Chapter 87: The Capable Rise to the Top

The silent twin maid had already fallen asleep as usual, while the other, who could communicate, fixed her beautiful eyes quietly on Qin Le.

Looking into her eyes, Qin Le could clearly sense a certain emotion—unease. It was the anxiety of being in an unfamiliar environment, the fear of the unknown. This was strikingly similar to the emotional state exhibited by the Vanguards at the time of the Empire’s collapse and the Republic’s founding—a rare occasion when every Vanguard let their emotions show.

“What are you afraid of?” Qin Le stood at the bedside, gazing down at her. In the depths of his dark, unfathomable eyes, there was not the slightest ripple; shadows cloaked the two suggestive figures on the bed.

“I feel that you have no need for us,” the maid answered candidly.

The kingdom had trained them to maintain its stability. Their greatest advantage, as women, was to use their bodies to seduce the enemy, extract intelligence, or even assassinate. Yet their very first target seemed utterly indifferent to all these things, leaving her with a sense of defeat.

She had thought that escaping that place would allow her a fresh start, but now, it seemed she had arrived somewhere even stranger. Everything here was too bizarre, too foreign, as though it did not belong to this world at all.

But what frightened her most was the sense of being unnecessary.

“Heh, you really are humble.” Though Qin Le’s expression did not change in the slightest, a trace of pity and disdain colored his voice.

He reached out and pulled a chair to the bedside, sat down, leaned back, and let out a deep sigh, as though trying to dispel the fatigue of a long day.

“Let’s have a talk. What’s your name?”

It was only now that Qin Le realized he didn’t know her name. She had never said, and he had never bothered to ask. Maybe the think tank had her data.

“My name is Bai, and this is my sister Xue.”

“Pretty casual names,” Qin Le remarked with a twitch of his lips. There are always people who like to split a word into two syllables as names.

“Bai, to be honest, I have to admit, every time I’m lured by tactics like yours. Greed truly is human nature—even I can’t resist it.”

Bai gave a self-deprecating smile. “But each time, your refusal is always so resolute.”

“The ability to restrain desire is what separates humans from beasts.” Qin Le leaned forward slightly, staring straight into her azure eyes.

“I’ll give you both a choice now. First, I grant you freedom—you may leave. Second, you may stay, but you must prove your worth. I have no need for useless shells.”

His tone was icy, utterly merciless.

Their mindsets were not on the same level at all; verbal communication was as futile as playing music to a cow. She sought security by binding herself to him through physical intimacy, but he could not allow such a relationship to form—it was a matter of principle.

Bai bit her lip lightly and asked, “How should I prove my worth?”

Leaving was clearly impossible; with her identity, she’d only be taken back by the Shadow Guard.

“Become the extraordinary instructor of the Vanguards—help them become qualified assassins,” Qin Le replied.

“This...” Bai hesitated. “Duke, you should know our profession is extremely dangerous. Only one out of a hundred becomes an assassin.”

Her words were already tactful. With orthodox assassin training, the death rate rivaled that of the gladiator pits.

“That’s not your concern. Just prove your worth. As long as you do the right thing by the Law of Arcana, you’ll have my full support.” Qin Le extended his right hand.

“Do you know the meaning of the saying: ‘Why should the lords and nobles be of noble birth?’ Here, I care not for background, only for ability. The capable rise to the top.”

After a few seconds’ hesitation, Bai gritted her teeth and grasped his broad palm. Her lovely face was no longer gentle and weak; instead, it took on a fierce, cold edge, her eyes brimming with determination and killing intent.

“I hope you’ll keep your word, Duke.”

“I never lie.” Qin Le released her hand, rose from the chair, and turned away.

“Put your clothes on.”

The sound of fabric brushing came from behind, and a few minutes later, the two maids had donned simple white dresses. The one named Xue had her eyes downcast, looking drowsy. Bai, on the other hand, wore a cold expression; now she looked every bit the assassin, her earlier fragility clearly an act.

Catching her gaze, Qin Le nodded in satisfaction. “That’s better. Only the incompetent seek to rely on others. If you want a sense of security, keep proving your worth. The Law of Arcana is a meritocracy—more work, more reward.”

The corners of his mouth curled up, his voice seductive. “If you perform well enough, even reaching my position isn’t impossible.”

Being a major was not a particularly high rank; in peacetime, it took some connections, but in wartime, anyone with the ability could reach it easily. The nation was a collective of interests, and the Law of Arcana was a country that embraced all. As long as one did not violate its fundamental interests and values, it welcomed anyone.

A faint smile broke through Bai’s cold façade. “You really are despicable, you know we have no choice but to trust you.”

“You’ll find out just how despicable I am in time.”

With that, the assassin Bai took her sister’s hand and left the room.

The door slammed shut, leaving Qin Le alone.

“Suppressing my urges to this extent, really...” Qin Le chuckled self-mockingly.

If there were truly no consequences and no risks, who wouldn’t want to spend the night with a beauty? But the reality was, once you get involved, you can never shake them off.

Qin Le never considered himself especially devoted—he simply found it troublesome. Women only slowed his draw.

“And just where do you think you’re sneaking off to?” Qin Le suddenly reached out and grabbed at the air. At once, a green sprite appeared.

Aimeya’s expression froze. She simply couldn’t understand how he always managed to spot her.

“Good evening, Qin Le. Shall we begin your extraordinary advancement?” Aimeya beamed, her delicate features radiating charm.

Qin Le was unmoved, his gaze falling to the camera in her hand. Smiling, he asked, “Aimeya, why do you have a camera?”

“I borrowed it. I wanted to take some landscape photos for Orina,” Aimeya replied, her shamelessness as thick as city walls.

‘I’m going to show Orina your filthy true face!’

“My room counts as a landscape?”

“Uh...” Aimeya’s eyes darted. Then she said solemnly, “To me, your heroic presence surpasses all the world’s scenery.”

“Heh.” Qin Le didn’t believe a word from this slippery little sprite.

Those two maids had clearly been guided by Aimeya—for instance, when he used the Moon-Eating method of the Church of Night, a female extraordinary was required to channel the moonlight.

But in reality, not just anyone could channel moonlight—only those of the Church of Night could do so, due to complex reasons Aimeya never bothered to explain.

“Forget it. Let’s get started,” Qin Le said, unwilling to waste more time.

“Do I need to go outside?” he asked.

“No, just lie on the bed,” Aimeya replied, producing a gold coin from her pocket.

Qin Le lay on the bed as instructed, sensing the lingering warmth and fragrance on the sheets. But before he could indulge in sentimentality, he noticed something odd: Aimeya didn’t draw a ritual circle as before.

Instead, she merely spun her coin between her fingers as usual. Before he could question her, the room began to glow with faint specks of white light.

“Don’t you need a ritual?” Qin Le asked, perplexed.

Previously, when conducting safety tests on others, summoning moonlight required a ritual—at the very least, a magic circle on the floor. But now, Aimeya was doing nothing—just playing with her coin, and yet it worked?

It was as if you were developing software—normally, you’d need to write code before you had a program. But Aimeya skipped the steps and produced the finished product.

“Heh! Qin Le, you’re too slow-witted. Think about it—if I had to greet someone every time I borrowed power, it’d be a hassle. So I simply greeted them a hundred years in advance; now I can just take what I want,” Aimeya said smugly.

“Your goddess is certainly generous,” Qin Le said, speechless.

The Night Goddess was far too approachable. If he had such a follower, he’d have cleaned house long ago.

“Of course! The Night Goddess is the most generous deity I’ve ever seen. Not like those other gods, who get angry over the smallest request...” Aimeya took Qin Le’s right hand, guiding the moonlight from the air into his body.

Qin Le’s heart thudded. He felt something flowing in his blood, similar to guiding energy, but far more intense—as if a water pipe were connected to his veins, pumping water into his body, filling him with a sense of swelling.

At the same time, he could clearly feel that the energy that had long stagnated in his abdomen was finally starting to flow outward. Though slow, it was at last spreading through his body.

“If you feel you can’t handle it, let me know—don’t push yourself too hard,” Aimeya cautioned. “Actually, moonlight is a kind of energy, just tinged with divine authority, so it can’t be absorbed normally.”

Several hours later, in the temporal plane, Qin Le’s energy had reached his chest in the upper body and his knees in the lower body.

Aimeya staggered out of Qin Le’s room, legs weak, supporting herself against the wall as she limped back to her own room.

On the way, everyone she passed gave her strange looks.

Back in her room, Aimeya flopped onto her soft bed, her long pointed ears flushed red.

“Damn you, Qin Le, just you wait!”

Those odd glances made her feel both embarrassed and annoyed.

At the same time, she was full of doubts: Was Qin Le really that untalented? Most people completed a cycle in half an hour; he’d taken three hours and still wasn’t done, even with her help. It was absurd!

...

Next door, in Orina’s room.

The old maid was brushing Orina’s hair, while Orina wore a radiant smile, repeating the same phrase over and over.

“Why should the lords and nobles be of noble birth...”

The old maid asked with a calm face, “Your Highness, doesn’t that phrase question the nobility of aristocratic bloodlines?”

The base had been echoing that phrase lately. At first, it made her heart pound with fear—what were these people up to, daring to say such things?

But as she observed, she realized things weren’t as she’d imagined. The base still had a clear hierarchy, even stricter than the nobility’s: everyone was required to obey the Grand Duke of the Eastern Marches absolutely.

It didn’t fit what they preached—or perhaps she was simply mistaken?

Orina replied, “There are no truly noble bloodlines in this world. It’s all about merit. Why should nobles who contribute nothing to the kingdom stand above others? Nobles are people too; as long as you work hard, anyone can become a noble—like Count Dyna, for instance.”

“But I prefer Qin Le’s version: even commoners, as long as they strive, can be the equals of nobles.”

That was what the Law of Arcana taught the commoners: no one is born lowly; through effort, they can match any noble. Orina agreed wholeheartedly—why should useless people be allowed to stand above others and oppress the masses?

Those so-called children of noble blood—hadn’t she herself made them cry?

The old maid was stunned by these words but quickly regained her composure. Suddenly, her recent confusion was dispelled.

Why should the lords and nobles be of noble birth?

Suddenly, it made a lot of sense. Though it sounded subversive, it was indeed a meritocracy—those mysterious people proved it. A commoner, if competent, could become a squad leader and manage a hundred men; even a group leader oversaw thousands, equivalent in status to a viscount.

Still, it was a risky phrase—a direct challenge to most nobles. Only these people dared say such things.

After helping the princess to bed, the old maid quietly withdrew to her own room. As usual, she washed up, turned off the strange white light, and soon lay breathing evenly in bed.

Time ticked by. After an unknown interval, the old maid on the bed suddenly opened her eyes, reached into a hidden compartment in the wall, and drew out a conch shell.

“Your Majesty...”

She lowered her voice and recounted everything she had seen and heard over the past days, including that phrase: “Why should the lords and nobles be of noble birth?”

Above, in the base of a black lamp, a tiny device blinked with a faint red light.

In the command center outside the castle, a group of black-hearted rabbits exchanged knowing smiles.

...

Far away in the capital of Dawn, inside the royal palace.

In a lavishly decorated room, the King of Dawn slowly set down the conch on the red-and-gold bed.

“Why should the lords and nobles be of noble birth...”

The king repeated the phrase over and over, his brows furrowed tightly.

The more he pondered it, the more troubling it seemed. How dare anyone question the nobility of aristocratic blood? Of course there were noble bloodlines—the Dawn bloodline, for example, was born to rule.

His own poor talents notwithstanding, he had inherited the Dawn Sword thanks to his noble blood, becoming king above all.

The lords and nobles... aristocracy... hmm...

The more he thought about it, the more it felt that the phrase contained a deeper meaning.

Recalling everything about the Grand Duke’s domain in the east, the king seemed to realize something. His brow gradually relaxed, and a joyful laugh escaped him.

“Hahaha! What a splendid phrase: ‘Why should the lords and nobles be of noble birth!’”

Noble blood was not truly noble; at best, it merely increased the odds of producing the extraordinary. In the face of the vast populace, it meant little. Their so-called noble blood was a lie, a boast.

His own bloodline, on the other hand, was different; its nobility was granted by the Dawn Sword—it was tangible power!

Districts, groups, squads—such a peculiar system actually allowed commoners to manage themselves, and most importantly, to obey the Grand Duke's orders absolutely.

Could the kingdom be managed this way—let the commoners govern themselves?

“Meritocracy—why not?”

At that moment, a golden light glimmered from ahead—the Dawn Sword, embedded in its pedestal, was shining.

“You agree as well?”