Then he reached out, took the letter, and opened it.
The letter was very short.
He read it slowly, word by word. After finishing, he folded the letter and placed it on his knee.
Silence.
A long silence.
“Anke.”
“Here.”
The Old Duke raised his head. In those same pale purple eyes, something was churning.
“Go back and tell Freya—tell her not to worry.”
He stood up. Though his back was hunched, at that moment, he was like a mountain.
“I’m going to the palace now.”
—
The Imperial Palace, main hall.
Emperor Cyrus Caste sat on the throne, looking down at the white-haired old man below. He saw his straight back, his pale purple eyes that were exactly like Freya’s.
“Old Duke—”
He spoke, his voice carrying a rare hint of courtesy.
“What brings you here?”
Calanso stood there without bowing.
He simply looked at the emperor, at that dignified face, at those red eyes.
“Your Majesty—”
His voice was aged and calm.
“Your old servant has a question.”
The emperor frowned slightly.
“What question?”
“My Freya has suffered some grievances at the Academy.”
Calanso’s voice remained calm.
“Your old servant wishes to know if Your Majesty is aware of this.”
Cyrus frowned deeper.
He glanced at Vanessa beside him.
Vanessa’s expression shifted slightly.
“Old Duke—”
Cyrus’s voice was low.
“I… am not entirely clear.”
Calanso nodded, as if he had expected that answer.
“Then your old servant will speak plainly.
Recently, there have been some rumors in the Academy, saying that my Freya has improper conduct and a private affair with someone.
They were spread with vivid detail, even vulgar jokes were made to her face.”
The great hall fell silent.
The emperor’s lips tightened.
Calanso continued, his voice still calm.
“Your old servant would like to ask Your Majesty—
What do you intend to do about these rumors?”
Cyrus remained silent.
He looked at Vanessa.
Vanessa’s face had already turned pale.
“Old Duke—”
Cyrus spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse.
“I will investigate these rumors.”
“Investigate?”
Calanso repeated, and in his aged voice, a hint of coldness suddenly crept in.
“Your Majesty, your old servant is seventy-three this year.
In this life, I have seen too many ‘investigations’ that end up as ‘no evidence found.'”
He paused.
“Your old servant did not come today to ask Your Majesty to investigate.”
Cyrus looked at him.
“Then the Old Duke came to—”
“Your old servant came to tell Your Majesty.”
The Old Duke’s voice suddenly rose, and in those pale purple eyes, anger burned.
“My Freya is the daughter of House Dale.
Her mother was Your Majesty’s sworn sister.
Her veins flow with the blood of House Dale.”
He spoke each word deliberately.
“Whoever dares to bully her, your old servant will risk this life to seek justice.”
The great hall was dead silent.
Cyrus sat motionless on the throne.
Vanessa stood there, her fingers slowly tightening, digging into her palms.
Calanso looked at them for a long time.
Then he bowed slightly.
“Your old servant takes his leave.”
He turned and walked toward the door. His back was straight, his steps steady, not at all like a man over seventy.
The door closed behind him.
In the great hall, Cyrus closed his eyes.
“Pass down the order.”
His voice was heavy.
“Investigate this matter thoroughly.
No matter who is behind the rumors, punish them without mercy.”
He opened his eyes and looked at Vanessa.
“Including that Irina.”
Vanessa’s lips moved as if to say something, but was stopped by that gaze.
She lowered her head.
“…Yes.”
—
Central Magic Academy.
The afternoon sunlight was pleasant.
Freya sat by the window in the library, the book Starry Sky Legacy open in front of her.
She read with deep focus, as if nothing in the world could disturb her.
Lyra crouched at her feet, holding the Monster Bestiary, occasionally glancing up at her.
The library was very quiet, only the sound of pages turning.
Suddenly, a commotion came from outside.
Lyra pricked up her ears, her red eyes narrowing alertly.
“Boss?”
Freya did not look up.
“Hmm.”
The door was pushed open.
The Disciplinary Director strode in, followed by several stern-faced instructors.
They walked straight toward a male student sitting in the corner—
the one who had blocked Freya in the canteen yesterday and made vulgar jokes.
The boy’s face instantly turned pale.
“D-Director…”
The Disciplinary Director looked at him, his gaze cold as ice.
“You are expelled.”
The boy shot up.
“What?! On what grounds!”
“For spreading rumors in the Academy, insulting fellow students, and disrupting Academy order.”
The Disciplinary Director’s voice was icy.
“For the things you did, you deserve to be expelled a hundred times over.”
The boy’s face went from pale to green.
“It wasn’t me! It was—someone else told me to—”
“Who?”
The boy opened his mouth but could not speak. The Disciplinary Director looked at him and let out a cold laugh.
“Take him away.”
Two instructors stepped forward, one on each side, grabbed the boy, and dragged him out.
The library was dead silent.
Everyone looked at Freya—
She still sat by the window, still reading, without lifting her head even once.
Lyra crouched at her feet, her red eyes sparkling with pride.
“Boss.”
“Hmm.”
“That bad person got kicked out.”
Freya turned a page.
“Hmm.”
“Will anyone bully you again in the future?”
Freya’s pen paused for a moment. She did not look up.
“I don’t know.”
Lyra thought for a moment.
“Then I’ll keep protecting you.”
Freya was silent for a beat, then reached out and gently rubbed that fluffy head.
“Okay.”
Outside the window, the sunlight was just right.
In the distance, toward the palace, something was changing.
—
Over the next few days, the Academy grew much quieter.
Those once-unrestrained whispers disappeared, and those meaningful glances were restrained.
The expelled boy was like a slaughtered chicken, hanging on the bulletin board of the Discipline Office, a bloody warning to everyone—
The daughter of House Dale was not someone to be trifled with.
The Mutual Aid Society no longer appeared before Freya.
Their armbands were still there, the white flowers still visible everywhere on campus, but those faces that once provoked her now gave her a wide berth.
Even Irina herself seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth—not seen in class, not in the canteen, not in the library.
“I heard she was called in for a talk by the Disciplinary Director.”
Anke lowered her voice, her brown eyes shining with vindictive glee.
“More than once. Someone saw her coming out of the Discipline Office with red eyes.”
Lyra was chewing on a pork chop. She looked up, mouth full of meat.
“Serves her right.”
She said indistinctly.
Anke laughed.
“Doesn’t it just? Those rumors, who doesn’t know she started them? There’s just no evidence. Now that the Emperor himself has ordered a full investigation, the Disciplinary Director is turning the entire Academy upside down. How much longer can her little tricks stay hidden?”
Freya did not speak.
She just slowly sipped her tea, her gaze fixed on some point outside the window.
The sunlight was nice, shining on the phoenix tree, gilding the already-yellowing leaves with a layer of gold.
Lyra looked at her, then suddenly put down her pork chop.
“Boss, aren’t you happy?”
Freya withdrew her gaze.
“No.”
“Then why aren’t you talking?”
Freya was silent for a moment.
“Thinking about something.”
Lyra blinked but did not press further.
She picked up her pork chop again and continued gnawing, only occasionally glancing up at Freya.
Anke looked from Freya to Lyra, then tactfully changed the subject.
“There’s a market this weekend. I heard it’s very lively. Want to go together?”
Lyra’s eyes lit up instantly.
“Market? Will there be food?”
“Of course. Grilled meat, candy, honey cake—everything.”
Lyra whipped her head around to look at Freya, her red eyes full of anticipation.
“Are we going? Are we? Are we?”
Freya looked at those bright, shining eyes and was silent for two seconds.
“…Yes.”
“Yay!”
Lyra nearly jumped out of her chair, her little wolf tooth glinting in the sunlight.
Anke looked at her and couldn’t help laughing.
But when her gaze fell on Freya’s face, her smile softened slightly.
Freya was smiling too—very faintly, so faint it was almost invisible.
But Anke saw it.
She breathed a sigh of relief—
At least she could still smile.
After the meal, Anke went to class, and Freya and Lyra headed to the training ground as usual.
Halfway there, Lyra suddenly stopped.
“Boss.”
“Hmm.”
“That crybaby, she’s not going to let this go, is she?”
Freya looked at her, at those earnest red eyes.
“No.”
Lyra nodded, as if she had expected that answer.
“Then I’ll keep watching her. If she pulls anything else, I’ll punch her.”
Freya did not reply. She just reached out and gently rubbed that fluffy head.
—
At dusk, Freya walked alone back to the dormitory.
Lyra had been dragged off by Anke to buy things for the weekend market. She had been extremely reluctant, looking back three times with every step, as if afraid Freya would be kidnapped.
“I’ll be back soon! Boss, wait for me!”
Freya nodded, watching as she was pulled away by Anke and disappeared into the crowd.
Then she turned and walked slowly, alone.
The setting sun stretched her shadow long, casting it on the stone path—lonely and cold.
It had been a long time since she had walked alone.
Ever since Lyra came, there had always been a figure by her side, chattering, noisy, like a little bird that never stopped.
Now that little bird was gone, and the world suddenly fell quiet.
Quiet to the point of emptiness.
“Freya.”
A voice came from behind. Freya did not turn around. She already knew who it was.
Irina stepped out from the shadows, her pink hair looking somewhat dull in the twilight.
She stood a few steps away, not approaching. Her complexion was not good; the dark circles under her eyes were deeper than usual, and her lips were slightly pale.
“Freya—”
She called again, her voice very soft.
“I want to talk to you.”
Freya turned around and looked at her, at that face full of exhaustion and pleading.
“About what?”