Midway through their journey, Serena and her group were ambushed by bandits. At the critical moment, Serena made a snap decision: she ordered the Si Clan’s Eighteen Riders to protect Master Wenyuan and the others, while she stayed behind with the dark guards to cover their retreat.
All the dark guards were killed. Serena’s whereabouts became unknown.
“Bandits? If they could wipe out my dark guards, these ‘bandits’ are no ordinary foes. Who would hide such skill in the wilds?” Prince Nolan leaned back slightly, his entire face shrouded in shadow.
The messenger knelt below, sweat dripping steadily to the floor, but dared not move. Prince Nolan remained silent, leaning into his chair, lost in thought.
After a long pause, Prince Nolan finally waved his hand, dismissing the messenger…
Serena’s whereabouts were unknown; odds were she had fallen into the hands of these so‑called bandits. As for who these bandits truly were, Prince Nolan could not be certain.
Prince Nolan closed his eyes briefly, masking the worry in his gaze…
Little Pan Mountain was an unremarkable low hill within Southlyn’s borders—no tall trees, no fierce beasts. Villagers nearby often trekked up to gather wild greens or set traps for mountain chickens. Yet, in this ordinary mountain, something far from ordinary was hidden.
Serena had no idea how long she’d been unconscious. When she woke, she found herself spread‑eagled on a waterbed, wrists and ankles shackled by iron chains—able to move, but unable to sit up.
Serena tugged at the shackles, a flash of panic in her eyes. She glanced down at her own body, saw she was still in the same clothes, and let out a harsh sigh of relief.
At least she hadn’t been violated.
After that moment of panic, Serena began to assess her situation.
The room was spacious and almost empty; aside from the waterbed where she lay, there was only a large redwood table. Tightly shut windows flanked both sides, and the main door was oversized—grand like a palace, but lacking true dignity.
Where was this place?
A bandit stronghold? Serena immediately shook her head.
Those roadside bandits were no ordinary thieves. If robbers were really that skilled, they wouldn’t hole up in a remote mountain village. With their abilities, they could make a living anywhere; sticking to highway robbery here would only starve them.
"Creak..."
Just as Serena was wondering who had tied her up, the door suddenly swung open. She hurriedly shut her eyes and pretended to be unconscious.
The visitor entered, footsteps steady and deliberate, approaching the bed. Serena could tell he was a man—medium build, clearly trained. He stood by the bed, unmoving.
"Open your eyes."
His voice was icy, with a rasp as if deliberately lowered. He stared at her, making Serena’s skin crawl, as if a venomous snake were watching her every move.
Serena knew he was no benevolent savior. She stopped pretending, obediently opened her eyes, and saw a man in black clothes and a silver mask.
He was tall, severe, and cold. The silver mask gleamed with a chilling light.
Lance Quinn?
Serena’s pupils dilated sharply, but she quickly blinked and feigned calm, rattling her chains. She smiled, "Now that you’re here, I’m relieved. We’re saved. Hurry—help me unlock these shackles, we need to get out of here."
Serena looked relaxed, as if she’d found her savior—but only she knew she was nearly sick with nerves.
"Heh…" The man didn’t move, just stood coldly at the bedside, staring at Serena.
Serena acted as if she hadn’t noticed, her face puzzled. "Lance, what’s wrong? Aren’t you here to save me and get the antidote?"
"Antidote?" the man replied coldly, a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
"That’s right. If I’ve counted correctly, your poison should flare up any day now. Unless you’re cured? But that can’t be—who in this world is better than the Valley Master, Dr. Redwater, or Dr. Marcus Guile?" Serena lied smoothly, her face and heartbeat steady—her act so perfect he had no choice but to believe her.
"No."
The man replied coldly. His mask hid his expression, but Serena didn’t need to see his face—the answer was enough. She nodded knowingly. "I thought so. If none of us four could cure your poison, who else could? But don’t worry, Lance. With me here, you’ll be fine. I’ve made new discoveries recently—maybe you can keep the poison in check even longer. You won’t have to come for the antidote every three months anymore."
He really wasn’t Lance Quinn. No matter how perfect the disguise, there were flaws. Serena didn’t know why he was impersonating Lance, but she didn’t mind taking advantage of it.
"Enough standing around. Hurry and unlock these chains—these bandits are skilled fighters. If you face them head-on, you might not win."
"Is that so?" The man crossed his arms, looking down at Serena with arrogant indifference, making no move to help.
Serena cursed inwardly; this impersonator was nothing like Lance Quinn. But she kept her face neutral. Thinking of those fake bandits whose real target was Master Wenyuan, Serena decided to risk it: "Lance, unlock my chains. I’ve arranged to meet Master Wenyuan within three days if anything goes wrong. If I’m late, they’ll leave."
Serena’s guess was spot on—her last sentence made the man waver. He examined her carefully, found no sign of a lie, and finally sat on the bed. He drew a small dagger and began sawing at her chains.
The blade grazed Serena’s wrist, drawing blood almost immediately. Startled, she tried to pull away, but he pressed her down: "Don’t move."
He warned her coldly, his movements rough. Serena’s wrist was soon red and raw from the pressure.
"Alright." Serena replied, outwardly calm but with her stomach in knots.
She knew exactly where she was—and who he was!
As he drew near, Serena caught the scent of decaying earth on him. She’d smelled it before—back when Dominic Zhai abandoned her outside the city, and then…
She’d been taken to an underground palace—the lair of Prince Damien of Southlyn. Back then, Damien nearly killed her. Now, she could smell the same scent on this man.
Unless she was mistaken, this man was Prince Damien.
She’d actually fallen into Prince Damien’s hands. Serena’s heart nearly stopped. She forced herself not to tremble, staring fixedly at the bedframe—terrified that Damien would notice anything amiss.
Damn it, what kind of twisted world was this? Serena was on the verge of tears. Shouldn’t Prince Damien be in the Southern Lyn capital, fighting for the throne? Why was he here in some remote mountain village?
And seriously—did he think he was some kind of corpse? One underground palace after another, all built like tombs. Even this bed was a joke—clearly not something normal people would use.
Serena didn’t dare imagine what would happen if she slipped up and Damien realized she knew Lance Quinn was a fake. How would he deal with her then?
This man had never been any kind of gentleman…