MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!

The bandit’s sickle was raised.

Then it clattered to the ground, slick with blood.

In the blink of an eye, the masked figure had moved—too fast, too smooth. One moment he had been standing at the door, cloaked in darkness. The next, his blade gleamed beside the bandit’s throat. Not a breath later, the man crumpled, eyes wide with shock as blood spurted in a clean arc.

A gurgling sound escaped his mouth. Then silence.

The others froze.

"What—?"

"W-Was that—?"

No one had seen the attack. No one had even seen the figure draw his sword.

But now, the pool of blood beneath their companion was spreading.

"Monster!" one of them shouted, lunging forward with a dagger in each hand.

The masked man didn’t flinch.

The twin daggers slashed through the air—fast, precise.

But they met nothing.

The attacker’s eyes widened. His target had vanished.

Too fast!

He turned—

Too late.

A hand gripped the back of his neck.

Steel sliced across his ribs from behind.

He dropped to his knees, blood bubbling from his mouth, before collapsing face-first beside his fallen comrade.

"Two!" another bandit shouted, panic beginning to climb into his voice. "He’s taken down two already!"

They moved in as one—four men, shouting, blades raised, trying to flank him.

The masked man stood still.

A beat passed.

Then—

He moved.

Like wind through grass. Like death in silk.

One sword. No wasted motion.

Steel flashed.

A scream ripped through the chamber.

One of the bandits clutched his throat, red gushing between his fingers, stumbling backward into the wall before sliding down in a limp heap.

Another swung a club, roaring—but the black figure caught his wrist mid-swing and twisted. Bones snapped. The man howled. Then the masked figure drove his knee into the attacker’s stomach, doubling him over, before slicing his back open with a single reverse sweep.

Screams. Blood. Panic.

The air itself seemed to vibrate with violence.

Xia Lin could barely lift her head. Her breath hitched with every wet sound. Her wide eyes blinked, disoriented, as shadows clashed before her in a blur of steel and red.

She didn’t know what terrified her more—the torture she’d endured, or the silent, masked devil who was tearing these men apart like paper dolls.

Who is he?! she thought, her heart hammering in her chest. Why is he here? Is he here... to kill me too?

Another bandit fell—sword buried in his gut. He tried to crawl away. He didn’t make it far.

Only one remained.

The last mercenary looked around, eyes wild.

Blood was everywhere. Screams were still echoing off the walls. His comrades—ruthless men, feared men—now nothing more than twitching corpses at the masked stranger’s feet.

"You devil!" he spat, backing away. "You—what the hell are you?!"

The figure didn’t answer.

His mask gleamed faintly in the flickering lantern light.

The bandit turned—and ran.

But not toward the door.

Toward her.

Xia Lin’s eyes widened.

"No—!"

He sprinted to the raised platform where she dangled over the water chamber, still bound by soaked ropes.

Her limbs were too weak to fight. Her screams were hoarse. Her strength—gone.

But her eyes never looked away from the blade in his hand.

"Let’s see you save her, devil!" he barked. "She’s the only lead you’ve got!"

He hurled his sickle.

It sliced through the air.

It hit the rope.

A snap echoed through the room.

Then—

Xia Lin dropped.

Straight into the black pool below.

There was no pulley this time. No mechanism to raise her again.

She plunged into the cold, choking water.

Everything went black!

The moment the sickle severed the rope, the masked man’s head snapped toward Xia Lin. His eyes—shrouded in shadows behind the carved obsidian mask—flashed with something raw.

Panic.

She was falling.

Bound hands. Bound legs. No resistance. No escape.

Her body hit the water with a sickening splash.

And then—worse—the room groaned.

A grinding sound echoed through the chamber. Steel rods, once hidden in the stone, began to slam down with deafening finality, sealing the water chamber in a mechanical lock. Ancient, brutal engineering. The dungeon had come alive.

The masked man surged forward, but—

Steel again.

The last of the seven bandits stood in his path. Taller than the others. Broader. Smarter. This one hadn’t rushed. He had watched. Waited.

"You won’t reach her," he snarled, flipping a short sword in each hand. "You’re fast. I’ll give you that. But let’s see if you bleed like a man."

The masked figure didn’t speak. But his grip tightened.

Then they clashed.

Steel rang against steel in a blur of motion. The bandit struck low—then high. Quick. Fluid. He was good. Too good.

The masked man deflected blow after blow, sidestepped slashes, spun, and parried. But this wasn’t like before. This wasn’t just about survival.

It was about time.

And time was slipping fast.

Beneath them, Xia Lin was drowning.

The masked figure moved faster. More desperate. Every strike was sharper. Every block, tighter. Sparks flew as blades kissed in fury. He ducked a sweep, spun behind the bandit, and drove his elbow into the man’s spine.

A grunt. A stumble.

He didn’t stop.

With a brutal step forward, he caught the man’s arm, twisted it back, and with a sharp, final movement—

Crack.

The blade clattered to the ground.

The bandit collapsed, unconscious.

No time for mercy. No time for breath.

The masked man sprinted to the edge of the chamber—just as the last of the locking rods slammed into place.

He reached for the edge—shoved hard. Nothing budged.

"Damn it—!"

For the first time, a sound left his mouth. Rough. Human.

He looked down. The water was still. Too still.

And then he remembered—

The torch.

Reaching behind him, he unhooked a small, glowing lantern from the strap across his back. The light was enchanted—faint, but enough.

He clenched it in his right hand, blade sheathed, and dove in.

The cold hit him like a slap. But he didn’t pause.

He swam.

The water was thick, murky, and filled with shadows. His vision blurred. Every second, he waved his arm through the water, desperate to feel her.

Nothing.

He dove deeper, lungs burning, the soft light illuminating only inches ahead.

Then—

His fingers brushed something.

Rope.

A wrist.

A shoulder.

He grabbed hold—and a soft, limp body pressed against his chest.

Xia Lin.

Her face was turned away, hair floating like black threads in the water, skin so pale it nearly blended with the dim light. She didn’t move.

He pulled her close, one arm around her waist, the other gripping the torch tightly as he kicked up with everything he had.

The weight of her bound body slowed them.

But he didn’t let go.

Not once.

They breached the surface with a gasp—his gasp. Hers was silent.

She didn’t cough. She didn’t stir.

No time.

The rods above wouldn’t open. The door was sealed. But—

The water was moving.

He felt it now—just the faintest current brushing past his legs. It wasn’t a pool.

It was a stream.

Hidden. Feeding this cursed dungeon.

There had to be an outlet.

One direction.

He swam.

Hard.

Faster.

The current grew stronger.

Then—he saw it. A slit in the far wall, half-submerged. Barely wide enough. But it was there.

He pushed through, clutching Xia Lin against him, torch clamped between his teeth now. Stone scraped his shoulder. Her arm caught against the rock. He shifted her gently, protectively.

And then—

Light.

A natural cavern. Narrow. Damp. But open.

He emerged into a shallow cave where the water pooled quietly on a rough shore.

He dragged them both out.

His legs shook. His hands trembled.

He laid Xia Lin on the ground. Her skin was ice. Her lips blue. Her chest still.

"No..." he breathed, dropping the torch beside them.

The faint glow flickered across her face.

She looked... gone.

No time for grief. No room for fear.

He positioned his hands on her chest and began to pump.

"One... two... three..."

Again.

Harder.

Water spilled from her lips—but she didn’t wake.

"Come on!" he hissed. "Don’t—don’t die here!"

He checked her pulse.

It was there. But faint.

So faint.

His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists.

He stared at her face.

Young. Loyal. Unbreakable.

She had held out through torture.

And now—this?

He looked down. She was shivering faintly, but still not conscious.

There was only one thing left to try.

Skin-to-skin.

His breath caught.

A pause.

A memory.

He’d never kissed anyone.

There was something rushing out of his chest that he did not understand yet there was no time to ponder over everything.

It was just that this was a little bit...

His thoughts swirled

Never touched someone like this. Not in this world.

This was the very first time he was also close to a woman like this

But now wasn’t the time for shame.

He leaned down, pressed his lips to hers, and breathed.

Warm air. Again. Again.

His hand cradled her head.

"Don’t you dare die,"