to survive?”
Lindsay leaned across the swaying carriage window. “So tell me, mysterious stranger, where did you come from? Who taught you? Why slip into Crimson Flame City? What drives you to sign up for guard duty? The Earthfire Pavilion offered to make you an inner court disciple, yet you refused. What, then, could you possibly be after?”
The volley of questions hit Jared like a hail of sparks against dry tinder. He straightened, managed a faint, respectful smile, and bought himself one long breath before answering.
