The sharp, echoing slam of the heralds’ silver staffs against the marble floor reverberated through the cavernous hall, freezing every noble in place.
Bows were held low and deep—a mandatory display of subservience for the arrival of the Crown Prince.
From the high balcony, Barn stood erect, his arms resting casually over the marble balustrade, his dark eyes calmly measuring the royal procession.
Beset by trained protocol, Rosalina offered a polite, shallow incline of her head, but her gaze remained locked onto the figures making their grand entrance below.
Crown Prince Wilhem walked with calculated, measured strides.
His blonde hair was slicked back, and his sharp blue eyes swept across the bowed crowd with a cold, possessive detachment.
Every inch of his posture exuded the arrogance of a ruler who believed the entire realm—its people, its politics, and its narrative—belonged solely to him.
Beside him walked Lady Nyxara Nightbane.
She was breathtaking in a terrifying, lethal way.
Her raven-black hair fell in sharp waves over her pale, porcelain skin, contrasting sharply with her floor-length gown of deep crimson shadow-silk.
Her eyes—a striking, cold violet—looked down at the gathered aristocracy not with royal vanity, but with sheer, unadulterated disdain.
She was the undisputed primary villainess of the original narrative: powerful, sharp-tongued, and politically ruthless.
’So that’s Prince Wilhem and Nyxara Nightbane,’ Barn thought dryly, analyzing the faint, static pressure vibrating off the Crown Prince’s body.
‘He’s relying heavily on low-tier royal artifacts to mask his baseline mana.
Underneath it all, his core is barely stabilized.’
Barn glanced down at Nyxara.
‘Her, on the other hand…
her magical core is dense, compressed, and dangerous.
She knows the Prince is setting a trap for her at this Gala, yet she walked in anyway.’
As the Royal Guards lined the stairwell leading up to the grand dais, Crown Prince Wilhem raised a gloved hand, signaling the crowd to rise.
”Lords, Ladies, and honored guests of the realm,” Wilhem’s voice echoed smoothly across the diamond-dust floorboards, carried by wind-element amplification arrays embedded in the ceiling.
“Tonight, we gather not merely to celebrate the prosperity of our Kingdom, but to witness pivotal shifts that will define our future.”
His eyes subtly flicked toward the lower floor, lingering for a fraction of a second on Lady Sylphia and Lord Zanac, before drifting up toward the central terrace.
He had expected House Artecus’s adopted daughter to be standing isolated, preparing to plead for her political survival.
Instead, she stood tall beside an unfamiliar, unbothered man whose shadow-black coat seemed to absorb the light around him, projecting an aura of quiet, untouchable authority.
Beside Wilhem, Lady Nyxara also raised her violet eyes toward the terrace.
Unlike the Prince’s irritation, Nyxara’s expression sharpened into one of profound, analytical intrigue.
Her fine eyebrows arched slightly as her gaze swept over Barn.
’Who is that…?’ Nyxara thought, her fingers tightening imperceptibly against Wilhem’s arm.
‘I know every high-ranking noble house, every hidden elder, and every court mage in the eastern territories.
I have never seen that man…
yet my mana core is recoiling just from looking at his posture.’
Down on the main floor, Zanac Vane could barely contain his excitement.
Seeing the Crown Prince take his place on the high platform, Zanac turned to Lady Sylphia and the quiet, green-haired Lyra.
”The time has come,” Zanac whispered hurriedly, a feverish, arrogant glint in his dark eyes.
“Prince Wilhem is opening the court for formal introductions.
We step forward now.
Once I present Lyra’s dual-element resonance to the Duke of Artecus and the Prince, Rosalina’s standing will vanish in a single breath.”
Lyra clutched her modest white gown, her hazel eyes wide with anxiety as she looked up at the glittering chandeliers.
“Lord Zanac…
are you sure about this?
Should we not wait for Duke Artecus to arrive privately?”
”Nonsense!” Zanac snapped under his breath, adjusting his crimson doublet.
“Public recognition is absolute!
In front of the entire court, House Artecus will have no choice but to accept you immediately and strip that arrogant woman of her title!”
Up on the terrace, Rosalina took a slow sip of her sparkling wine, watching Zanac maneuver his little group through the parting crowd toward the base of the royal dais.
“He truly thinks he is orchestrating a masterpiece.
He has no idea that Duke Artecus isn’t even in the Capital tonight—the House’s representation is being handled entirely by the High Council, who answer directly to me regarding provincial affairs.”
Barn turned his head slightly, looking down at her with an amused glint.
“So his sudden dramatic revelation is going to land on deaf ears?”
”Worse,” Rosalina replied, her brown eyes flashing with cold, highborn arrogance.
“He is about to interrupt a royal function to present a provincial girl to a Duke who isn’t present, while attempting to displace a High Mage.
In front of Crown Prince Wilhem, who despises public disorder above all else.”
Barn chuckled softly, leaning his elbow back against the marble rail.
’Barn,’ the quiet voice within his soul echoed once more.
’What is it now?’ Barn replied mentally.
’The male in white dress—the Crown Prince—carries three concealed curse-type magical matrices on his person.
They are designed to create a forced spiritual and mental disruption when brought into close proximity with the female in crimson.’
Barn’s dark eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at Prince Wilhem.
’So that’s how he plans to frame Nyxara,’ Barn thought, his jaw tightening with a cold, dangerous resolve.
‘He brought a suppressed curse artifact to trigger her mana during the Gala, making it look like the “Villainess” suffered a violent magic rampage in front of the entire court.’
’Oh,’ Barn thought as a moment of absolute clarity washed over him.
In the original plot of the story, after the Crown Prince publicly broke his engagement, Lady Nyxara supposedly lost all emotional restraint and launched an unprovoked, violent magical attack against Sylphia—a shameful rampage that utterly destroyed the Nightbane family’s standing and cemented her status as a monster.
It hadn’t been an emotional breakdown at all; it was a engineered ambush utilizing hidden spiritual curses to shatter her mental focus.
Barn took a final, relaxed sip from his glass, setting the empty flute onto a passing waiter’s tray.
’Playing dirty with magic in front of a World-level entity…’ Barn concluded inwardly, a faint, terrifying smirk touching his lips as his dark eyes locked onto the glowing, suppressed curses hidden beneath Wilhem’s white armor.
‘Let’s see how his little curse artifact handles a real storm.’