Minister Duan said nothing.
His lips were pressed into a thin line, his face the color of old bricks—anger and shame wrestling for dominance.
His eyes glared daggers at Bai Zihan, but he didn’t dare open his mouth again.
Bai Zihan didn’t even spare him a glance. As far as he was concerned, Duan was already irrelevant.
Princess Feilian stepped forward, her expression composed but thoughtful.
She looked at Bai Zihan, then at the crowd of survivors, then back at the wall of Inner City.
“There’s something all of you need to understand,” she said, her voice clear and steady.
“Even the Inner City isn’t as safe as it once was.”
Murmurs rose immediately.
The survivors had been clinging to hope that the Inner City was a fortress—a paradise untouched by the nightmare that had consumed the outer and middle districts.
For many of them, reaching the Inner City had felt like reaching salvation.
But now—
Feilian continued before the whispers could grow louder.
“The barrier is holding, for now,” she said, “but the attacks are becoming more frequent. Stronger. There has even been a sighting of a Grade-3 Demonic Beast.”
She looked to the horizon beyond the ruined buildings, where smoke still curled into the air like the fingers of a dying god.
“If we don’t act soon, the Inner City may suffer the same fate as the Middle City.”
She said this with a solemn look.
That was why she had come—to check the weapon the scout had reported. It was the only hope she could see.
“What about the sects or clans? Didn’t you ask for their help?”
Bai Zihan asked.
“Yes, we sent out emergency requests for aid, but there’s been no response. Perhaps… we’ve been abandoned.”
Feilian said with a trace of disappointment.
Unbeknownst to her, those requests had never reached the Vermilion Flame Sect. That was why there had been no reply.
Bai Zihan thought for a second.
(So no reinforcements?)
Of course, he didn’t know the exact reason.
But based on what he understood, if a crisis like this arose, any sect or clan that claimed this territory as their own should have sent people to help.
To such powerful entities, a Grade-3 Demonic Beast should be nothing more than an ant.
At least, that was how it worked in his era. He wasn’t sure about this era though.
There was a possibility the sects and clans here were too weak—or too selfish—to act without incurring losses of their own.
There could be many reasons. But one thing was certain: no help was coming.
That meant he might need to save Ironmist himself. And if this was truly a trial, then saving the city had to be the objective.
After all, this younger Princess Feilian was likely the same person who would one day become the Immortal Emperor Feilian.
Perhaps it was a Trial to see whether the participants could help her and potentially be able to save the City.
In any case, he had to proceed with that assumption.
However, it was easier said than done.
The gun might be effective against Grade-2 Demonic Beasts or weaker, but not against a Grade-3.
Not unless he could detonate a large quantity of black powder—something that would take time, resources, and careful planning.
Moreover, there were many other burdens than that. He glanced at Minister Duan.
People like him weren’t just useless—they were obstacles. Rather than help, they’d drag others down to protect their own interests.
Bai Zihan suspected Duan was one of the main reasons why no rescue had come for so long.
Princess Feilian didn’t seem like someone who would abandon her people. Duan, on the other hand, clearly would.
From his words alone, Bai Zihan could tell: Duan had no intention of giving up a single treasure, even if it could save countless lives.
Truly a lowlife!
Bai Zihan didn’t care about people like that—unless they interfered with his work.
And if they did, there would be no mercy.
If saving the city was the goal, he couldn’t do it alone. Not with this weak body.
So, for now, he had three priorities:
Firstly, help Princess Feilian produce firearms. That alone could drastically improve the Inner City’s defenses.
Secondly, gather intelligence. He needed to understand the enemy—their numbers, their strength, their movements.
Thirdly, teach Princess Feilian how to rule.
Minister Duan’s behavior made one thing clear: Feilian didn’t wield true authority within the city.
Though she was called “Princess,” there was no real respect behind the title. No deference. Nothing that suggested she stood above minister Duan.
There might even be a conspiracy to replace her.
It was a common tactic—strike when a city is in crisis. Remove the symbolic figurehead when everyone is too overwhelmed to object.
He wouldn’t really have interfered if the person they were trying to replace wasn’t Feilian.
***
The gates of the Inner City’s palace loomed ahead—tall, elegant, yet bearing the faintest cracks of wear.
Its once pristine white walls were streaked with soot and dust. Even royalty wasn’t untouched by the creeping rot of chaos.
Princess Feilian led the group forward, flanked by her silent, grim-eyed guards.
Bai Zihan followed with measured steps, gaze sweeping across every shadow and crack as though the stones themselves might whisper secrets.
Inside, the palace retained a degree of splendor—tall arches, delicate murals depicting ancient battles and victories, and polished stone floors that echoed every footstep.
Yet there was no hiding the tension.
Every servant they passed moved quickly, eyes averted, faces tight with fear or fatigue.
The scent of scented oils could not fully mask the iron tang of blood or the bitter smoke that clung to their clothes.
“This way!”
Feilian said, her voice polite but distant, leading Bai Zihan through a side corridor lit with flickering crystal lamps.
“This wing is still secure. We’ve converted it into a command center and living quarters for what remains of the leadership.”
She gestured toward a balcony overlooking the courtyard.
From here, one could see soldiers drilling, engineers repairing crossbows and ballistae, and wounded being treated in hastily erected tents.
It seems like unlike what Bai Zihan initially believed, the people of Inner City weren’t hiding like turtles.
At least, some of the soldiers were fighting with the Demonic Beasts.
“The morale is holding, barely,” she murmured. “But if Grade-3 Demonic Beasts appear…”
She didn’t finish the thought. She didn’t need to.
They passed through several more halls—some filled with maps and reports, others with crates of supplies.
Finally, she stopped before a heavy wooden door carved with the crest of her house: a silver crane soaring above storm-tossed waves.
“We’ll speak here!”
She said softly.
The guards opened the door, then closed it behind them with a quiet ’thud’, leaving the two alone.
Inside, the chamber was modest for royalty. A long table with scrolls and inkstones dominated the room.
Feilian turned to face him, her eyes sharper now, no longer veiled by the mask of formality.
“I appreciate you coming,” she said after a pause. “More than you realize. Things are… unraveling.”
Bai Zihan didn’t speak immediately.
He studied her carefully—the slight tension in her shoulders, the weariness behind her gaze, the strength hidden beneath it.
It didn’t seem like she was as naive as he had thought. She must know about her enemies both outside and inside.
“You don’t hold real power here,” he said bluntly.
Feilian blinked, surprised by the directness but nodded in honesty.
“No. I don’t!”
“You’re a symbol. A hope the people can cling to. But symbols don’t give orders. And right now, this city doesn’t need a symbol. It needs a ruler!”
Bai Zihan said.
A shadow passed over her expression.
“You saw Minister Duan. He’s not the only one. Half the council thinks I’m too young. Too idealistic. That I should step aside and let them manage things. I know they all are waiting for an opportunity to replace me.”
“And they’ll do it the moment things get worse.”
Bai Zihan said flatly.
Her hands clenched at her sides, and for a moment, she looked very much like the ruler she could become.
“They won’t. Not if I became a True Ruler!”
Bai Zihan looked at the young girl, her shoulders far too small for the weight she carried—yet she bore it anyway.
Sometimes in life, fate doesn’t care if you’re ready. You simply have to carry on!
Anyways, it was great that Feilian already made up her mind and is thinking about the same thing as Bai ZIhan had planned to do.
“Do you think you can?”
Bai Zihan asked.
“That’s why I need your help,” Princess Feilian said firmly.
“With someone like you by my side, I believe I can do it!”
“Smart girl,” Bai Zihan said with a smirk.
“Then start by listening,” Bai Zihan said.
“If you want to become a ruler with absolute power, you need weapons, information, and control. I can help with the first two. But the third is up to you.”
Feilian nodded slowly.
“What do you need?”