Friendly fire!

DC District was, long ago—even before Prince Tomund led the remnants of the Final Empire, swore an oath to the stars above, and founded the Starfall Kingdom here—merely the northeastern outskirts of Everstar City.

As the Starfall Kingdom's power grew and its territory expanded, the upper echelons of the kingdom's authority swelled. Lords, nobles, and officials multiplied. The dignitaries of the royal capital had no desire to share a district with vulgar merchants, common citizens, or even those filthy prostitutes, thieves, and thugs. So they began building their homes in the northeastern outskirts, one after another.

Gradually, this area became a cluster of noble estates within the royal capital. It was soon incorporated into Everstar City's jurisdiction by City Hall, becoming the most important district after the Central District and Morning Star District. Lords defending the four frontiers, favorites at the royal court, and even exiled foreign dignitaries all liked to establish their villas and manors here.

The area was packed with the properties of nobles and officials, large and small. There were almost no commoner residences or markets. Even the people coming and going were mostly servants and subordinates of various families and factions. Aside from the absurdly high land prices, DC District had an unwritten rule: anyone purchasing land had to match the plot's status with their own qualifications—you wouldn't want to know what happened to those who broke this rule. Even the Six Great Houses and the Thirteen Noble Families, who all had their own estates in the royal capital's outskirts, built properties in DC District as well, naturally occupying the best plots—whether or not the nobles of those families actually came often.

Precisely because of this, the already vast DC District had estates and villas spaced far apart. The grass and trees between the manors, however, were kept lush and thriving by City Hall. The main roads were built wide and grand, smooth and steady. Every twenty meters, a large Eternal Lamp supplied by City Hall provided illumination.

As for the Alert Officers and city defense patrols that walked these avenues, they had to tread carefully—offending these big shots would bring consequences even their superiors couldn't bear. But they also had it easy; in general, when something required the Vigilant Hall or city defense forces to intervene, those nobles often had their own ways of handling it, no need to worry.

As the captain of the city defense patrol that had been inspecting DC District's main roads for years, Jenard's sword and crossbow had barely been used in a decade. His helmet and armor, however, were as shiny as new—whenever he encountered a great noble's carriage on the road, he was used to straightening his armor, stepping aside, and removing his helmet in salute (according to the Head of the East City Vigilant Hall, they should have swapped those heavy helmets for hats long ago—removing helmets to bow looked ridiculous).

Jenard cherished his job. He knew how much effort his old comrades had put into getting him, a man who should have been disbanded from the army and left to fend for himself, assigned to the royal capital's city defense force—and in DC District, no less, a peaceful, quiet place where tips came now and then.

As a farmer from the countryside of Daolun County in the south, Jenard's colorful life story was worthy of a ballad from any minstrel.

About a dozen years ago, when he was around nineteen—Jenard had stopped remembering his birthday after his father died—his entire village was hit by a natural disaster, then raided and plundered by bandits who gathered in the chaos. Unable to survive, Jenard enlisted in response to Duke John's call to raise the Starlight Legion as he marched south.

Brave in battle and quick-witted, he survived the perilous defense of Emerald City, lucky to live.

He once risked everything to carry two sacks of flour, somehow keeping up with the main force during the retreat through the Wola Corridor, and bravely charged with the Duke's personal troops to break through the encirclement at Tusk Land ("Before we linked up with the other units, we all owed you the cost of those two sacks of flour."—Duke John).

Under orders from above, he followed the troops as they stormed Count Dell's welcome banquet, watching the Duke, a guest at the time, calmly absorb their private soldiers.

He even charged through the barrage of Magic Energy Guns during the decisive battle on Spark Plain, hacking a battle axe to pieces.

He also led a squad under the Duke's Nine-Pointed Star Flag, holding off the rebels' final desperate counterattack at Blade Gap.

Until the final Siege of Sotala—Jenard let out a deep sigh, cursing that day of victory and sorrow together, then waved at his men, clearing the way for the knights carrying the Tricolor Iris flag.

Cavendish Family knights, thirty-four of them, no carriages in tow—probably subordinates running errands for their masters.

The two at the front seemed to be at least Transcendent Warriors. As for the rest, judging by their posture on horseback and the position of their weapons—all show. Jenard curled his lip imperceptibly and stepped aside.

In just over a year, he had risen from a common supply soldier to a combat conscript, then to an axe-and-sword infantryman, an infantry squad leader, and finally to the most honored Duke's Guard. Jenard had gone from a farmer who didn't know how to hold a sword to a battle-hardened, excellent officer. His rare battlefield experience had made him a formidable fighter—rare even among Mortal Tiers—who, with three or five comrades in formation, could face a Transcendent Warrior without flinching. Even after the Starlight Legion disbanded, Jenard never forgot the lessons of that respected Duke's Guard officer from the Legion, and he never slacked on training.

In his darkest days, he had seen countless knights. These mounted warriors, famous for their impact, included both noble, courageous fighters of great skill and cowardly, bullying scoundrels—of course, under Duke John's command, the former far outnumbered the latter.

So Jenard could tell at a glance: the two leading knights had calm expressions and smooth movements. Their slightly crouched postures meant they could exert force from the saddle at any moment. Each had a sword at his waist and another on the saddle, close to their dominant hands. Clearly, they were experts who had seen battle. Such Transcendent-level masters were absolutely the officers of a combat squadron on the battlefield—whether for charges, raids, defense, reserves, or even Commander's guard, these men were indispensable pillars or even cores. Take, for example, the kingdom's famous Baron Alaka Mu.

Now, one of those two, leading over twenty men who should have passed them by, reined in his horse and rode toward Jenard.

"City defense!" The knight was in his thirties, with thinning hair. His light green, finely engraved plate armor was clearly a handcrafted noble heirloom. He scowled down at Jenard, the leader, and demanded: "We saw a large trail of hoofprints on the road. At this hour, DC District shouldn't have this many cavalry—did you encounter them?"

And you lot should be here? Jenard looked at the noble knight under the Tricolor Iris banner, sneering inwardly.

But after ten years on the city defense force, reality had worn off his edges. The former Duke's Guard bowed his head humbly and obediently, replying: "Respected Lord, anyone who can mobilize a large number of private soldiers in DC District is a lord. We dare not inquire into their affairs."

Seychelles, Duke Jenn's trusted knight, frowned. "You encountered these cavalry? Which family are they from? What banner were they flying?"

Jenard paused.

About ten minutes ago, thirty-two riders had passed by, ranging from Mortal Tier to Transcendent. The noble leading them moved nimbly but was clearly no soldier, and behind him even followed a woman. But Jenard hadn't seen them raise any banner.

Yet, having served under Duke John for years, how could he not recognize the soldiers' movements, equipment, and shield patterns? In the Duke's Guard back then, many had been private soldiers the Duke brought from his own family, becoming his guards as he marched south.

Some of those men had saved his life, and he had saved theirs. Almost all were good men you could trust with your back—oh, and one good woman too. Worthy warriors under the Nine-Pointed Star Flag.

Yes, Jenard told himself again: those thirty-odd cavalry were men of the Crescent Star Family, the royal family's private soldiers.

Most importantly, they were the family of Duke John, the man he had once sworn to die for.

"Yes, respected Lord," Jenard said firmly. "We encountered them, just now."

"They flew no banner, and I don't know where they were headed."

The former Duke's Guard bowed—how ironic. Back when he served under Duke John, the King's brother, no one had taught him how to bow to nobles. But on his second day in the royal capital, a low-level City Hall official had angrily ordered him to learn the standard bowing posture ("They're nobles, understand?"—Jenard's former superior on the city defense force).

But this ordinary city defense captain probably didn't know that the information he concealed would have a massive impact on himself and on the entire future of Starfall.

Seychelles frowned, reached into his money pouch, grabbed a handful, tossed the two Silver Coins and Gold Coins he'd accidentally picked up back inside, and scattered the remaining copper coins to the city defense soldiers.

"Your tip," he said, then turned his horse and caught up with his companions.

"Don't overthink it, and don't meddle in other families' affairs. Just handle the Duke's orders. With the two of us here, unless we're storming Revival Palace, there's nothing in the royal capital we can't solve. If those Blood Race won't cooperate, they'll only end up dead." Seychelles returned to the front of the column, listening to the noble knight beside him, the calm-faced Cassian, speaking softly.

"If it were another family, why wouldn't they fly a banner? Thirty or forty men, unidentified cavalry riding into DC District at night—how long has it been since that happened?" Seychelles remained cautious. Having traveled through the wars of Suye in the Eastern Continent, he had learned prudence and precision from the descendants of the eastern Sages.

"His Majesty's forty-eighth birthday is coming soon. That birthday is too critical. Noble messengers from all over, lord envoys, delegations from various kingdoms and states, even spies, Terminus Tower, representatives of the churches of the Gods, and countless factions large and small in the shadows—you could say the entire world's eyes will be on the royal capital."

"And the major families within the kingdom are all making moves, openly or covertly. That's perfectly normal. Aren't we doing the same, and working hard at it?" Cassian turned his head and said flatly: "If you're really worried, report it when we're done—it has nothing to do with our mission."

"I hope so..." Seychelles touched the sword at his waist, thinking of that sharp-eyed city defense captain, and said absently:

"I hope it's not some other family's move."

"Relax, Lord Seychelles," Cassian said leisurely. "At this juncture, aside from jockeying with the royal family, any move aimed at the Nineteen Noble Houses will be seen as betrayal."

"And how could a betrayer of the nobles ever succeed in 'choosing the King'?"

Jinnie's eyes flashed. She dodged two Blood Thralls charging madly, flicked her silver chain-sword, and bound them up. Two other Terminus Swordsmen of the Crescent Star Family moved in coordination, thrusting their silver swords into the thralls' hearts.

But the Court Official sensed something instantly. She dropped into a kneeling roll, dodging a suddenly appearing claw.

The female Blood Race Rolana, having missed her strike, turned in fury to parry two silver swords, then shrieked, her form flickering with a hissing sound as she retreated swiftly.

The newly grown right arm was still clumsy, limiting my strength—Rolana thought bitterly—that damned half-crippled mutant.

"Bloodsucking bitch, aim better next time! City vampire crime—this old lady's seen plenty, even personally caught a blood-count of the Auras Family!" Jinnie sat up brashly, her long arms snapping taut as the chain sword locked around Rolana's left leg.

She coiled the chain sword around her right arm, a surge of overwhelming force erupting as she yanked hard!

Dodging a sword flash, Rolana stumbled and was dragged straight to the ground, shrieking as she was hauled across the dirt.

This female Short-Lived Species' strength—is she a monster?

Rolana roared, clawing at the ground to resist Jinnie's freakish power, but before she could steady herself, another silver sword thrust in.

This damned sword formation! Rolana cursed inwardly. Against an enemy like this, her superhuman speed and special abilities were completely useless.

The Starfall Formation was a circular defensive array. Its main body allowed several smaller squads to extend from each edge, acting as the formation's feelers and probes, capable of flexible advances and retreats in the chaos of battle.

And the Blood Thralls—Rolana carefully dodged a silver sword, fighting Jinnie's monstrous strength while kicking away the swordsman attacking her—the Blood Thralls were dwindling under the coordinated siege of the sword formation. After all, how could mindless monsters stand against battle-hardened swordsmen?

"Gilbert!" Jinnie roared, tightening the chain sword in her grip. "What about the child? We've been stalled by these two and a bunch of madmen for this long—you'd better have a plan that makes sense!"

On the other side of the formation, by the mansion's entrance, Gilbert held a sword in one hand and a staff in the other, working in seamless coordination with several Terminus Swordsmen to besiege the golden-haired Istrone.

"Yordel's tied up by that guy—he's also in the Extreme Realm!" Gilbert frowned. "But since we're stuck here, we'll just have to trust him!"

"You men—utterly useless!"

Gilbert ignored Jinnie's scolding and refocused on Istrone before him. It was this Blood Race of extraordinary speed who, under the noses of eight guards, had snatched Tales and taken their lives.

Istrone's special talent was speed far surpassing ordinary Blood Race. Even at the Transcendent Rank, he could outpace most of his peers in that regard. But tonight alone, he had encountered two Transcendent Rank opponents among the Short-Lived Species who showed no fear of his superhuman speed.

One was Nekla of the Blood Bottle Gang. Istrone saw clearly that in the first few exchanges, Nekla couldn't match his speed at all. Yet somehow, after a few moves, Nekla's speed and reaction time grew faster and faster. At the critical moment, Nekla's punch speed and body movement matched the Blood Race's evenly. If Chris hadn't suddenly intervened, Istrone felt that guy's speed might have eventually surpassed his own!

The second—Istrone's scalp tightened—was the elegant, noble-looking Middle-Aged Noble before him, who filled him with dread. Like Nekla, Gilbert couldn't keep up with his speed, but this noble used his own methods to forcibly suppress Istrone's proud speed.

Gilbert's right-hand silver sword was steady, his steps full of aristocratic dueling grace. But Istrone wasn't worried about the sword—the golden-haired Blood Race could easily handle that speed and even flip two swordsmen aside in the process.

What worried him was the staff in Gilbert's left hand!

Compared to the orthodox swordsmanship, that staff seemed to be wielded by a different person entirely! Every time Istrone dodged or parried the silver sword and prepared to counter, that bizarre staff would strike from the air, landing precisely in the direction he'd readied his counter, or at the key point of his power exertion, forcing him back in frustration and into the encirclement of other swordsmen.

Because of that strange staff, Istrone felt it wasn't him holding Gilbert back, but Gilbert suppressing him!

But Istrone didn't know he'd fallen into Gilbert's trap from the start—the key to Gilbert's family martial arts wasn't the staff, but the seemingly ordinary sword in his right hand!

"Lord Chris!" The golden-haired noble's ear twitched, catching his cousin Rolana's low murmur amid the chaos.

"We can't hold out much longer—has His Highness not woken yet? If it comes to it, retreat with the ancestral coffin!"

They didn't know that at that moment, Chris, gripping Yordel's short sword tightly, wore a face full of shock and disbelief.

That emotion even infected his opponent, Yordel, behind his mask.

Chris muttered a single sentence, audible only to Yordel across from him and the Blood Race with their keen hearing.

The two Extreme Realm experts stopped fighting, released each other, and stepped back.

Rolana and Istrone heard Chris's murmur and gaped, but immediately retreated at full speed, dodging without countering.

Soon, everyone in the clearing was startled to see the Blood Thralls howling and pulling back as well, ignoring even the swordsmen cutting off their heads.

In the sword formation, Jinnie looked in surprise at Gilbert, who still frowned deeply, pondering the situation.

They didn't have to wonder long.

"Thump! Thump! Thump!"

The hurried steps of a child came from inside the house.

Along with the footsteps, a childish boy's voice rang out.

"Everyone!"

Everyone in the clearing saw Tales, bare-chested and panting, dragging behind him a silver-haired little girl wearing his shirt, as they ran from inside the house, out the first-floor door, and onto the estate's open ground.

Before he could even take in the situation, Tales used all the strength of a seven-year-old boy, his mind in chaos, and shouted to the sky with every expression he knew:

"Everyone stop!"

"We're friendlies!"

"Friendly fire!"

"Knock it off!"

As the words left his mouth, the silver-haired little girl behind him, unable to stop in time, crashed into the boy's back, and they both tumbled to the ground together.

The chapter title is a tribute to CS 1.5 from a very, very, very long time ago.