It was open defiance.
Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms.
Even if he's a saint… Even then… there are rules, she whispered to herself, forcing her breath to calm down.
There was a sacred order passed down from the past Saints, and these rules were upheld by every Saint for centuries: a Saint may never act as ruler in another Saint's territory.
Even if two or three Saints crossed paths, even if war loomed on the horizon, the moment they entered another's land, they were bound by rules and restraint.
They had to give face.
They had to retreat when asked.
That law wasn't just tradition — it was balance. The foundation that kept the world from turning into endless destruction.
And this was her land. Heavenly Moon Sect.
Her domain. Her authority.
She had hoped that this monk, regardless of how powerful he might be, would follow the old code. That he would sense her desire for the pendant, recognize her claim, and step back.
Give her face.
