Chapter 961

“Princess Philia!”

As the Head of the Scorpio Bureau had his soul scrambled by soul encoding and instantly fell into light-speed sleep, a tense inquiry echoed from the observation platform of Sector 1 Military Industrial Zone, over sixty city blocks away.

“All cannon barrels below serial number 17 have completed initial cooling. Should we initiate the second round of firing immediately?”

“Not yet.”

After shaking his head at the asking legion commander, Philia crouched at the edge of the observation platform, clenched her lower lip, and continued observing the situation in Sector 1's Scientific Zone through her telescope.

This visible concern could not possibly be for anyone else—it could only be for Prince Andre, who doted on Philia yet had twice tried to kill her.

Even though Li Ang had solemnly assured her that, due to uncertainty over whether this “counterfeit upgraded version” of Princess Philia could maintain contact with the Watchtower Palace like true royal blood, he would do his best to ensure Prince Andre’s survival.

Yet the massive bombardment of over fifty thousand shells still left the emerald-eyed girl deeply uneasy; she had remained glued to the military telescope’s eyepiece, desperate to witness the scene firsthand.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness.”

Assuming without question that Philia was anxious about Prince Li Ang, who had ventured alone into danger, the commander of the Royal Direct Legion smiled understandingly after observing her unconsciously clenched fists, then comforted her:

“If Lord Li Ang dared issue such an order, he certainly has confidence in surviving the artillery fire. And since he took down six of our legions in two minutes and rescued us from Atifi’s control, he’ll surely succeed in killing that madman Andre!”

“...”

The problem is, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of!

With a silent, exasperated glance away, Philia turned to look at the Direct Legion commander, gave him a perfunctory half-smile, and replied awkwardly:

“Hmm... I hope so...”

“Rest assured, it will be!”

Not detecting Philia’s insincerity, the commander of the Royal Direct Legion gazed at the emerald-eyed girl before him—brave, intelligent, who after losing her parents had not succumbed to grief but stepped forward to lead the resistance against tyranny—with admiration, clenched his fist in a military salute, and vowed firmly:

“With your expectations as our support, Lord Li Ang will surely triumph, slay the rebellious Prince Andre, and fully save the Kingdom of Koroak!”

“...”

Please, just shut up!

Overwhelmed by the commander’s relentless flags, Princess Philia’s lips twitched twice; she was about to turn and say something when her vision suddenly blurred.

At some point, a warm beam of sunlight had quietly fallen upon the dark-gray observation platform, piercing through the grim, oppressive atmosphere and illuminating the surroundings...

Wait, why is it a single “stroke” of sunlight?!

Seeing the strange sunlight on the dark-gray tiles—bearing the unmistakable brushstroke marks—the emerald-eyed girl and the commander froze together.

Then, as if a brush saturated with oil paint had been gently laid upon a taut canvas, that stroke of sunlight, still slightly bristled, flowed softly along the direction of the brush’s motion.

When it reached near the people, the invisible giant brush paused slightly, shifting into something like a soft brush or silk fabric, lightly brushing the edges of the light to blur the harsh color blocks into a hazy gradient.

And as this gradient bloomed, the sunlight, once sharply distinct from human forms, naturally blended into their colors—while the hem of Philia’s dress was brushed with hues of sunlight itself.

“This... is...”

This sudden transformation felt endlessly long, yet in truth lasted only a fraction of a second—just one stroke, one brush, one light touch—too brief for even a blink.

Before the bewildered onlookers could react, the invisible giant brush, laden with thick, vibrant pigments, swept diagonally along the path of the sunlight, instantly painting the entire district, transforming the world into a magnificent painted scroll.

Found you at last.

Watching the emerald-eyed girl before him on the vast canvas, gazing blankly at the sky, Prince Andre let out a soft chuckle.

He picked up the spray bottle beside him, dampened the brush’s pigments, set it down, then took up a thin, flexible wooden-handled scraper, scraped off the naturally blended paint, and began redrawing.

Blending, dripping, dry-brushing, carving...

One technique after another, Prince Andre executed with mastery; the previously “frozen” painting on the canvas began to flow with his strokes.

The terrified emerald-eyed girl on the canvas was lifted by a flock of birds rendered in pointillism, flying across the entire capital toward Sector 1, now reduced to rubble.

Soldiers attempting to intercept her, however, found the observation platform beneath their feet collapsing suddenly; unable to reach her, they frantically clung to pillars and eaves, shouting angrily into the sky as they helplessly watched the girl vanish into the distance.

Come, hurry.

With a light slash of the painting knife, Prince Andre carved out a stretch of dark-gray battlements, blocking the legion commander who tried to rescue her; then he turned sideways, gazing tenderly at the easel in the corner.

On the easel rested the painting that had “absorbed” Atifi: “The Royal Banquet.” On this strange, frozen-yet-moving canvas, nearly all figures were in place, eagerly awaiting the banquet’s start.

The only one missing was the tiny infant in the Queen’s arms, sucking its thumb.

Though the child’s face was sweet and delicate, its emerald eyes lacked the “spirit” of the others—stiff, stagnant, motionless, unlike the flowing figures around it.

Just you now, Philia.

After a nostalgic glance at the joyful banquet, Prince Andre turned back, eagerly watching the emerald-eyed girl on the canvas, now reaching the edge of Sector 1.

You once saw yourself as Atifi-01. I could never convince myself to truly regard you as my sister—I could never paint you into this.

But now it’s different. I know your soul is the original soul, and you, too, must now understand—you are the true Philia.

If it’s you now, you can surely step into my painting, join me, and return to that banquet long ago—with Father, Mother, and the others...

Yet just as Prince Andre, full of anticipation, watched the canvas, waiting for his final family member to arrive, a soot-stained “little black figure” on the canvas suddenly dropped the other “little black” on its back, pulled out a knife, and slashed upward at the sky!

“Ssshh!”

With a sound like tearing silk, a small slit opened in the canvas’s sky, revealing a sliver of silver blade; the birds carrying the emerald-eyed girl were severed in half, scattering wildly in panic.

Philia, mere moments from her destination, was forcibly “intercepted” at the last second—she screamed and tumbled helplessly from the sky.