"Extra! Extra! The thrilling finale of *Blood Harbor Terror*—’Farewell at the Docks’!"

"The prince and the knight he deeply loved parted at last. From then on, the two would gaze across the sea at each other from afar. The prince turned away and walked toward the devastated Blood Harbor, while the knight lifted his head—beneath the setting sun, the shadows on the deck grew longer and longer."

"Written personally by the popular author Nini! Get your copy now before it gets banned! Only one Lio for eight editions!"

Monica held a stack of newspapers in her hands, shouting as she darted quickly through various parts of the main cathedral.

Behind her, several members of the Holy Guard in uniform were shouting and chasing her down.

"Give me one!" someone below waved their hand.

"Sure thing! Which edition do you want? I recommend the Church of the Mother’s issue—there’s this super satisfying scene where Mira slaps the prince to the ground!"

"One of each."

"Wow, another boss stockpiling the whole set for a binge-read. Honestly, I don’t recommend that—it’s way more fun to read them daily~"

With practiced hands, Monica used all four of hers to pull out a neat stack from the pile and handed it over.

"Thirteen Lios, thank you kindly, good si—my lord!?"

Monica’s eyes widened, and her voice stuttered. The one who’d taken the newspaper from her hands was none other than Castel’s Frontier Count—Hughes.

He flipped open the paper with amusement, his tone soft: "Nini, and you too, Monica... you’re both in trouble now."

"Uwah!!"

The scales on Monica’s tail stood on end. With a screech, she turned to flee, only to find that the Holy Guard had already surrounded her.

This place... was a dead end!

Hughes sneered coldly and stepped back behind the others. Monica glanced around, a fierce look flashing across her face.

"You’ve forced me to do this!"

BOOM!!!

An explosion thundered as smoke and dust filled the air. The Holy Guard coughed and choked on the fumes, and when the smoke cleared—Monica was gone without a trace!

From outside the window came an arrogant laugh: "Hughes, didn’t see that coming, did you? That’s my escape route!"

The scales on Monica’s tail were slightly scorched, but on closer inspection, there weren’t any real wounds.

Banshees possessed incredibly strong physical bodies, with the scales on their tails especially boasting armor-like defenses.

So Monica had developed a unique method of movement—by strategically detonating explosives for directional propulsion.

This technique had once been wildly popular among the Banshee community, who were obsessed with explosive force. The sensation of being blasted into the air was something they particularly enjoyed.

Feniel’s scale-care shop had lost all business because of this trend. The Banshees even started showing off the burn marks on their tails. Some of the more timid ones, too afraid to actually blow themselves up, even painted their tail scales black to imitate the look. Feniel seized the chance to launch a "scale tanning" service.

Monica’s laughter faded into the distance. In her rush, she hadn’t paid much attention to her landing spot. The Holy Guard watched in stunned silence as she crashed into a pool.

"My lord, I think that’s..."

"...the vat of freshly pressed olive oil."

"Can a Banshee swim in oil?"

The small-statured Banshee bobbed up and down in the oil, flailing with all six hands before a stream of bubbles rose to the surface.

"...This entire batch of olive oil belongs to Monica now. Deduct the cost from her wages."

Hughes covered his face as he looked at the chaotic street.

This was the current state of Castel—brimming with life and energy.

Perhaps a little *too* much energy.

Every day, the Banshees delivered news from Blood Harbor, printed it in newspapers, and distributed them to the islanders.

The *Castel Daily* maintained a neutral stance, with generally vague content, meant to provide the townspeople with a source of information.

But when Nini and her group realized they couldn’t get anything past the editor—Hughes—they got creative. They started their own newspaper.

And it turned out to be a huge success, outselling Hughes’ *Daily* by a landslide. Unfortunately, it was soon banned by Hughes with a single executive order.

There was no helping it—their “unofficial history” was just a little *too* wild.

And besides, Galahad would be arriving on the island very soon.

Blood Harbor news always reached Hughes’ desk first, so he had been following the developments there closely.

To be honest, some of it had caught him off guard.

The Church of the Mother of Life, and that High Priestess Mira—it was his first time encountering a cult other than the Moths Chasing Fire. He had to admit, it surprised him.

A bunch of cultists genuinely concerned about the starving poor, while the prince and the nobles hoarded grain until it rotted—it all felt absurd.

Speaking of the prince, Hughes gradually furrowed his brow.

This man gave him a strong sense of contradiction.

His methods were decisive and ruthless, which Hughes could understand. But what he couldn’t figure out was—what was this man’s true goal?

From the perspective of Blood Harbor, everything he did seemed to protect his own rule. But if viewed from a broader angle, from a lord’s standpoint—something didn’t add up.

What first triggered Hughes’ suspicion was a seemingly small matter.

Blood Harbor had begun detaining passing ships.

As a lord—especially of a port city whose foundation was maritime trade—unless you were a complete fool, you’d know this would be devastating.

No merchants. No traffic. What would Blood Harbor have left? What could it rely on for development?

The prince had proven through his actions that he was no fool, which made his decision all the more intriguing.

He was forcibly overdrawing Blood Harbor’s future, willing to drag it into the abyss just to boost its present strength. Why?

And the things he said during that farewell at the port—upon reflection, something was off.

He said he would tear everything down and start anew—but what exactly had he torn down?

All of his actions had been in service of maintaining the ruling class’s interests. He claimed there was no point in suppressing cultists—but he had taken no alternative actions.

Was he just boasting? Or was he doing something behind the scenes?

That was the source of the contradiction. His words and actions didn’t align at all.

In the details, he was a successful and traditional lord—decisive and ruthless.

But when Hughes connected all the dots, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the prince was planning something immense.

A plan that required exhausting Blood Harbor’s future, using everything at his disposal, going all-in on the table.

Clearly, Castel was a massive variable in that plan. So even amidst chaos, the prince had sent Galahad to the island—he wanted control, more knowledge.

And Hughes was no different. He had a persistent hunch that the prince was about to cause a major stir. He too needed to understand the situation, to figure out what his neighbor truly intended to do.

This upcoming contact was a great opportunity. Castel couldn’t remain trapped on this tiny island forever. And Blood Harbor, the Principality of Tis—those were all inevitable targets in his quest to expand outward.

Tear it all down... and start anew.