"Of course, I am well aware that Mr. Enan Modkaiser, due to his birth mother's reasons, harbors sympathy for Miss Delice; actually, the former queen was also from the Westwood Sibika family, there's always these intricate connections among nobles—"

He turned around: "I also know the Duke's unwavering loyalty to the Royal Household, Mr. Enan certainly won't stand against the King. Yet times indeed have changed, there always lurk a few with ulterior motives in this era..."

The Praetor felt he had said enough, he also saw the former Overlord of Phoenix City, his gaze was fixed on his youngest son.

He then asked:

"Mr. Enan, tell us the answer now, everything is still salvageable. The story of the Black Rose Family, you can actually emulate it."

"Emulate what?" Enan replied calmly.

"That roster," the Praetor's words carried great weight: "After the Southern Region resolution, who was secretly organizing everything? The Holy Chooser who escorted Delice out of the city, belonged to which forces?"

"And who was it that took Count Westwood Sibika away from Fanric?"

Enan shook his head: "I don't understand what you're talking about, Your Excellency."

The Praetor sneered: "You don't know, are you suggesting all this has nothing to do with you? This is merely Miss Feyos acting on her own?"

He turned around and waved.

Only then did Fang Hong see the City Defense Force pushing a bloodstained young girl out.

It was Feyos.

Indeed the Miss Maid.

He could hardly believe that the Miss Feyos he had seen just during the day was now in such a state. She had clearly burned that roster, how could she end up in the other's hands.

Yet his gaze suddenly fell on the people by the Shadow Throne on the other side of the square.

The entire sequence of events seemed to outline a clear picture in his mind—

Feyos, with her hands bound at the back, looked tearfully at her master, her expression pale, she shook her head forcefully to the youth.

"Poor soul," the Praetor gazed at the girl and sighed: "Now you have two choices, Mr. Enan. Expose those people—or put all the blame on this pitiful Madam, let her bear everything for you."

The youth seemed to have heard nothing.

He exchanged a brief glance with his maid, an apology in his eyes—he turned back, looking towards Duke Modkaesar, his father, the Duke's eyes were dark, fixed upon him.

Not a word was spoken.

Enan could not help but feel disappointed, then turned back to the Praetor: "Actually, I have a third choice."

The latter was slightly taken aback.

The youth's demeanor was calm: "What do you believe the surname Modkaesar represents, Your Excellency? Though unable to wield a sword, the blood of Southern Region's people still flows within me—"

He looked at the other, simply repeating words spoken by his father earlier: "I don't know the habits of you Northerners, but in the Southern Region, traitors are most despised."

"So please release Feyos, for I am the main instigator of this affair, beneath the surname Modkaesar, could there be no such responsibility? Put away those vile thoughts, the scope of the Prime Minister's faction is but so—"

He enunciated each word: "My ancestor was a Knight, and I am the same."

Duke Modkaesar was slightly moved.

While the Praetor's face darkened. Although the process differed little from his expectations, the result was poles apart. He looked at the two, outsiders always say this youth is unconventional, unlike one of the Phoenix Family.

Yet at this moment, he deemed the counterpart no different from that damned old fool.

"A touching speech," he sneered: "But do you understand what you're saying, Mr. Enan Modkaiser?"

But Enan neither looked at him nor at his own father—Duke Modkaesar, only giving Feyos a deep glance, perhaps his only regret was involving this little maid.

He shouldn't have let her get involved. The youth looked at the City Defense Force gathering below the square, resolutely stepping forward.

But at that moment, a hand blocked his way. Enan lifted his head, slightly surprised to see that figure—a young man, clad in robes, wielding an Elementalist's magic wand.

The other seemed to step forth, appearing out of thin air between the two, blocking the way in front of the Praetor.

"Holy Chooser, who might you be?" the Praetor was taken aback, instinctively asked.

But there were some deep murmurs echoing through the square; many had already recognized the identity of this young man.

He was called Resonance.

Once the Chairman of the Song of Ash.

Though that 'once' wasn't too far back.

And to the somber inquiry from the man in front, Resonance simply lifted his head, casting a glance at the other, without uttering a word. Yet on the square, a voice had already answered this question. That voice was utterly calm, even a bit gentle, but each word powerful:

"Who are we?"

"Praetor, aren't you searching for this answer?"

"Mr. Enan, Miss Feyos, merely lent us a small aid, yet hardly should be considered masterminds. Only some people's kindness that others are destined not to comprehend—"

Despite the buzzing discussions, that soothing voice couldn't be concealed.

Everyone sought out the source of this voice.

Only Fang Hong realized first who was speaking—he turned around, utterly amazed to look behind—there, the man had just placed the box he carried on the ground, the box automatically opened, and a great bow fell from within.

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