The protagonist and the crown prince led the counterattack, rallying what remained of the imperial forces to fight back. Their actions solidified William’s reputation, painting him as a leader worthy of the throne. His favorability among nobles skyrocketed, pushing his claim as emperor even further.

  Meanwhile, Eugene uncovered a critical clue about the mastermind behind the attack.

  That moment marked the end of the William Arc. From there, Eugene left the capital to pursue the villain behind the attack, and a new cast of characters joined him in the next arc.

  Ravenna sighed, rubbing her temples.

  "All I need to do is leave the room before the attack happens and return safely afterward," she murmured.

  It wasn’t a complicated plan. She didn’t need to interfere. She didn’t need to be a hero or a villain. She just needed to stay out of the way.

  She closed the floating system window and exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling.

  “Hopefully, this trip doesn’t cause any major plot deviations…”

  But deep down, she had a sinking feeling.

  Next Day at the Western Beach, Jola City, Jola Island

  With a sharp whip through the air, a steel-tipped arrow cut through the wind, slicing cleanly across the salty breeze before striking its target—a small, circular archery mark tied to a wooden pillar on the beach. The target, suspended by a rope, swung wildly with each gust of wind, making it a difficult mark to hit.

  Then came another.

  Whip! Thud!

  And another.

  Whip! Thud!

  Each arrow landed, embedding itself into the target’s outer rings. The strikes were rapid, precise, yet none found the bullseye.

  "Again! I’ll try again!"

  A determined voice rang out across the shoreline, filled with frustration and resolve.

  Standing atop a large rock formation a few meters away, Marie readied another arrow, her fingers deftly loading the crossbow with practiced ease. Her brown hair, tied loosely behind her, was tousled by the coastal wind, strands whipping against her face. But she hardly noticed.

  Her focus was singular.

  She had to hit the bullseye.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  "Nope! You need to stop and review why you missed first!"

  The firm yet patient voice of Dame Aisha carried over the sounds of crashing waves. She stood near the pillar, arms crossed, her sharp eyes assessing Marie’s form.

  The knight’s tone was strict, but there was an unmistakable smirk on her lips. She had trained Marie for months and knew her better than anyone—the girl’s stubbornness was unmatched.

  Marie groaned but lowered her crossbow.

  This was part of her daily training routine, an essential part of her combat drills. However, today was different. In just a week's time, she would be leaving with Ravenna for the capital. It was more important than ever that she honed her skills—especially if she was to defend herself in unfamiliar lands.

  But Marie wasn’t one to let a few missed shots deter her.

  "Oh, come on, Master Aisha! I can do it—just place them back!"

  She beamed at the older woman, her eyes filled with determination. The ocean breeze carried her voice, light yet unwavering.

  Aisha shook her head, chuckling softly. Marie’s eagerness was obvious.

  She wanted to impress Ravenna before they departed. With a sigh, Aisha finally relented.

  "Fine. Only once," she said, amusement flickering in her gaze.

  Marie grinned triumphantly.

  Wasting no time, she adjusted her stance, bracing herself against the wind. Aisha turned back toward the target, resetting the worn wooden frame. The rhythmic crash of waves echoed across the shore, the scent of salt thick in the air.

  But Marie barely noticed. This time, she would hit the bullseye. She took a deep breath.

  Steady grip. Focused aim. Pull the trigger.

  Whip—!

  But something went wrong. The moment she fired, a sharp sting shot through her hand.

  "Ouch—!"

  She gasped, instinctively dropping her crossbow as pain flared through her finger.

  Dame Aisha’s head snapped toward her.

  The bolt had fired, but Marie’s finger had gotten caught in the mechanism. A thin line of blood welled up along her skin, the fresh cut standing out against her pale complexion.

  Aisha’s eyes hardened, and without hesitation, she rushed toward her.

  "Let me see that!" Her voice was sharp with concern.

  Marie flinched but didn’t pull away in time. Aisha had already grabbed her injured hand, her fingers firm yet careful as she examined the wound. A small but clean gash stretched across Marie’s finger, a slow trickle of crimson seeping through.

  "We need to stop the bleeding—come on, let's get to the church for a proper healing."

  Marie’s reaction was far too quick.

  Before Aisha could even finish, Marie yanked her hand back, wrapping it tightly with a piece of cloth in one swift motion—so fast it startled Aisha.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Why was she acting like this?

  "It's just a small cut—don’t worry about it!" Marie forced a casual smile, but there was tension in her voice. Her posture had shifted, her shoulders tight, her gaze flickering toward the ground.

  She was avoiding eye contact. Aisha’s brows furrowed. Something felt off.

  Marie’s feet shuffled slightly as if she were preparing to run.

  Aisha moved quickly, gripping her arm before she could slip away. "Hold on. What are you—" Her words died on her tongue.

  Aisha’s sharp instincts screamed at her. She stared.

  The blood was gone.

  The wound that had been open just seconds ago—completely vanished.

  Aisha’s breath caught in her throat.

  "What in the world...?" she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Marie froze. Her expression was a storm of emotions—fear, panic, and something else. A silent plea. Her wide brown eyes locked onto Aisha’s, silently begging her not to say anything.

  But at the same time, there was a deep-rooted terror—as if even Marie wasn’t sure what was going to happen to her.

  Aisha slowly let go of her arm. "Marie…" she started, her voice gentle but firm.

  Marie opened her mouth, struggling for words.

  "I... I—"

  But before she could finish, a voice echoed from behind them.

  "She is the Saintess."