A suffocating, stunned silence descended upon the Grand Ballroom of the Asteria Kingdom.
The minor lords, high matriarchs, and military commanders stood frozen, their crystal glasses held midway to their lips.
Breaking a royal betrothal directly after another high-profile betrothal had just been severed—especially one tied to the mighty House Nightbane—was not merely a personal choice; it was a formal declaration of political war.
Lady Nyxara Nightbane did not scream.
She did not weep, nor did she unleash the violent mana frenzy Prince Wilhem had so desperately hoped to trigger.
Instead, her cold violet eyes slowly drifted from Wilhem’s triumphant face to Sylphia’s serene, saintly smile.
A quiet, terrifying laugh escaped Nyxara’s lips—a sound like thin glass shattering over polished marble.
”You break our betrothal…
for her?” Nyxara asked, her voice dangerously calm, echoing across the silent hall.
“A nameless girl brought in from the provinces, backed by the disgraced Lord Zanac?”
”Lady Sylphia possesses the holy light of the Saintess!” Wilhem declared, puffing out his chest as he wrapped a protective arm around Sylphia’s waist.
“She is pure, gentle, and worthy of the crown—unlike you, Nyxara, whose dark mana infects the very air of this court!”
A wave of intense murmurings and gasped reactions rippled across the assembly.
Everyone was utterly shocked—not only by the public dissolution of the royal engagement, but by the sudden, breathtaking revelation of Sylphia’s status as a genuine Saintess.
The betrothal between Lady Nyxara and Prince Wilhem had been forged before their births by the Ancient Elders of the realm.
The Royal Family desperately required a backing that could never be opposed by the other Noble Houses, and House Nightbane was the absolute pillar of that stability.
’Haa…
greedy bastard,’ Nyxara thought inwardly, her gaze growing colder by the second.
She understood the deeper irony better than anyone in the room.
Every lineage member born into House Nightbane was gifted with a primary alignment, yet regardless of their main magical path, every true descendant naturally possessed an innate capacity to channel Light elemental mana.
’My family loves me regardless of my affinity,’ Nyxara reflected, her fingers clenching beneath her silk gloves.
‘They saw my Dark Mana and nurtured me anyway.
But Wilhem…
he only ever cared about direct political gain.
I have sacrificed and done so much for his faction, and he discards me the second a newly arrived girl shines a little brighter.’
For a fleeting instant, a urge to crush the girl standing beside the Prince surged through her veins, but she forcefully reined it in.
Retaliating now would only complicate the board her family needed to play.
Sylphia offered a small, sorrowful look toward Nyxara, bowing her head gracefully.
“Please do not harbor hatred toward His Highness, Lady Nyxara.
Fate brought us together…”
As Sylphia spoke, a radiant, shimmering veil of pure holy light emitted smoothly from her body—the indisputable, glowing symbol of her Saintess mantle.
Suddenly, the heavy side doors of the ballroom burst open without announcement.
A squad of high-ranking Paladins in silver-and-gold holy plate marched into the hall, positioning themselves along the base of the dais to reinforce and validate her divine claim. Read the latest chapters at g.com.
Standing down on the main floor, Barn almost let out a snort of pure amusement.
’Fate?’ Barn thought dryly.
‘If only you knew who actually controls the script here.’
Beside him, Rosalina leaned in close, her green hair brushing lightly against his shoulder as she whispered in a low tone meant only for his ears.
“Wilhem just signed his own political death warrant.
House Nightbane controls forty percent of the Kingdom’s standing army and the southern mana mines.
Duke Nightbane will have the Prince’s head for this insult.”
”Let the fool dig his own grave,” Barn replied smoothly, taking another slow, calculating glance at Nyxara.
His dark eyes narrowed as he recalled the strange, hidden anomaly he had felt when touching her hand moments ago.
Beneath her dense, volatile Dark Mana, there lay something far deeper—a faint, nearly disappeared Divine Light that was actively transforming and adapting beneath her spiritual matrix.
’No wonder her fate was written to end in tragedy in the original narrative,’ Barn realized inwardly.
‘The world’s system was trying to purge her before she could awaken her true, dual-entity nature.’
While the court was still reeling from Wilhem’s declaration and the Paladins’ sudden entrance, a heavy, rhythmic thud resounded from the rear entrance of the ballroom.
The heavy iron doors swung open with a violent bang, and a tall, imposing man clad in dark obsidian plate armor strode into the hall.
He carried a massive broadsword at his waist, his raven hair streaked with silver, and his violet eyes burning with absolute, deadly fury.
It was Duke Valerius Nightbane—the Shadow Sovereign of the South and Nyxara’s father.
’Huh…
how did he get here so fast?’ Barn thought, his eyebrows lifting slightly.
‘This story is already drifting far off its original rails.’
The surrounding nobles instinctively scrambled out of the Duke’s path, trembling beneath the suffocating, high-tier pressure radiating from his towering frame.
”Your Highness,” Duke Nightbane spoke, his deep baritone cutting through the hall like a drawn blade as he stopped at the foot of the royal dais.
“I trust I misheard my heralds outside.
Did you just publicly insult House Nightbane and discard my daughter?”
Prince Wilhem’s confident smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, a bead of cold sweat forming at his temple beneath the Duke’s crushing aura.
But with Sylphia and her Paladins beside him, Wilhem forced his posture straight.
”Duke Nightbane!” Wilhem asserted loudly.
“As the future King of Asteria, I have the absolute right to choose my Queen!
Your daughter’s dark, volatile nature makes her unfit to bear the royal crest!”
”Unfit?” Duke Nightbane’s eyes flashed with a lethal, crimson light.
“My daughter has bled for this kingdom on the southern front while you sat in your gold-trimmed cradle!
A collective gasp echoed through the ballroom.
Duke Nightbane was openly threatening to withdraw his family’s military support from the Royal Lineage!
”Father, please,” Nyxara spoke up smoothly, stepping down from the elevated platform with effortless grace, leaving Wilhem and Sylphia standing alone on their high perches.
“Do not waste your rage on a boy playing at being a king.
He has made his choice…
and House Nightbane will make ours.”
She turned her back on the Crown Prince without offering even a fraction of a bow.
As she walked away, her violet eyes met Barn’s dark, bottomless gaze once more.
An unspoken understanding passed between them.
Nyxara paused right beside Barn and Rosalina, offering a subtle, elegant nod.
”It seems the stage has thoroughly broken tonight, Lord Barn,” Nyxara murmured, her voice laced with sharp, newfound freedom.
”It’s only getting started, Lady Nyxara,” Barn replied with a faint, dangerous smirk.
“A stage without a foolish script is much more entertaining.”
Duke Valerius Nightbane stepped over, his heavy obsidian boots coming to a halt before them.
His fierce violet eyes scanned Barn from head to toe before his expression settled.
”Oh, so you are Barn,” Duke Valerius said, his deep voice carrying a surprising weight of familiarity.
“I have heard much about you from my friend and hoped to meet you…
I didn’t expect our meeting would occur so early, nor in a setting quite like this.”
A wave of shock rippled across the surrounding onlookers.
Neither Nyxara nor Prince Wilhem had any idea what the Shadow Sovereign was referring to, staring in utter confusion as the Duke addressed an unknown master with such direct recognition.
Before anyone could press further, a figure clad in pitch-black shadow-gear materialized silently from the balcony’s gloom, leaning toward Duke Nightbane’s ear to whisper an urgent, encrypted report.
The Duke listened intently, his expression darkening into an unreadable, stern mask.
Taking advantage of the brief pause, Rosalina stepped forward, aligning herself directly beside Nyxara.
”House Artecus will be holding a private gathering tomorrow evening at our Capital estate, Lady Nyxara,” Rosalina invited, her tone smooth, authoritative, and perfectly composed.
“Since both our houses seem to have discarded useless betrothals tonight, perhaps a new alliance is in order?”
Nyxara’s lips curved into a breathtaking, lethal smile.
“I would be delighted, Lady Rosalina.”
Up on the royal throne, Prince Wilhem watched in utter shock as the primary villainess, the newly awakened High Mage of Artecus, and the mysterious Master Barn stood united on the ballroom floor—their combined aura completely overshadowing the royal dais.
He had broken his engagement to display his absolute divine authority, yet as he looked down at the formidable group standing below, Wilhem felt a cold, creeping sensation of absolute dread settling deep within his soul.