The second night of banquet preparations passed quickly. The Winter Veil, which had originally seemed somewhat distant, appeared before their eyes in the blink of an eye.
At noon on the day of the Winter Veil, the sky was slightly gloomy. Sunlight filtered through the layers of clouds, illuminating the massive Central Plaza of the Eternal City at the foot of Mount Paladin.
The ground of the plaza, paved with Skyreach Stone, had been cleaned and treated with magic overnight. It was as polished as a mirror, reflecting the iron-gray sky and the numerous flagpoles standing across the square. Blood-red flags embroidered with the Golden Griffin representing the Empire snapped loudly in the cold wind.
The plaza had already been divided into different zones by tight magical barriers and the Royal Guard dressed in bright silver armor.
In the sky above, Dragon Riders of the Imperial Guard occasionally swept past.
The outermost perimeter was a surging sea of people—commoners, merchants, and minor nobles. The white breath they exhaled merged into a murky mist, and the buzzing sound of their discussions served as the only background noise beneath this solemn landscape.
Slightly further in was the viewing area for envoys from various countries, important guild representatives, and high-ranking clergy. The area closest to the Triumphal Arch and the high platform at the front was reserved for core members of the Human Empire.
High-ranking Cabinet officials, Church leadership, hereditary Great Nobles, and the student and teacher formations of the St. Tyriel Royal Magic Academy were all assembled here.
Villanelle stood in the middle-back of the Academy formation, her delicate face hidden in the shadows of her standard-issue Academy cloak’s hood as she gazed calmly ahead.
Beside her were other third-year students, including Julia and the Seventh Prince, Tiberius, not far away. The Ninth Princess, Flavia, was in the second-year student queue to her right.
These three members of the imperial family, who also bore the Adrian surname, were dressed significantly more elegantly and appropriately than she was, and their expressions were far more relaxed.
Julia and Tiberius occasionally whispered to one another with an innate sense of natural ease. Flavia remained silent, lost in thought.
Like Villanelle, because they were still studying at the Royal Academy of Magic, they were simply arranged within the student queue, but this did not hinder them from blending into the festive atmosphere at all.
Villanelle felt like an irrelevant outsider, doing her best to minimize her presence.
Ignis had not come with her. On the day of the celebration, no potential risks that could disrupt the ceremony were permitted to exist.
Emily and Otto were not by her side either, separated from her by several people.
Loneliness suddenly seized Villanelle’s heart.
This kind of loneliness was not something she hadn’t experienced during the past few years, but now was different from before. She had new companions—the little guy, her academic ally Emily, and Otto, whom she had met just a few days ago.
Although Butler Heinrich took good care of her, there always seemed to be an indescribable barrier between them.
After having experienced companionship, this kind of loneliness was actually harder to endure. The little guy with the molten-gold eyes had brought too many changes to her life.
*Woo—*
Finally, the low sound of a horn rang out. Like the sigh of an ancient giant beast, it suddenly tore through the cold silence and echoed over the plaza.
The murky murmur of the outermost crowd was instantly suppressed by half.
The massive doors of the Triumphal Arch, inlaid with bronze reliefs of the Empire’s map, slowly opened inward amidst the heavy sound of turning hinges.
The court ceremonial guard was the first to emerge.
Hundreds of guards dressed in mithril armor and holding gilded halberds marched with precision measured to the millimeter. They split into two rows and trotted along the avenue in front of the Triumphal Arch until they reached the base of the high platform.
Then came the halt, the turn, and the thud of halberds hitting the ground. They produced a unified clanging sound that sent slight magical ripples through the earth. Sunlight occasionally broke through the clouds, dancing upon their armor.
Following closely behind were high-ranking civil officials and key members of the Cabinet.
They wore purple-gold robes symbolizing their power and status. Their faces were solemn and their steps steady as they walked slowly through the path formed by the ceremonial guard.
Most of these high officials looked straight ahead or slightly downward, engaging in very little interaction with the crowds watching from the sides.
Next were the high-ranking members of the Holy Light Church. Led by Pope Clement III, more than ten high-ranking clergy members dressed in white robes with silver embroidery marched out in a neat line. Father Malvorn was among them.
They held no staves in their hands, only copies of the Holy Light Scripture, yet a thin layer of soul-soothing radiance naturally flowed around them.
The Pope’s gaze swept calmly across the plaza. An invisible pressure radiated outward with him at the center.
Wherever his gaze touched, the noise in that area would involuntarily die down, as if smoothed over by some unseen force.
For a fleeting moment, the Pope’s gaze paused slightly on the Academy formation, specifically in Villanelle’s direction, before indifferently moving away.
After the clergy, the main event was about to begin.
The atmosphere on the plaza became stagnant as countless gazes turned toward the deep tunnel of the Triumphal Arch.
“They’re here…”
Villanelle heard a student beside her whispering, their voice full of irrepressible excitement.
The first to emerge from the gate were the two older princes. They did not ride horses; instead, they each led their own Flying Dragons as they walked out on foot.
The First Prince, Caesar, was a 40-year-old man with handsome features. However, there was a faint hint of sinister ruthlessness within his sharp facial lines. He wore a red formal suit.
Following him was a mature Golden Dragon. Its body was massive, covered in scales that glittered brilliantly under the sunlight, and its vertical pupils held a sense of condescending indifference.
“So bright…” someone muttered.
‘Indeed,’ Villanelle thought from within the queue. Half of Caesar’s body was practically dyed gold by the reflection.
The Second Prince, Claudius, was a few years younger than Caesar and slightly stout. He wore a deep blue formal suit. He was leading a mature Silver Dragon, which was a size smaller than the Golden Dragon. It had a long, slender neck and moved with a certain degree of elegance, its entire body covered in mirror-like scales.
‘Quite the facade,’ Villanelle critiqued in her heart.
Everyone knew this second brother of hers was greedy, lecherous, and a drunk; only on such important occasions did he actually look like a human being.
The appearance of the two dragons caused a sensation. Low cries of surprise and excited gasps swept through the crowd like waves.
For the Saint Tiriel Empire, dragons were the most direct symbol of military power and authority—living totems.
The heavy thuds of the two dragons’ footsteps, the rustle of their scales rubbing together, and the invisible pressure of apex predators radiating from them made the crowd boil with excitement.
For most people attending the celebration, they only occasionally caught a glimpse of the Imperial Guard’s Dragon Riders. They rarely had the chance to observe the Dragon Race at such a relatively close distance as they did today.
Within the Academy formation, many students whispered excitedly to one another, their eyes filled with undisguised longing and envy.
“Those are dragons. Real, living, flying dragons. Not like those specimens we see in Magical Creatures Class…”
“Hey, I remember—didn’t someone in our class bring a Black Dragon to the Magical Creatures Class?”
Villanelle turned a deaf ear to the surrounding discussions. She simply watched the two Flying Dragons slowly pass along the avenue, her gaze showing no major fluctuations.
She had seen the vivid light in Ignis’s eyes and felt the connection and vitality that transcended the boundaries of master and servant or species. The dragons before her were certainly powerful and majestic in appearance, but the relationship between them and their masters seemed to be purely one of “display” and “control,” with very little actual emotion involved.
Just as everyone thought the princes’ procession would conclude in this manner, another tall figure emerged from within the Triumphal Arch.
The Third Prince, Roderick Adrian.
He was not leading a dragon. He wore a black and red military formal suit with a clean and sharp design. His back was as straight as a pine tree, and his gaze was like a blade tempered a thousand times.
He stepped out alone… No, he wasn’t alone.
Behind him followed fifty guards from the Eastern Frontier Legion.