Houston was stunned. Ixia was weak—the weakest among the saints. That was the reason she was sent here to guard this rock. But she wasn’t so weak that she should be bested in three seconds, barely surviving.

A saint’s power highly depends on their god and the saint's faith itself. The Goddess who had chosen Ixia was said to only master one percent of the element she controls: the sky.

Baseless rumor this may be, but with seemingly little impact on the common folk and minimal interaction with the populace, there was little effort to dispel the rumors, making them seem as good as true.

That said, Ixia was not impressed when she was chosen. What was a life-changing day for her peers was merely an okay day at best.

The sound of metal against the earth broke Houston out of his stupor. The Monkey King leaned on his staff, seemingly standing against it, unamused. "So, are you just gonna stand there in reverie, looking at me with awe, or are you going to help her? I don't mind another fan, but this seems," he paused, "out of place."

With a quick shake of his head, Houston scrambled to his feet. "Wake up! Whoever’s still standing, stand and bring the injured back to the barracks!" he commanded.

He lowered his body and carefully scooped the Second Princess into a princess carry. With watchful but hurried steps, he brought her back to her mansion, finding security in the king's nonchalance. 'If he wanted us dead, he'd have already done it.'

The mansion's interior was white, a color associated with the Goddess. Houston never understood that train of thought—the sky is blue as far as he could see. 'Maybe the clouds?'

The furniture was white, too. From the chair placed against the table, to the pillars holding up the roof, to the chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Inside, Celia, the saintess's personal maid, immediately took her from Houston’s arms. Worry and confusion painted her face. *'The Princess comes first.'*

"Please, call the healers from the barracks," she whispered.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Of course," Houston said, watching the maid carry the girl into her personal room upstairs.

*'Thin arms, yet strong,'* he thought before heading on his way.

Outside, The Monkey King watched the whole ordeal with a glint of curiosity in his eyes. He looked at Houston entering the mansion. *Oh?* His eyes immediately wandered from the entrance to the pillars, and finally to the mansion as a whole.

With every step his eyes took in exploring the house, his curiosity only grew—along with something else: *desire.* His eyes only found white, no matter where they went: white, and *flawless,* as if it was the sole survivor against the test of time.

His feet brought him closer to the source of his wonder. His hand raised to push the door open, yet it swung open before he exerted any force. He met Houston at the door.

"The Princess needs her rest," Houston warned sternly, his eyes sizing up the king, a direct confrontation toward his throne.

The king looked down at him, a condescending smirk adorning his lips. "Just a little tour can’t possibly hurt?" He raised his hands to his sides, shaking his head impishly.

Houston clenched his fists and gritted his teeth before finally yielding the right of way, *helpless.* "Don't disturb the princess," he said as the Monkey King slipped in.

"Yes, yes," the Monkey King replied dismissively. Houston's words went in one ear and out the other as his eyes took their own stroll. Just like the exterior, the interior was white.

The sofa: white cushion with a white frame. No stain or dirt had ever touched it. *Can dirt even touch it?*

The dining table was painted white, but the wood's characteristics made the distinctions clear. The chandelier hanging above, seemingly unreachable, was also free from dust.

Finally, his eyes settled on something under the stairs—a bundle of unknown energy, resting beneath. It was hidden behind a thick wall, but nothing eluded the Monkey King.

Like a heart, the energy beat with a calm and soothing rhythm. The chaos outside didn't affect it.

The Monkey King walked closer. He summoned his staff and swung.

The staff flew at speeds faster than the naked eye could perceive, with a force capable of blowing up mountains.

The sound of black iron meeting white thick marble jarred the entire building, yet the heart was left unscathed. The soothing rhythm remained.

"Who's there?!" a loud feminine voice spoke with authority. "Who dares damage the holy sanctuary of the Goddess of the Sky?"

From upstairs, a woman clad in a classic Victorian maid dress spoke, looking down at the perpetrator of chaos inside her house. Her pink hair flowed from the top of her head to just above her hips. Her stature was polite, as she stood upright, hands joined together in a V-shape below her stomach. Her face was cold.

The Monkey King only raised his eyebrows, not meeting the host's eyes. "Come down, or I'll make you," he said. There is nobody above the Monkey King.