The corridor was laid with a deep crimson carpet, the frosted glass shades of the wall lamps filtering the light into a soft, dim glow.
The train swayed gently on the tracks, wheels clicking in a steady rhythm as they passed over the rail joints.
A black hat sat low, its brim casting a shadow that hid most of the face.
The collar of a dark overcoat was turned up high, covering the neck completely.
A figure appeared in the corridor.
He moved furtively, stopping every nine steps to glance left and right before continuing on.
Judging by the way he carried himself, he was almost certainly up to no good.
The problem was that both sides of the corridor were lined with compartment doors—identical dark wood, identical brass handles, identical gold-embossed numbers.
Even the grain patterns on the door panels looked the same.
This was a problem.
The man in the hat stopped before one door, hesitated, then raised his hand and knocked three times.
The door opened.
Masiweiluo stood there.
Her brown hair was loose, falling over her shoulders instead of tied up.
She wasn’t wearing the silver-white plate armor she’d worn in the knight tournament.
Instead, she had on a dark gray casual jacket, the Galloping Horse emblem on her chest mostly covered, only the outline of a horse’s head visible.
One hand propped against the doorframe, the other still gripping the handle, her expression screaming “don’t bother me.”
“What are you staring at? Door fun to look at?”
The man in the hat took half a step back.
Masiweiluo’s name wasn’t exactly a household one, but he’d worked in intelligence long enough to know basic facts.
Former captain of Wolfgang’s vanguard knights, vice-captain of the Silver Lance Knight Order.
Even if this was Urske territory and a horse-tribe knight’s reputation carried less weight here, he certainly knew who Masiweiluo was.
Damn… running into someone of Masiweiluo’s caliber—running was the best option.
He said nothing and took another step back.
A draft made the lamp flame in the corridor flicker.
But why were the people he encountered today so abnormal.
Masiweiluo had already shut the door, the close pulling a small gust of air.
Although the man in the hat’s mission was to investigate the people on this train, today’s luck really wasn’t holding up.
Forget it, maybe just bad luck.
Try another one.
He walked forward a few steps and knocked on another door.
This one was slightly different from the others—no gold-embossed number on the panel, just a small brass plaque hanging on it.
The door opened.
Inside weren’t passengers, but a group of soldiers in black uniforms.
The standard black uniforms of the Urske Imperial Army, the shoulder insignias glinting coldly under the compartment lights.
A map was spread across the table, pinned down by a dagger and two enamel mugs.
Someone was smoking, the haze gathering into a gray-blue cloud against the low compartment ceiling.
The one who opened the door was a soldier with a bushy beard, shoulders more than twice as wide as the man in the hat’s, his bear ears nearly brushing the top of the doorframe.
“Can I help you, sir? This is staff seating. Please find another spot.”
The tone wasn’t rough, but there was clearly no room for negotiation.
The man in the hat’s eyes swept quickly over the insignia on their collars—artillery.
This train had three armored carriages, each mounted with a turret.
These soldiers were probably the turret operators.
If they found out he was a spy, he’d be thrown off the train today.
On frozen ground at minus ten degrees, getting thrown off was hardly better than being shot.
He quickly pressed his hat brim lower, backed away, and mumbled “Sorry, wrong door” before his feet were already carrying him deeper down the corridor.
Was his luck off today?
First a knight, now artillerymen.
Why such bad luck.
A single pull gets Masiweiluo, a ten-pull gets a squad of artillery.
What kind of luck is this…
He quickened his pace toward the front of the corridor, no longer knocking on any doors.
Maybe the next carriage would have better luck.
A few more minutes forward should bring another section.
Up ahead, one door stood out from the rest.
No number on it.
The handle was brass, larger than the ones on ordinary compartments, carved with the Urske double-headed eagle relief.
A brass plaque beside the door bore an embossed line of gold lettering—he couldn’t read Urske script, but he recognized the word “VIP,” because no matter the country’s language, the word “VIP” was one he remembered clearly.
He raised his hand.
His knuckles stopped a few inches from the door panel as hesitation crept in.
Whatever, maybe he’d catch something big.
Knock.
The door opened, Olivia having just risen from the tea table to grab a blanket from the luggage rack, pulling the door open on a whim.
“What is it? Are you staff? I didn’t call anyone?”
Olivia stood in the doorway.
Her gown’s hem trailed across the floor, the red ribbon at her waist pulled tight, her silver-white hair draping over her shoulder.
She tilted her head slightly to look up at the man who towered nearly two heads above her.
Her silver pupils reflected the corridor lamplight, glowing with an unnatural brightness.
The man in the hat froze, his hand still gripping the door handle, rooted to the spot.
He’d heard about it at the station.
A young lady with silver-white hair had boarded the train, wearing a white Urske-style gown, accompanied by two attendants.
The intelligence report said “Daughter of the Silver Dragon Queen, suspected of boarding under an alias, identity pending confirmation.”
He’d thought the intelligence department was being too vague back then—since when did the Silver Dragon Queen have a daughter?
Weren’t there fewer than ten thousand dragons left?
And now she was standing right in front of him.
Three steps away wasn’t some vague “suspected silver dragon” intel, but a living, breathing silver dragon princess.
This was a dragon!
His hand froze on the handle for about a breath and a half, then he stumbled back two steps, nearly tripping over the hem of his overcoat.
His lips moved under the hat brim, as if trying to say something, but not a single word came out.
His brain was spinning three times faster than normal—how strong was a dragon’s hearing?
Could she smell the gunpowder on him?
If he bolted right now, would her instincts kick in and chase him?
“Sorry, wrong door, my apologies!”
A string of garbled syllables tumbled out from under the brim, and then he turned and left.
His footsteps made almost no sound on the corridor carpet, but his shoulder clipped the corridor wall, producing a soft thud.
He quickly rounded the corner and vanished.
Olivia stood at the doorway, tilting her head.
The corridor was empty now, only the lamplight lying quietly on the deep crimson carpet.
“Who was that?”
She closed the door and turned back to the tea table.
Hui didn’t even turn his head, picking up his water cup from the table.
“Probably some clueless idiot who got the wrong carriage.”
What incredible luck today—two golds on single pulls.
Even some African players would be jealous for a decade.
Olivia settled back into the compartment.
“Hey, Hui, when do we arrive?”
“About two more hours. You should rest for now.”