“He’s reminding me, and he’s reminding you as well, Grandfather.”
Her voice turned cold.
“He’s reminding me that the Imperial Family’s gaze is everywhere, and reminding you not to interfere ‘excessively’.”
“Grandfather—”
She turned around, determination flashing in her pale purple eyes.
“The communication with Father and… the ‘communication’ with the Imperial Family likely needs to be moved up.”
Calanso pondered for a moment before nodding.
“You’re right. I’ll make the arrangements. But before that…”
His gaze landed on Lyra, who was so quiet she almost seemed invisible.
“The ‘blade’ you brought might need to be unsheathed soon. The ‘rumors’ and ‘troubles’ in the Academy likely won’t be as simple as academic disputes.”
Lyra looked up then, a glimmer of excitement flashing in her red eyes, though she quickly suppressed it.
She licked her lips, her voice quiet but clear.
“Boss, do you need me to ‘look into’ who this Chief Attendant met with before and after his visit, and what was said? Or… whose tongues in the Academy have been particularly active lately?”
Freya and Calanso exchanged a look.
“You may,” Freya finally said.
Her voice carried a hint of exhaustion, but it was mostly filled with calm calculation.
“Understood.”
The corner of Lyra’s mouth curled into an extremely faint, shadowy arc.
“I’ll be as quiet as a shadow.”
The afternoon sun filtered through the diamond-paned windows of the study, cut into patches of warm light that spilled across the thick carpet and mahogany desk.
Yet, it couldn’t dispel the heavy, solemn air within the room.
Grandfather Calanso had already left, heading personally to Earl Elwin’s Mansion.
The difficult conversation regarding the Marriage Contract had begun.
The residence suddenly felt much quieter, but it was a silence charged with the tension of an approaching storm.
Inside the study, Freya sat behind the desk with several documents and notes spread out before her.
She wasn’t reading them, however.
She simply stared into the void, her eyes somewhat vacant.
Lyra leaned against the bookshelf by the window, her fingertips absentmindedly twisting a curtain tassel.
Her eyes occasionally flicked toward Freya with undisguised curiosity.
“Boss—”
Lyra finally broke the silence.
Her voice was less bouncy than usual, carrying the flat tone of her ‘work mode’.
“If you want me to ‘look into’ things, I’ll need a direction. People at the Academy, people related to the Imperial Family… names, faces, and where they hang out… you’ve got to give me some ‘material’. Otherwise, I’ll be flying blind.”
Freya seemed to be pulled back from her thoughts by the voice.
She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, the vacancy had been replaced by composure.
She didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she stood up and walked to the bookshelf on the other side of the room.
Her fingers brushed over a row of book spines before stopping on a thick, leather-bound volume that looked like a commemorative album.
She took the album out, placed it on the desk, and slowly flipped it open.
It didn’t contain text, but rather a series of photos captured with Magic Images.
Most were group photos of Central Magic Academy activities, along with some shots from noble social gatherings.
Freya’s finger stopped on a specific page.
It was a large group photo from the Central Magic Academy’s annual celebration.
The background was the magnificent main building of the Academy.
Hundreds of students and professors were arranged by grade and department, everyone wearing expressions that ranged from reserved to cheerful.
Her fingertip landed accurately on a person in the front row.
It was a youth who looked to be about sixteen or seventeen years old, standing in a position reserved for high-achieving upperclassmen.
He had brilliant, short golden hair that seemed to carry its own soft glow in the Magic Image.
His features were handsome, his smile gentle and appropriate, and his clear blue eyes looked straight ahead, radiating an aura of integrity and sunshine.
Even in the crowded photo, he stood out exceptionally well.
“His name is Ross Castor,” Freya said. Her voice was calm, without a single ripple, as if she were merely stating an objective fact.
“A fourth-year student with an extremely high talent for Light Element Magic. He comes from the Imperial Family, possesses extraordinary giftedness, and was admitted on a full scholarship. He’s very popular at the Academy and is known as the ‘Son of Holy Light’. He’s a favorite of many professors and… one of Professor Horn’s prize pupils.”
Lyra leaned in closer, carefully inspecting the youth in the photo.
“Oh? He’s the prize pupil of that old fossil who’s giving you trouble? And he’s a member of the Imperial Family… he looks… quite like the standard model of a good student.”
Her tone was playful, as if she found this ‘model of sunshine’ rather boring.
Recalling her past life where Ross, as the Holy Sword Hero, used the Holy Sword to kill her, Freya clenched her fists under the table, struggling to suppress her rage.
However, to Freya’s surprise, after Lyra finished examining Ross’s photo in detail, her expression became slightly skeptical.
She looked even closer, then gave a wicked smile.
“So it was you—”
That smile made Freya feel a bit strange and even gave her the creeps.
‘What on earth is this girl up to?’
‘What do you mean, “it was you”?’
‘Never mind, I’ll just have a sip of… tea…’
She had just picked up her teacup when Lyra slammed the photo onto the desk with a loud thud, making the table vibrate.
Freya then watched as Lyra propped her hands on the desk—or rather, she climbed right onto it—and leaned in close, her eyes burning with intensity.
Freya blinked.
“What is it? Is the wolf cub I’m raising going to bite me before she’s even tame?”
Lyra merely hooked Freya’s chin like a rogue.
“Boss, I can agree to any of your requests, but I have one condition.”
Freya didn’t understand.
“What is it?”
Lyra maintained her posture.
“I don’t want to just be an assistant. I want a proper identity to enter the Academy with you—the kind that’s out in the open. You can do whatever else you want as long as it doesn’t endanger my personal safety.”
Freya was stunned for a moment. Disregarding how ambiguous their current position was, she spoke.
“Fine. But I want to know the reason.”
Lyra just smiled again.
She backed off and hopped down from the desk, waving her hand.
“You’ll find out later.”
With that, she turned to head back for a good night’s sleep.
Unexpectedly, Freya’s next words nearly caused her to trip.
“If you want a proper identity, you’ll have to learn an extra subject—dancing.”
Lyra’s mouth twitched as she looked back at Freya.
“Fine, my dear Boss.”
Freya was quite satisfied to see Lyra bested. It put her in a very good mood.
After Lyra left the study, the phrase “You’ll find out later” and her unusual reaction to Ross’s photo were like two stones cast into a still lake, sending ripples of suspicion through Freya’s heart.
She picked up the photo Lyra had slammed onto the desk, her fingertip brushing over Ross’s image.
The youth with golden hair and blue eyes, smiling so brightly in the crowd, would look to anyone like the textbook example of a Light-attribute genius—the future Holy Sword Hero.
But who could have imagined that behind that brilliant smile in the sunlight lay such cold, cruel betrayal and slaughter?
The icy, piercing pain of being run through by the Holy Sword in her previous life seemed to surface faintly once more.
Freya closed her eyes, suppressing the surging hatred and chill.
‘Does Lyra know Ross?’
Judging by her reaction, it was definitely more than just “knowing” him.
It was the gaze of someone who had recognized a prey, an enemy, or… an “old acquaintance” with a complex history.
Her words, “So it was you—”, had carried a knowing wickedness, even a hint of… amusement?
The “variable” she had unexpectedly brought back from the Black Market was becoming more and more mysterious.
Was there some connection between her and Ross, the Holy Sword, or even the dark side of her past life that she hadn’t noticed?
Keeping such a person by her side and bringing her into the Academy was undoubtedly introducing a massive uncertainty.
But looking at it from another perspective, a blade that held a special attitude toward the “Holy Sword Hero” might be the perfect weapon against that sanctimonious traitor in the future.
Freya locked the photo in a hidden compartment at the very bottom of the desk.
In any case, the condition Lyra had proposed—a proper identity to enter the Academy—would indeed help her current plans.
The range of activities an “assistant” could perform was limited after all.
An “officially enrolled student or auditor,” however, could naturally and deeply access various levels of the Academy, including getting close to Ross and his circle.
However, arranging such an identity would require a proper reason and some maneuvering, even for House Dale.
She rubbed her brow and decided to temporarily suppress these chaotic thoughts.
The top priority for now was dealing with the pressure from her father and the Imperial Family.
Grandfather had personally gone to Earl Elwin’s Mansion.
The outcome of that confrontation would directly dictate her next moves.
Early the next morning, just as Freya finished breakfast, Calanso returned, looking travel-worn.
The old man’s face showed a trace of fatigue, but his eyes remained sharp—perhaps even colder and harder than usual.
“How did the talk go, Grandfather?” Freya asked softly as she handed him a cup of hot tea.
Calanso took the cup and gave a huff.
“That father of yours is the same as always. He values family glory and royal favor above all else. I laid out your stance on the Marriage Contract to him, but at first, he refused to believe it. He thought it was just a child’s tantrum and that I had ‘spoiled’ you.”
He took a sip of tea and continued.
“I told him clearly that this was your own decision and that House Dale would support you fully. He was furious. He brought up your mother, family responsibility, and even hinted that if you lost the status of Crown Princess Consort, the Elwin Family’s standing with the Imperial Family would diminish, potentially affecting his future prospects.”
Freya’s lips thinned into a straight line.
“I asked him directly whether his daughter’s happiness was more important or those illusory ‘standings’.”
Calanso set the teacup down, his gaze piercing.
“In the end, it didn’t go well. He insisted you return immediately to explain things in person. He also demanded that you ‘consider carefully’ and not be influenced by ‘certain people with ulterior motives’.”
He glanced at Freya.
“‘People with ulterior motives’… I’m afraid he wasn’t just referring to me.”
Freya understood.
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