The banquet at the Emerald Hall was about to begin.
And they, step by step, were walking toward the center of that stage — the brightest, yet potentially most dangerous of all.
The real storm was about to arrive.
The silhouette of the Imperial Palace grew increasingly majestic and solemn in the twilight. The massive stone buildings glinted with a cold, hard luster under the glow of magical lamps.
The carriage passed through the heavily guarded palace gates, crossed the wide driveway paved with white gravel, and finally stopped in front of a magnificent palace constructed entirely of pale green jade and white marble — the Emerald Hall.
Gorgeously dressed nobles, young elites in various academy robes or exquisite formal wear, and priest-scholars in white or silver-trimmed Temple robes entered through the tall archway in small groups.
Freya and Lyra stepped out of the carriage under the guidance of the Imperial guards.
Immediately, several gazes swept over them, filled with curiosity, assessment, jealousy, or undisguised inquiry.
The name Freya Christo Dale and the recent rumors of her “unconventional” behavior had clearly spread through this circle.
Beside her, the assistant with the unique temperament, white hair, and red eyes was even more eye-catching.
Freya straightened her back, a faint, impeccable smile of aloof politeness on her face — as if she had put on an exquisite mask. She looked straight ahead, walking toward the entrance with steady steps.
Lyra followed half a step behind her, trying to mimic the posture of the surrounding attendants or assistants. She kept her head slightly lowered, but beneath her downcast eyelids, her red eyes scanned everyone’s face, aura, and subtle movements like a sensitive radar.
Stepping into the Emerald Hall, the brilliant light was almost blinding. Countless glowing magical gems were embedded in the high dome, simulating a starry sky.
Giant portraits of past emperors and heroes hung on the four walls. A spacious dance floor was left in the center of the hall, surrounded by long tables covered in white cloths, displaying exquisite food and fine wine.
A melodious court band played soothing music.
However, beneath this gorgeous exterior, Freya could clearly feel the gazes becoming more concentrated and purposeful. Several of those gazes came from deep within the hall, where the Imperial Family and high-ranking Temple personnel were located.
“Freya, you’re finally here.”
A gentle, magnetic voice sounded, carrying just the right amount of familiarity and joy.
Ross Castor — the Crown Prince — was walking through the crowd toward them.
He was dressed in a pure white formal suit with gold trim tonight. His pale blond hair shined under the lights, his cerulean eyes were full of smiles, and his handsome face wore a perfect, flawless expression.
His appearance immediately drew the focus of the entire room.
Following half a step behind him like a shadow was Irina Ewell.
She wore a soft, pale gold dress. The style was simple but cleverly outlined her petite figure. Her long blonde hair was draped down, pinned only by a small pearl clip at her ear.
She kept her head slightly lowered, hands folded in front of her. Her pink eyes looked up timidly, glanced at Freya, then quickly dropped again. A perfectly timed blush appeared on her face, making her look like a startled yet cautious fawn.
“Your Highness,” Freya said, curtsying slightly according to etiquette. Her voice was calm and flat.
“No need for such formalities, Freya,” Ross said, reaching out to support her. His smile was warm. “I’m glad you could come.”
His gaze naturally slid from Freya to Lyra behind her, his smile unchanged. “This must be Miss Lyra? She has quite an extraordinary aura.”
Lyra suppressed the urge to curl her lip and curtsied just as Freya had.
“Your Highness,” she said in a flat voice, devoid of emotion.
“Classmate Irina is also attending tonight as a representative of the Royal Academy’s outstanding support students,” Ross introduced warmly, turning slightly to bring Irina to his side as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Irina immediately stepped forward half a pace and gave Freya a graceful bow. Her voice was light and soft, with a trace of an undetectable tremble — though whether from nervousness or excitement was unclear.
“Good evening, Freya. Good evening, Miss Lyra.”
She looked up, her pink eyes filled with “sincere” joy and a hint of “unease.”
“It’s so wonderful to see you here.”
Lyra secretly curled her lip in disdain.
‘Crybaby, literally nobody wants to see you.’
‘When did Irina become an outstanding support student of the Royal Academy…?’
Freya’s gaze skipped past Irina and landed on her hands, which were clasped together as if unconsciously out of nervousness.
On the inside of Irina’s right wrist, at the edge of her dress sleeve, a faint, pale gold pattern — almost masked by her skin tone — flashed by.
The Stigma!
Although it was extremely faint and cleverly concealed, Freya was almost certain it was the mark Lyra had described!
Irina had indeed passed some level of Temple trial!
“Good evening, Irina,” Freya’s voice remained flat, showing no sign of anything being amiss. “Congratulations on representing the Royal Academy.”
Her words sounded like a polite compliment, yet they carried an indescribable sense of distance.
Irina seemed a bit flustered by her attitude. Her eyes reddened slightly as if she were suppressing a grievance.
“Thank you… I was just lucky. I’m no match for you, Freya…”
Seeing this, Ross’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, but it quickly smoothed over. He smiled and said, “Now then, you’re all outstanding young people. There’s no need to be so formal. Freya, Miss Lyra, please make yourselves at home. The banquet will begin shortly, followed by some interesting academic presentations. I’m sure you’ll be interested.”
He looked at Lyra meaningfully, then led the still “timid” Irina toward the back of the hall, where several Temple priests and Imperial elders nodded to them.
“What a great act,” Lyra hummed in a very low whisper near Freya’s ear. Her eyes were fixed on Irina’s back, especially toward her wrist.
“Stay alert,” Freya replied softly, her gaze scanning the room.
She saw her father, Earl Hezdi, talking with several nobles who looked like high-ranking officials. He occasionally glanced her way with a complex expression.
She also saw several people wearing high-ranking Temple priest robes. Their gazes seemed to land on her inadvertently, filled with scrutiny and assessment.
The banquet officially began after a long speech by the master of ceremonies and a brief encouragement from the Emperor via magical projection.
Guests began to socialize and help themselves to food. On the surface, the atmosphere was harmonious and lively.
Freya and Lyra chose a relatively quiet corner where they could observe the room without being frequently disturbed. However, some people clearly did not intend to let them be “quiet.”
“Miss Freya, I have heard much of your name.”
A grey-haired elderly man with a serious face, wearing a silver-trimmed Temple scholar’s robe, walked over. He was followed by a young priest recorder.
“I am Scholar Harold of the Temple Archive. I heard you are conducting a study at the Central Academy regarding High-level Energy Compression and Stabilization, which is quite unique. I wonder if I might ask you a question or two?”
His tone seemed polite, but his eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s.
‘Here it comes.’
Freya sneered inwardly. The Temple was indeed not going to pass up this “academic exchange” opportunity to test her.
“Hello, Scholar Harold,” Freya responded politely. “It is merely some shallow exploration. I wouldn’t dare lecture in front of a Temple senior.”
“There is no need for excessive modesty.” Scholar Harold waved his hand, cutting straight to the point. “Energy compression — especially involving the stabilization of high-purity, mixed mana — has always been a difficult problem in the magical field. It is also easy to… touch upon some ancient forbidden realms. I wonder if Miss Freya has encountered any conflicts in energy properties or even phenomena that triggered ‘Chaos Resonance’ during her research?”
Chaos Resonance!
The term almost explicitly revealed the Temple’s focus on the nature of her research!
Freya’s expression did not change.
“My current research is still within controllable limits, mainly focusing on mathematical models and the screening of basic materials. ‘Chaos Resonance’ is only one of the extreme situations that might appear in theoretical deductions; there has been no empirical evidence yet.”
Her answer was watertight. She acknowledged the marginal nature of the research while distancing herself from any direct connection to “taboos.”
Scholar Harold looked at her deeply, as if trying to find a flaw in her calm face.
“Theoretical deduction… is also a path to the truth. Miss Freya is exceptionally gifted. I hope you proceed with caution and do not be deceived by… illusory ambitions or power.”
He spoke pointedly, gave a slight nod, and left with the recorder.
Following him, several “curious” people from different academies or families came to talk. Their questions seemed to revolve around academics or social life, but in reality, they were all more or less trying to probe her research progress, her relationship with House Dale, and her attitude toward the Imperial Family.
Freya handled them one by one, her words cautious and aloof, neither revealing key information nor leaving any room for criticism.
Lyra dutifully played the role of a silent assistant, but her attention remained highly concentrated, especially near Irina.
She noticed that while Irina spent most of her time following Ross or chatting softly with other Royal Academy students, appearing shy and timid, she would occasionally and very subtly exchange looks with specific people in the crowd — including a waiter, a seemingly ordinary young noble, and the young recorder beside Scholar Harold.
These people didn’t seem to have any obvious connection to one another, but their gazes would pause briefly on Irina, or they would make tiny, signal-like gestures with their fingers as she passed.
Lyra etched these details into her mind.
In the middle of the banquet, the master of ceremonies announced the start of the “Academic Presentation and Exchange” session.
Several selected young students were invited to the stage to briefly present their research results or unique insights.
Among them, remarkably, was Irina’s name.
Under the encouraging gazes of everyone — especially Ross — Irina walked onto the stage with a look of “panic,” holding a small crystal ball in her hand.