Freya’s gaze was like that of the coldest hunter, piercing through the intense confrontations on the field to lock onto her “Observation” target.
She watched the subtle abnormalities and undercurrents hidden beneath the interlacing of light and shadow.
The true contest never took place only on the arena stage.
“Boss?”
Lyra keenly sensed the momentary stagnation and coldness in Freya’s aura.
She leaned in closer, her red eyes filled with confusion.
“What’s wrong? Your face suddenly looks terrible. Was it that Blondie… er, the Crown Prince, who upset you?”
Lyra had also noticed the overly respectful attitude the master of ceremonies and the people around them showed toward Ross, as well as the unobtrusive yet clearly present Imperial Crest on his cloak.
She corrected her address immediately.
“I’m fine.”
Freya’s voice was slightly husky.
She picked up the cool tea beside her and took a sip to moisten her dry throat.
“Just… remembered some unpleasant things.”
She looked toward the center of the field.
Ross had not participated in the first team competition.
As the Crown Prince and the star player, he would obviously appear in a more important segment.
At this moment, he sat leisurely in the Royal Academy’s exclusive seats, conversing in low tones with academy officials and nobles beside him, occasionally offering a proper smile.
The sunlight fell on his golden hair and handsome profile, as if plating him in a layer of holy radiance that complemented the awe and admiration in the eyes of those surrounding him.
What a flawless image of a future monarch.
Freya’s stomach twisted.
In her past life, she might have felt a vague fondness for him or considered him a reliable, powerful companion.
Now, she only saw the cold calculations and unhesitating betrayal that might be hidden beneath this perfect facade.
Irina stood like a loyal shadow not far behind Ross’s seat.
She kept her head slightly bowed and her hands folded in front of her in a submissive posture.
However, Freya noticed that Irina’s gaze would occasionally sweep across Ross’s back with extreme speed.
Deep within those pink eyes, what flashed was definitely not mere admiration, but a burning intensity mixed with desire, calculation, and a fierce determination to possess.
“Lyra.”
Freya suddenly spoke in a low voice.
“I’m here, Boss!”
Lyra immediately perked up.
“Your ‘Observation’ needs to be more meticulous.”
Freya’s gaze remained fixed on the Royal Academy’s direction, her voice kept very low.
“The focus is not just on Ross Castor’s fighting style and power, but also the reactions of everyone around him. Especially… the details of Irina Ewell’s interactions with him, and whether there are others who seem insignificant but frequently engage in secret communication with her or Ross.”
Lyra’s red eyes narrowed slightly, like a hound catching a complex scent.
“Understood. It seems this pool is deeper and murkier than I thought.”
She licked her lips, showing no fear. Instead, she grew more excited.
“But the more it’s like that, the more interesting it gets, right, Boss?”
Freya did not answer, merely tracing the rim of her teacup with her finger.
The first team competition ended with a narrow victory for the Royal Academy.
This was followed by matches between other academies, featuring magical exchanges and tactical maneuvers.
The brilliant displays drew continuous gasps of surprise from the stands.
But Freya’s mind was not on the matches themselves.
She saw that during the intervals, Irina would “timely” offer Ross a drink to soothe his throat or a towel to wipe his brow (even though he hadn’t even stepped onto the field).
Her movements were cautious, and her eyes were filled with submissive dependence.
Ross seemed accustomed to this, occasionally nodding to her or even saying a word or two, which caused Irina’s cheeks to flush and the light in her eyes to grow even brighter.
Freya also noticed several people who looked like junior Royal Academy students or ordinary servants.
They took opportunities while delivering items or asking questions to have brief, rapid conversations with Irina.
Irina controlled her facial expressions perfectly, maintaining her timid appearance as someone trying her best to do her job.
But Freya noticed her folded fingers would unconsciously tighten, and her gaze would sharpen for a split second before quickly returning to its soft state.
In her past life, blinded by pride and trust, Freya probably wouldn’t have noticed these subtle abnormalities at all.
Now, however, every point of discord was like a flickering light in the dark, pointing toward a hidden path.
Finally, as the morning matches drew to a close, the master of ceremonies announced in a stirring voice:
“Next is the most anticipated segment of this Exchange Competition — a Holy Sword resonance demonstration by His Highness Ross Castor of the Royal Academy of Magic!”
The entire venue instantly erupted in cheers.
The Crown Prince himself was demonstrating the Holy Sword!
This was undoubtedly the highlight of the day.
“Boss, has the Holy Sword’s light really manifested in the world? I remember the Holy Sword has been sleeping in the Holy Temple for hundreds of years without waking.”
Lyra looked at Freya, seeking confirmation.
Freya looked toward the stage —
Amidst the deafening cheers, Ross stood up and removed his outer cloak, revealing the efficient silver-white light armor beneath.
He walked with steady steps toward the center of the training field, which had been cleared and prepared with reinforced defensive arrays.
Even the sunlight seemed to favor him, making Ross look like a hero straight out of a myth.
He raised his hand, palm upward, and began to chant an ancient and solemn incantation.
“It is exactly as you said. The Holy Sword sleeps in the Holy Temple and has not awakened. This Holy Sword Replica is said to have been made by fusing the Holy Light and crystal fragments of the original Holy Sword. Although its power cannot compare to the genuine article, its resonance with the Light Element is identical to the real Holy Sword.”
Freya explained this to Lyra.
As Ross chanted, a beam of pure, blazing golden light erupted from his palm.
The light grew more intense, gradually condensing into the silhouette of a longsword.
The blade was slender, with holy golden radiance flowing across its surface.
The hilt was embedded with an unknown gemstone, emitting a pressure that was both heart-pounding and inspiring of worship.
Although the Holy Sword Replica was not a true artifact, it was a counterfeit created using the full strength of the Empire to best resonate with the power of the Holy Sword.
Its power already far exceeded that of mundane weapons.
The moment Ross gripped the hilt, his entire aura changed abruptly.
He was no longer the gentle and elegant Crown Prince, but an unsheathed blade, sharp and inviolable.
He swung it a few times at random.
The golden blade-light sliced through the air with a pleasant hum, and the resulting wind pressure made the skin of nearby spectators sting.
The demonstration officially began.
Ross displayed exquisite sword techniques.
The Holy Sword Replica seemed to come alive in his hands, bursting with holy light of various attributes: purification, protection, and judgment.
Every strike was filled with majestic power, yet controlled with precision, drawing endless exclamations of praise from the stands.
Lyra watched without blinking, her red eyes flickering with light.
It was a mix of pure appreciation for combat and power, yet it seemed to be mingled with some deeper, more complex emotion.
Her body leaned forward slightly, her fingers curling unconsciously.
Freya observed everything calmly.
Ross’s power was indeed great, and his use of the Holy Sword’s power far exceeded that of his peers.
However, her gaze lingered more on the nuances of that holy light, trying to discern if there were any abnormal energy fluctuations, or… was there some subtle resonance with Irina’s seemingly pure Light Element mana?
Otherwise, why did Ross want her Mana Heart Crystal in her past life?
As the demonstration approached its end, Ross held the Holy Sword Replica high, pointing the tip toward the sky.
A massive pillar of golden light shot into the heavens before transforming into countless falling specks of light, like a divine blessing.
The entire field was shrouded in this glorious sight.
At the moment when the light was at its peak and everyone’s souls were captivated —
Freya clearly saw Irina, who was standing in the shadows at the edge of the field, lift her head.
Her pink eyes were no longer pretending to be weak.
Instead, she stared fixedly at the Holy Sword Replica in the air and at Ross, who held it.
Her eyes were filled with a near-frenzied obsession and… a greedy sense of possessiveness.
Her lips seemed to move silently for a moment.
Almost simultaneously, Freya felt Lyra’s body beside her suddenly tense up for a second.
A very faint “tch” sound, almost like the grinding of teeth, came from Lyra’s throat.
That sound was filled with undisguised loathing and… a near-instinctive hostility.
The golden light faded, and the demonstration ended perfectly.
Ross stood with the sword put away, breathing slightly.
With a peaceful smile, he accepted the mountain-shaking waves of praise and applause.
Irina immediately jogged forward to offer him a towel and a drink, her face returning to its expression of pure admiration.
Everything was flawless, like a grand drama that had been rehearsed countless times.
Freya leaned back slowly into her chair, her fingertips cold.
“Heh — “
She let out a cold laugh, wrapping herself into the soft chair.
Irina really wasn’t hiding her goals at all —
She was truly curious.
As the Crown Prince, Ross had seen all kinds of flattery since he was a child.
Why was it that he swallowed Irina’s flattery hook, line, and sinker?
“Boss, I want to use one word to describe this performance.”
Lyra had crouched beside her chair at some point, looking up at her with eyes like blinking rubies.
“What?”
Freya never quite understood Lyra’s peculiar thought process.
“One word: fake!”
?
Freya was momentarily stunned.
After saying the word “fake,” Lyra nodded to herself and continued to look at Freya with a serious expression.
“Boss, don’t you think I’m right?”
“Yes, you’re right — “
Freya let out a soft cough to hide her embarrassment.
Seeing Ross’s gaze turning toward their section, she stood up and pulled Lyra away from their seats, leaving Ross alone in an extremely awkward position.
He never understood why Freya’s attitude toward him had become so cold after she fell ill once —
Clearly, when they were young, they were very close…
“Crown Prince?”
Irina stepped forward and lightly touched his shoulder.
“Ah, oh, Irina…”
Only then did Ross realize he had been distracted.
“Everyone is leaving. We should head down as well. Master Raymond is waiting for you.”