Chapter 30: The Purity, It Is Too High!

The Black Beast, Dream Chamber.

Frelia, draped in a luxurious court gown that accentuated her graceful curves, sank deep into the plush sofa. Only here could she shed her mask, if even for a moment. Compared to the morning, the Dream Chamber had acquired several new pieces of furniture, lending the space a much more lived-in atmosphere.

"Your Highness, are you not going to do something about the conflict outside?" Julia asked, her voice cold as she processed experimental data. Yet, the way her gaze flickered toward the mirror on the table—which displayed a clear view of the outside—revealed that she was far from indifferent.

"It doesn't matter," Frelia replied without looking up. "Evans may be a seasoned Black Iron professional, but that fellow, Mo Wen, is not so simple."

"Let them fight it out now; it will save us from bigger trouble later. The Candle Keepers are growing weaker with each generation. How long can you old timers really hold the line? Without competition and conflict, where would the motivation to improve come from?"

Julia had no retort.

***

Meanwhile, on the middle deck, a blood-colored sword and a knight’s longsword had collided.

"Clang!"

A sharp, metallic hum rang out. Evans, who had been brimming with confidence, was shocked to realize that his strength was inferior to that of the "cripple" before him. The sheer force of the blow sent him stumbling back several paces, and it was all he could do to absorb the impact.

How is this possible?!

He glared at Mo Wen. As a nobleman's son, Evans was never one to act without a plan; he had conducted thorough research before targeting Mo Wen. Though the fellow had somehow managed to return to the Black Iron rank despite his "crippled" state, he couldn't have been back at that level for more than a month! In such a short time, one could at most adapt to new strength; making any further progress was near impossible.

The gap between a novice Black Iron and a seasoned one was immense, not just in physique and spirituality, but in the mastery of professional skills. Under these circumstances, it should have been a crushing victory. Why was his own strength inferior to his opponent's?

Evans could not understand. In truth, his investigation would have been correct for an average professional, but the problem was... Mo Wen was not normal. During his journey through the dream, his [Black Beast Crewman] level had risen to "Lv. 5," which, when converted, was already approaching the level of a seasoned Black Iron. Furthermore, this profession’s bonuses focused heavily on physique.

Coupled with his practice of the [Thousand-Fold Sword Technique] and the massive physical gains from his [Demi-Doll Body] (300% efficiency), Mo Wen’s physique now rivaled that of most power-type seasoned Black Iron professionals. With the added grace of the Thousand-Wind Sword Technique, the current scene was hardly surprising.

Realizing the disparity in their physical prowess, Evans suppressed his earlier disdain, his expression turning grave. He stared straight at Mo Wen, switching from a one-handed grip to a two-handed stance on his knight’s sword. A faint, orange-yellow flame began to emanate from the blade.

"[Candlelight Knight], a special profession inherited by the Candle Keepers. Before the candlelight, all things turn to ash."

"You just joined the Candle Keepers, so don't say I'm bullying you by keeping secrets," Evans said, his voice dropping into a solemn, heavy tone as he entered a special state. Even from several meters away, Mo Wen could feel the temperature in the area beginning to rise.

No, that wasn't right! It wasn't physical fire, but spiritual flame!

Mo Wen narrowed his eyes. "Now this is getting interesting."

"Arrogant words. I'll listen to you ramble once you've fallen," Evans sneered and lunged forward. His speed was now a notch faster than before.

However, he was fast, but Mo Wen was faster. Having practiced the Thousand-Wind Sword Technique, Mo Wen was never a power-type swordsman. The melodic sea breeze seemed to distort locally as two figures flashed past one another.

On opposite sides of the deck, Mo Wen and Evans stood with their backs to each other. After a brief silence:

"Clang!"

The knight’s sword fell powerlessly from Evans's hands, which were now drenched in blood. He stared blankly at his wrists. The sword wounds were precise—they had sliced through skin and muscle without touching the tendons or bones beneath. Evans could not imagine what level of swordsmanship was required to achieve such a feat, but he knew it was a level far beyond his current reach.

"Step, step..."

Footsteps approached from behind. The cold, blood-colored blade tapped Evans’s cheek, and Mo Wen placed a foot on Evans’s shoulder, forcing him to bow deeper.

Mo Wen smiled pleasantly. "Little Evans, tell me, who is the captain?"

Humiliation, anger... a complex array of emotions surged in Evans’s heart. His body trembled.

Mo Wen narrowed his eyes. He had intentionally held back with that last strike. He did so because Evans had previously mentioned that sparring was permitted within the Candle Keepers as long as there were no casualties. Even though Evans had provoked him first, Mo Wen could not actually kill or severely injure him. However, if Evans were to attack him again after the fight had ended and after Mo Wen had shown mercy, then Mo Wen could claim self-defense in the "heat of the moment" and kill him without consequence.

Mo Wen was never a soft-hearted man. If provoked, he would not strike, but if he did, he would ensure there were no future troubles.

Under Mo Wen’s expectant gaze, Evans—shaking to the point of collapse—suddenly tensed his body. It looked like the prelude to a counterattack, and Mo Wen’s grip on his sword tightened, ready to strike.

The next second, Evans slumped his head. "You are the captain."

Hm?

Mo Wen’s hand twitched. He blinked, looking down at Evans beneath his foot. *Wait, buddy. I’ve humiliated you this badly, and you’re not going to lash out and fight back?*

"A loss is a loss, a win is a win," Evans snorted, his stubborn voice his last shred of dignity. "I admit, I am no match for you right now."

"The weak are the weak, and no matter how much they are humiliated, it is deserved. But wait, Captain—one day, I will challenge you again!"

Evans’s reaction left Mo Wen completely baffled. Seeing other Candle Keepers approaching in the distance, he knew he couldn't do much more. Withdrawing his foot from Evans’s shoulder, Mo Wen looked at him with suspicion, muttering to himself.

*Is this guy a die-hard proponent of 'survival of the fittest' and 'the strong rule over the weak'? Is he really that pure? Does that mean he provoked me partly because of his family, but also because in his eyes, I was weaker than him and therefore deserved his 'insult'?*