Forty-Two's surprise turned to panic in an instant.
Though she was hailed as one of the most talented undead princesses the Undead Plains had birthed in generations, she knew all too well—raw talent meant little when time hadn't yet forged it into power.
Forty two was same. Demonically gifted, yes—but still far too young in her cultivation journey. No matter how sharp the blade, without a tempered edge and a sturdy hilt, it would shatter against the weight of a true enemy. Foundation—that cruel wall that talent alone couldn't leap over—was what separated the prodigies from the monstrous legends.
And that very truth was the reason behind her name: Forty-Two. Among all the undead princesses, she was ranked forty-second. Not first. Not even within the top ten. Just enough to be noticed. Just enough to survive.
But now, survival wasn't enough.
