Their footsteps halted as a figure with bright blonde hair reflecting the afternoon sun blocked the corridor.
It was Prince Seilas.
Beside him stood a personal guard, also a third-year student, staring straight ahead with a ready posture.
The prince didn’t completely ignore Rose; he briefly glanced at the heroine who was staring intently at him, before his blue eyes fixed on the figure beneath the loose pastel robes.
A polite smile crossed the prince’s lips.
“Good afternoon, Young Lord Reichardt.
heard you just arrived from Duke Hawthorne’s residence,” Seilas greeted, his voice soft but with a strange vibration in his chest.
Every time his eyes landed on the snow-white-haired young man beside Reichardt, an unfamiliar, strange pounding suddenly struck her chest.
“And…
may I ask who this distinguished young man with you is?
I don’t think I’ve seen him before at the academy.” Reichardt responded with a stiff, formal posture.
He bowed modestly, deliberately displaying a hurried expression to quickly remove his younger brother from the presence of the heir to the throne, who could potentially bring disaster and trouble.
“Ah, Your Highness.
This is our youngest brother, Lucien Hawthorne.
Please excuse me, his health is not good, and we must immediately take him to rest in the dormitory.” In his head, Lucien stared flatly at the prince from under his hood.
‘So, this is the golden prince,’ thought Lucien lazily, referring to the strands of shiny blonde hair that looked so eye-catching.
‘The second prince suddenly becomes crown prince just because the first prince is sick and bedridden in the palace.
What a hassle living in a royal novel.’ Seeing that Reichardt had no intention of introducing himself further, Prince Seilas took a step forward, ignoring the social distance usually maintained by nobles.
“It’s an honor, Young Lord Lucien.
I’m Seilas—” “Excuse me, Your Highness, we have to go,” Reichardt interrupted quickly, grabbing Lucien’s shoulder and gently pulling him away.
Before the atmosphere could get any more awkward, the prince’s personal guard standing beside Seilas whispered softly, reminding his master of the student council meeting agenda that he had to attend.
“Your Highness, we must immediately meet the Headmaster before sunset.” Seilas blinked, seemingly reluctant to take his eyes off him, while Reichardt and Rose didn’t waste the opportunity to quickly leave the place.
Upon arriving at the entrance to the male dormitory corridor, Rose immediately put on a sullen face.
She protested that academy regulations prohibited female students from entering the male dormitory area, forcing her to leave Lucien with Reichardt.
“Reichardt, take care of Lucien for me!” Lucien could only glance at her blankly; he found it truly odd to see the female lead, depicted as graceful and pure in the original novel, now acting like a barbaric older sister reluctant to part with her younger sibling.
After all, Reichardt was his own older brother, who knew much better how to take care of him.
After the dramatic farewell, Lucien finally stepped into his dormitory room.
It wasn’t particularly large compared to his room in the Hawthorne residence.
It had a clean floor, a simple bed, a wooden desk, and a window overlooking the academy grounds.
For most high-ranking nobles, this room might be considered a cage.
However, for Lucien, who in his previous life had lived a meager existence in an orphanage, this quiet, private room, considerably larger than the one he had lived in, was already a divine luxury.
Without wasting any time, Reichardt helped Lucien arrange some clothes and robes into a wooden wardrobe.
The academy did not allow personal servants into the student dormitory, in order to cultivate the young nobles’ independence, so all domestic duties had to be done by themselves or with the help of fellow students.
Once the wardrobe was finished, Lucien immediately dismissed his older brother with a sleepy look.
“Brother, go back to your dorm.
I want to sleep.” An exasperated Reichardt simply let out a long sigh before finally closing the bedroom door from the outside.
Now, silence enveloped the room.
Exhausted from the long journey, dealing with the prince’s unnecessary small talk, and adjusting his clothes, Lucien felt his throat dry.
He desperately wanted something cold to refresh himself.
But in this medieval fantasy world, where were there any refrigerators?
In the midst of his frustration, memories of the novel’s plot suddenly flashed back to him.
The Hawthorne family’s genetic heritage: ice magic.
As a true nihilist with no great ambitions in this fictional world, the only thing keeping his soul from feeling completely empty was his intense curiosity for everything new.
That curiosity suddenly ignited his lying-down spirit.
Lucien lay on his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
He tried to summon his strength.
“Come out, ice.
Freeze the air around me,” he muttered to himself, even shouting a few silly words under his breath in the hope that a fantasy novel cliche would come true, while stretching his hands in the air.
“Ice lobe!” “Glaze!” “Blizz!” The result?
Nothing.
No cold air, no snow, not even a gentle breeze.
His body felt completely still.
Lucien snorted softly, feeling foolish for believing in an instant magic system.
He repositioned himself for sleep, letting his body relax completely on the soft mattress.
However, just as his consciousness began to drift and he completely relaxed, something strange happened.
Without the need for any spells or silly shouts, Lucien’s palms, which were slumped on the blanket, suddenly emitted a cool, bone-chilling sensation.
A thin white vapor rose slowly from the skin of his fingers, responding to the complete relaxation of his subconscious mind.
Lucien opened one eye.
He sat up and examined his own hands.
Based on a brief analysis of his body’s memory and the energy workings within his chest, magic in this world was apparently driven not by shouting or muscle force, but by the saturation and focus of the mind aligned with the path of mana.
When he stopped pushing himself and relaxed his nerves, the magic flowing in his Hawthorne blood flowed naturally.
Lucien’s red eyes blinked in amazement.
He pointed his index finger at the wooden table beside the bed.
Creeeak…
The sharp sound of ice cracking rang out.
In an instant, tendrils of ice resembling elegant white rose thorns shot out from him fingertips, covering the corners of the table and creating stemless ice flowers that radiated a refreshing chill.
The temperature in the room immediately dropped dramatically, becoming extremely cool and comfortable.
“”Wow…
amazing,” Lucien muttered softly in a flat tone, but his eyes were sparkling slightly.
Amazed and discovering a new toy that was incredibly useful for dealing with the heat without the hassle of fans, Lucien repeated it over and over again.
He deliberately practiced it while lying down, creating dozens of tiny ice rose buds scattered across the floor, the table, the windowsill, and even cooling his empty teacup into an instant ice cube tray.
Consider it a light exercise, as tomorrow he would face the academy, which also taught him mind-boggling magic theory.
Brak!
Just as Lucien was busy creating his next ice rose, the bedroom door swung open.
Reichardt stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, intending to deliver the extra uniform or make sure his brother, who had kicked him out, was okay.
However, the scene in the room made the older brother’s blood suddenly stop flowing.
Every corner of the dorm room—from the desk to the walls to the window blinds—was now covered in a thick layer of frost that formed beautiful but dangerous rose thorns.
Cold steam billowed thickly, resembling a mini blizzard within the room.
Reichardt gasped in horror.
His face instantly turned pale.
For years, the Hawthornes had known that Lucien couldn’t use magic because his fragile physique would easily collapse under the crushing weight of his own large mana capacity.
“Lucien…!” Reichardt shouted in panic, hurriedly running through the ice thorns and immediately grabbing his brother’s body, thinking that Lucien was in death throes due to the surge of wild magic that was eating away at his fragile body.
Lucien, who had been quietly enjoying his iced rose, was suddenly hugged tightly and shaken by his hysterical brother.
He could only blink, feeling utterly disturbed in his newfound comfort.