Chapter 229: the True Face of the Moon Queen (1)

The trouble with being too enthusiastic was just this—leaving no room for breathing.

Severe oxygen deprivation—it had come to this.

Nia held Shia, completely at a loss.

Facing Lia’s scolding with her hands on her hips, the golden-haired princess looked at her with tear-filled eyes, fidgeting guiltily.

"I-I didn’t mean to..."

She hadn’t expected her master to pass out either.

Originally, she’d planned everything perfectly—her master wouldn’t be discovered by her aunt, and she could continue cuddling with him. Who could have predicted such an accident?

She felt terribly guilty, okay?

Her tears were about to spill!

On the other end of the phone, Nia’s aunt didn’t notice anything unusual, but over the next few days, Shia certainly did.

For the fifth time, Shia glanced at the clock. It was already the afternoon of the third day, yet the expected crisis hadn’t arrived.

He was surprised.

Why hadn’t the senior sister come to hunt him down yet?

According to the original plot, she should be chasing his fiancée for an entire month.

But now, three days had passed, and she hadn’t reacted. Had she not noticed anything unusual?

Not being hunted down was a good thing, but when a known plot event failed to occur, it felt rather illogical.

Shia couldn’t make sense of it.

Meanwhile, the Saint of the Sword he was worried about was isolating herself at home.

The entire house was empty except for her. Dressed in a white chiffon dress, she held her sword, curled up on the sofa, her eyes hollow.

She had even forgotten to eat.

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Sistine stared blankly into the void in front of her, feeling lost.

There was good news.

She had recovered all her lost memories. She remembered everything about the events after she had called her junior for help, with absolute clarity.

But the bad news was she remembered it all.

Agitated, Sistine ran her hands through her golden hair, turning it into a tangled mess.

What had she done!?

Her junior Shia had acted so gentlemanly, refraining from taking advantage of her, yet she had thrown herself at him?

Asking such outrageous questions was bad enough, but she had even tried to devour him!

He had clearly refused her, yet she had...

The once-pristine high-and-mighty flower of the summit had plunged into the depths of utter humiliation.

She didn’t want to see anyone or say anything.

How could someone who usually despised men act like this?

Even she couldn’t believe it.

But the truth was undeniable!

The more she tried to deny it, the clearer the memories became in her mind.

How could she face Shia after this?

She had forced herself on her savior!

Ashamed, deeply ashamed, utterly ashamed!

Sistine buried her head in her arms like an ostrich.

This was why the chase Shia had been expecting never happened.

She was too embarrassed to even think about it, let alone seek revenge.

She had been the one who bullied him!

For Sistine, this was entirely logical.

Her thoughts revolved more around self-reflection and disgust at herself rather than blaming Shia.

But to Shia, this was bizarre.

It didn’t match the story he knew.

In the game, Sistine hunted down the one who helped her detoxify because she had genuinely suffered a loss under the influence of the pink mist.

But now, there was no chase scene?

This couldn’t go on!

Sistine stood up, trying to calm her mind.

Unconsciously, she began practicing her sword techniques.

Yet as soon as she started, she noticed something different.

Her sword felt subtly transformed—smoother, more harmonious, as if it was in perfect sync with her thoughts.

What was going on?

Confusion filled Sistine’s mind as she continued to train.

The further she went, the more astonished she became.

Why?

She couldn’t figure it out.

But this feeling... it was intoxicating.

Her movements became faster and faster.

Every pause, every turn, and every strike seemed to carry an inexplicable rhythm.

This rhythm drew her in deeper.

Soon, the house was filled only with the sound of her sword slicing through the air.

Her vacant eyes belied her profound immersion in the depths of swordsmanship.

Her mastery of the blade had reached a new height!

At this moment, she was free of her past fears and anxieties.

No longer did she dwell on the burning pain in her eyes, nor did she feel troubled by the memories.

Her heart was calm and at peace.

The sword in her hand was merely a sword.

And she? She was simply herself.

Or perhaps, she 'was' the sword, and the sword 'was' her.

This was the purest form of swordsmanship.

She had achieved the state of "no-self."

Immersed in her practice, Sistine didn’t even hear the sound of the door opening.

Outside the villa, someone stood quietly, gazing up at the silent house, a tender expression in their eyes.

Their sky-blue hair shimmered like seaweed under sunlight, soft and lustrous.

Their delicate yet gentle face radiated a serene, moonlight-like beauty, exuding elegance and warmth with no hint of aggression.

The crescent moon emblem on her forehead instantly revealed her identity.

—The Moon Queen.

The legendary Sword Saint, hailed as the Moon Queen, was once a p rodigy who defeated Sistine's father in her youth.

Standing before the villa, she gazed at it, her eyes softening with a gentle smile.

She hadn’t seen her disciple in quite some time, and this visit was meant to check in on her.

Of course, as her master, she had a key to Sistine’s home, so she entered directly.

However, as soon as she opened the door, she sensed something unusual.

It was the purest intuition a swordsman could have toward swordsmanship.

She felt the aura of the 'No-Self State'.

The sight of a girl practicing her sword came into view—golden hair flying, her chiffon dress fluttering in the air.

The silver light of her blade moved like a nimble dragon, graceful and precise.

The girl’s expression was focused and earnest, her entire being immersed in her movements.

A flicker of surprise and astonishment crossed the Moon Queen’s eyes.

This... No-Self State!?

She always knew her disciple was exceptionally talented.

If not, she wouldn’t have taken her on as a student.

But she also knew Sistine’s emotional scars—the hurt caused by her biased father—were the biggest roadblocks to her progress in swordsmanship.

It was precisely this that had kept her from breaking through to the No-Self State.