Freya watched Lyra’s skipping figure as she walked ahead, and a faint look of relaxation—one even she didn’t notice—flickered in her eyes.
‘A collaborator… maybe.’
On this path of revenge, filled with thorns and the unknown, having one more “variable” who was hard to read but at least currently on her side might not be a bad thing.
Especially since this “variable” seemed to harbor a specific “interest” in the Holy Sword and its wielder.
The Exchange Competition would be a public stage, and it was a perfect opportunity for her to conduct a preliminary test of the Shadow Blade in her hand while peering into the enemy’s strength.
Night fell, shrouding the seemingly peaceful Academy and the undercurrents surging through the Royal Capital.
Under the sunlight of the day after tomorrow, who knew what kind of treacherous storms would be reflected?
The following night was the banquet, hosted by the Royal Academy of Magic.
The students and teachers representing both the Central Magic Academy and the Royal Academy of Magic gathered together, enjoying fine food and discussing magic and swordsmanship.
The banquet hall was brightly lit, with crystal chandeliers refracting brilliant light that painted the air with a sense of luxury.
Soothed by flowing court music, men and women dressed in magnificent attire gathered in small groups, chatting and laughing in low voices.
The air was a mixture of perfume, fine wine, and the aroma of exquisite food.
Freya and Lyra’s entrance did not cause much of a commotion, yet many gazes followed them subtly.
Freya’s blue and white gown was simple yet elegant, making her jade-like skin stand out.
The purple iris patterns echoed the color of her eyes, revealing the heritage belonging to the two great families, House Dale and House Elwin, in an understated way.
She didn’t wear much jewelry, adorned only with a single hairpin, which instead highlighted her cold and refined temperament.
Lyra wore a well-tailored, deep red formal dress with a slightly shorter hem for ease of movement.
A black leather belt was cinched around her waist, from which hung a ceremonial dagger that was more decorative than practical.
Her long white hair was carefully braided, revealing the elegant lines of her neck, and her red pupils appeared even more mysterious under the lights.
Although she was trying her best to mimic the poise of the surrounding ladies, the wildness and unrestraint in her bones still stood out like a unique piece of scenery.
“Tch, the perfume on these people is almost as bad as the low-quality incense in the corners of the Black Market,” Lyra muttered, wrinkling her nose as she spoke in a voice only the two of them could hear.
She glanced at Freya.
‘I haven’t seen the Boss use perfume. Does she not like it?’
“Talk less and observe more,” Freya responded in a low voice, a flawless polite smile on her face.
Her gaze had already swept across the room.
Soon, she spotted her target.
Crown Prince Ross was undoubtedly one of the centers of attention.
Dressed in a magnificent gold and white formal suit, he was talking with several high-ranking officials from the Royal Academy and important nobles.
He was laughing and talking, his every gesture displaying the demeanor of an heir to the throne.
Occasionally, he cast his gaze toward the entrance, as if waiting for someone.
Beside him, Irina wore a light pink dress of a relatively simple style.
Her head was slightly lowered, and her hands were nervously clasped in front of her.
Whenever she looked up at Ross, her eyes were filled with dependence and admiration, like a small bird nesting beside an eagle.
Her appearance drew some curious or evaluative glances; after all, “specially recruited students from remote areas” who could enter such an occasion were rare.
As if sensing Freya’s gaze, Ross turned his head and happened to meet her eyes.
His eyes lit up, and after saying something to his companions, he led Irina toward them.
“They’re coming,” Freya whispered to Lyra.
Her smile remained unchanged, but the warmth in her eyes faded a bit.
“Good evening, Freya.”
Ross walked up to them, his smile impeccable.
“You look… well, very different today.”
His gaze lingered on Freya for a moment, filled with appreciation.
“Good evening, Your Imperial Highness,” Freya said with a slight nod, her tone polite yet distant.
Irina also looked up timidly, her pink eyes meeting Freya’s before she quickly looked down and whispered.
“G-good evening, Freya. Good evening, Lyra.”
She seemed to have put extra effort into her appearance today, and her light makeup made her look even more pitiful.
Lyra simply twitched the corner of her mouth as a greeting, but her eyes scanned Irina like a searchlight, lingering for an extra second on the other girl’s clasped, seemingly uneasy hands.
“Freya, about that day in the classroom—”
Ross seemed to want to explain something.
“It was nothing, just a small matter,” Freya interrupted him, clearly not wanting to bring up the past here.
“I wish you good luck in the Exchange Competition tomorrow.”
Seeing her reaction, Ross couldn’t bring it up again. Instead, he turned to Lyra.
“This must be your newly hired assistant, Lyra? I’ve heard she possesses extraordinary strength. Will she be joining the Central Academy to observe tomorrow as well?”
His gaze was scrutinizing, as he had clearly heard some rumors about Lyra.
“Yes, she is my assistant,” Freya confirmed simply, not elaborating on Lyra’s strength.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Ross Castor.”
This time, Lyra performed a proper curtsy.
However, when she looked up, a light that was almost provocative flashed in her red eyes—so quickly that one might think it was an illusion.
“I’ll be in your care tomorrow, then.”
The words sounded polite, but they left an inexplicably strange aftertaste.
Ross knit his brows slightly, feeling that this girl’s attitude was odd, though he couldn’t put his finger on why.
“I was just wondering if the brightest star of the Central Academy would be held back by her heavy studies.”
Ross smiled and quickly changed the subject.
His compliments were well-timed, showing intimacy without losing his dignity.
“Your Highness overpraises me.”
Freya bowed to him, her posture elegant and standard.
“It is Freya’s honor to be invited to such a grand event.”
After a few pleasantries, Ross’s gaze fell back on Freya.
His voice dropped lower, carrying a hint of unmistakable concern.
“Freya, I heard you were unwell a few days ago. Are you better now? Was the potion Raymond brought over useful?”
“Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. I am fine now. The potion was very good, thank you.”
Freya’s answer was watertight.
“That’s good then.”
Ross nodded and suddenly reached out his hand in an inviting gesture.
His voice was not loud, but it was clear enough for everyone nearby to hear.
“I wonder if I might have the honor of asking the most dazzling star of the evening to share the first dance with me?”
The air seemed to freeze for a moment.
According to custom, the first dance of the banquet often held symbolic meaning.
By publicly inviting Freya, the Crown Prince was almost reaffirming the “implied” relationship between them to everyone.
Countless gazes focused on them.
Irina bit her lower lip slightly.
Standing slightly behind Freya, Lyra raised an eyebrow with interest, waiting to see how her boss would handle this.
Freya looked at Ross’s extended hand, her fingertips curling slightly at her side.
She raised her eyes to meet Ross’s warm yet subtly pressuring gaze.
The smile on her face remained perfect, and the depths of her light purple eyes were as calm as still water.
“I am deeply honored by Your Highness’s invitation,” she began, her voice clear and steady.
“However, my old heart condition flared up slightly a few days ago. The physician specifically instructed me to avoid strenuous exercise and excessive emotional swings for the time being. I’m afraid I must decline Your Highness’s kind offer.”
Using an impeccable health reason, she politely but firmly rejected the Crown Prince’s invitation to dance.
The smile on Ross’s face didn’t change, but the warmth in his eyes seemed to drop by a fraction of a degree.
He withdrew his hand, his tone remaining gentle.
“I see. Health comes first. Then please rest well; enjoying the music and scenery is just as fine.”
He didn’t show the slightest hint of displeasure, but the surrounding atmosphere felt strangely stagnant.
“Thank you for your understanding, Your Highness.”
Freya curtsied slightly.
An invisible test and confrontation had quietly concluded before the waltz even began.
Freya maintained her surface-level calm, but her heart grew colder.
Ross’s persistent pressure made her feel the invisible weight from the Imperial Family even more clearly.
Lyra, on the other hand, watched Ross’s retreating back and then looked at the expressionless Freya.
A flash of realization and even more intense interest flickered in her red eyes.
Rejecting the Crown Prince?
Interesting.
It seemed the path her boss was taking was going to be even more exciting than she had imagined.
The banquet continued and the music played on, but the strings in some people’s hearts had already tightened.
Suddenly, the doors to the banquet hall were pushed open.
A middle-aged man in an exquisite formal suit walked in.
He didn’t walk quickly, but anxiety and anger were visible on his face.
The man spotted Lyra, who was trying to maintain her poise while nibbling on a small piece of cake, and Freya, who was slowly drinking red tea beside her.
Freya was allergic to alcohol, so she had asked a servant to pour her a cup of red tea.
Lyra had been acting like a curious child, surprised that Freya actually had an alcohol allergy, and had started pestering Freya about what kind of reaction she had.
In response, she only received a cold glare and a single sentence—
“Ask again, and I’ll add more etiquette lessons to your schedule.”
That successfully made Lyra shut her mouth and mimic the motion of zipping it shut.
‘Tch, what an un-cute boss.’
The moment the man saw Freya, it was as if he had found a punching bag.
He strode toward her and scrutinized her.
Freya took a sip of red tea and looked up.
The moment she saw the man, she froze for a split second before her gaze turned cold.
Lyra also noticed Freya’s aura, which had turned as frigid as an ice cellar.
She set down her cake, ready to strike at any moment.
“Long time no see, Father.”
Freya’s greeting of “Father” nearly made Lyra trip.
She had just been thinking that if this man tried to hit Freya, she would charge in, but then her boss told her this was her father?
This man was Freya’s father: Hezdi Elwin, the head of House Elwin.
Earl Hezdi Elwin’s gaze was like a blade tempered in ice as it scraped over Freya.
He completely ignored her cold greeting and went straight to an interrogation.