The emperor's study, a bastion of imperial authority, was a study in understated opulence. Its walls, paneled in dark mahogany, were adorned with holographic star charts and ancient tapestries depicting Ronin victories. The air carried the faint aroma of aged leather and the subtle hum of a climate regulator. A massive viewport framed Youdu Star's twin moons, their silver light casting long shadows across the polished obsidian floor.
The weighty discussion of Luyin Star's incident gave way to lighter banter. Baisha and Jilun settled at a lacquered black tea table, while Wei Li, with the practiced ease of a seasoned aide, served steaming cups of red tea.
"How's life at Tianquan Academy, Your Highness?" Wei Li asked, his tone warm, like an elder inquiring after a favorite niece.
"Not bad," Baisha said, lifting a cup and glancing at Cecil. "Just wish I had more time."
Cecil caught her subtle jab, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "If you're so swamped, perhaps you should return that chip I gave you."
Baisha: "No way."
Cecil: "Hmph."
Jilun, accustomed to their cryptic exchanges, sipped his tea in silence, thanking Wei Li with a nod and pretending to be invisible.
Wei Li, piecing together the chip's significance—Sipes's legacy passed from emperor to niece—shifted the topic. "Your grades at Tianquan are stellar. You're likely to join the joint military exercise with the Federation. Aiming for the commander's role?"
Baisha lowered her gaze, recalling her virtual bouts with Sipes. "I haven't decided."
"There's something His Majesty may not have mentioned," Wei Li said gently. "An army's strength lies not just in its commander but in team synergy. In dire straits—when time's short, cohesion falters, or a leader can't rally the group—a strong, decisive commander is better than none."
The joint exercise drew elite cadets, with main squad members being prodigies. Pride ran high, and if strengths were closely matched, a commander might struggle to lead, hamstrung by egos. The ideal candidate was either overwhelmingly skilled or universally respected.
Baisha's royal lineage and prowess made her a natural focal point for expectations. A bold, assertive stance could secure the commander's seat.
She waved it off. "I'll go with the flow. If someone's better suited, I'll step aside. With four academies and three grades, surely there's a stronger, more seasoned candidate."
Wei Li smiled, glancing at Cecil.
Cecil's response was blunt: "Ronins are the strongest."
Sipes and Cecil had dominated their peers upon enrolling. Baisha, by contrast, was remarkably restrained.
Baisha: [...]
She'd overlooked her Ronin heritage—a lineage of supremacy, backed by the empire's finest mechs, weapons, and allies like Xino and Yu Yan. Failing to stand out with such advantages would be inexcusable.
"Let her be," Cecil said abruptly. "She's a Ronin who holes up in a lab for days, unlike her mother. She has her own strengths and path. No need to tread mine or Sipes's."
The empire was stabler now, the Beastkin alliance fractured, and the Ronins unchallenged. Baisha didn't need to bare her claws to defend royal honor—she could forge her own way.
"I have reasons for loving the lab," Baisha sighed. "There's always a project to tackle, a challenge to conquer. But piloting mechs in combat? That's different…"
Cecil raised an eyebrow. "Hitting a plateau?"
"Sort of," she admitted.
Her focus had been on enhancing mechs and weapons, training only to maximize their potential. With her current mech at its peak and her synergy with it near-perfect, she felt no immediate room for growth. Stagnation bred apathy—a human trait.
Cecil didn't lecture her on perseverance or patience. Instead, he shot Jilun a look.
Jilun, engrossed in his tea, blinked, pointing at himself. Cecil nodded subtly.
Jilun: [...]
He set down his cup, resigned. "If you're stuck, Your Highness, you're welcome to train with me."
Baisha turned, intrigued, then thought of another. "What about Uriel?"
Cecil shut her down. "The gap's too wide. He'd be less effective than Jilun."
Baisha: [...]
Uncle, why don't you fight Uriel yourself?
Swallowing her retort, she looked at Jilun. "Won't that be too much trouble?"
Jilun met her gaze—her eyes, a lighter, star-flecked blue compared to Cecil's cobalt intensity, held a disarming clarity. He faltered, then said, "It's fine."
His words came too quickly. Pausing, as if to cover, he added, "If needed, your classmates can join."
Cecil and Wei Li: [...]
Classmates? That's a bit forced.
Cecil's brow twitched, his hand bracing the desk, but Wei Li's glance stayed him.
"My friends are busy with the election," Baisha said. "I'll start alone. No time to waste—shall we go now?" Her return to the academy loomed.
Jilun nodded, seeking Cecil's approval.
Cecil pressed his temple, masking his expression. "Be back soon."
"Yes, Majesty," Jilun said, executing a flawless salute before leading an eager Baisha away.
As they left, Cecil glared at Wei Li, displeasure evident.
"Relax, Majesty," Wei Li said, refilling his tea. "Bonding with Jilun benefits her."
Cecil knew Jilun—young, promising, a rising star—could be a valuable ally for Baisha. But her fondness for petting his panther irked him.
"I understand your concern—I'm a father, too, plagued by stray worries," Wei Li said patiently. "But you're fretting prematurely. Baisha's mind isn't on romance. Even if something sparks later, it's far off."
Cecil nearly laughed in exasperation. "You want them to develop something?"
Unfazed, Wei Li set the teapot down with a crisp clink. "Majesty, you can't stay single forever and block the young from love."
Cecil: [...]
He'd forgotten Wei Li's romantic streak, a man who'd won his wife with old-fashioned love letters.
Cecil's eye twitched. Unwilling to let Wei Li derail things, he inhaled deeply, conceding, "Fine, I overreacted. Let's pretend this conversation never happened."
Wei Li chuckled. "You're dodging reality, Majesty. You know Baisha's quite the catch."
Cecil covered his face, waving Wei Li off.
Baisha, flanked by guards, boarded Jilun's compact starship, leaving Youdu Star. She trailed him leisurely. Jilun, on official duty, was accompanied by his adjutant and subordinates, who eyed Baisha curiously until spotting her royal crest. They bowed respectfully.
"Prepare tea for Her Highness," Jilun ordered.
Baisha declined. "Any more, and I'll be full."
"I'll host your training at my residence," Jilun said, his low voice resonating in the ship's lounge. "It has a suitable arena. Training may take days, but I'll ensure all your needs are met."
"I'm low-maintenance," Baisha said. "It's training, not a vacation. No need to fuss."
"It's my duty as a host," Jilun insisted. "Rest assured, the training will be worthwhile."
He meant it.
Upon landing, Baisha was ushered to Jilun's private training arena—a state-of-the-art facility stocked with exosuits, weapons, and 3S-grade training mechs. Holographic sensors blanketed the space, and the floor could simulate diverse terrains.
"Choose a mech," Jilun said. "These are all 3S-grade utility models."
Baisha selected a lightweight mech, acclimating in the cockpit for a few minutes before igniting its lightsaber. Jilun entered a black mech, and they stepped into the arena. With a soft grind, the room transformed into a rainforest.
Towering trees rose, and Baisha, drawing on her Luyin Star experience, instinctively sought higher ground for visibility. A faint gust brushed her sensors—she dodged, sliding back as two charred craters scorched the ground where she'd stood.
Blue beams lanced through the air. Baisha weaved between trees, tumbling to evade a barrage—each shot uncannily fast, anticipating her moves, even blocking paths she'd only just considered.
This wouldn't do.
Dodging two more beams, she ignited both lightsabers, lunging to fell several trees. They crashed, kicking up dust. She vaulted onto the fallen trunks, scaling a taller tree.
A piercing sonic boom rang out. Baisha slashed, deflecting two explosive rounds, the recoil jolting her mech. In that split-second lapse, a black mech materialized behind her, its dagger crackling with lightning, aimed at her cockpit.
Startled, Baisha flipped her mech, parrying the dagger. Too slow—she took a knee to the waist, metal joints screeching. The dagger struck again.
Gritting her teeth, Baisha braced her swords, locking the black mech's neck and shoving it back. The dagger grazed her chest, sparking.
With a deep breath, Baisha kicked free, deploying light-wings to glide down the tree. Her mental senses flared, firing a dozen laser bolts to stall pursuit.
The black mech, unhurried, moved silently, its agility supernatural. When it closed in, its attacks were relentless, each strike targeting her cockpit with lethal precision.
For the first time, Baisha felt hunted—true killing intent, invisible, unyielding, a predator's grip that wouldn't relent. Jilun's battlefield-honed instincts seized her slightest missteps. Once caught in his rhythm, escape was nearly impossible. Her survival hung by a thread—moments where she wondered if he'd actually kill her.
Yet he held back.
Her mech accrued damage; Jilun's, though scuffed by her counters, fared better.
Baisha exhaled, deliberately slipping—a feint.
The black mech pounced.
She spun, channeling force into her blade, a near-invisible arc slashing sideways. The black mech raised its shield.
But no blade followed—instead, compressed energy lasers erupted, colliding with the shield in a blinding explosion.
Sensing a shift, the black mech whirled, catching a thrusting lightsaber. Baisha, undeterred, raised her explosive rifle, aimed at the cockpit, and fired.
Killing intent was thunderous—a single, decisive strike, or death. That was Jilun's lesson.