Chapter 41 - E/A: The Wedding! (Pt.1)

One month had passed since Elena reunited with her brother. One month since she had chosen to stay in Jarustum—with the people who now felt like her true family.

And now, the day had finally arrived.

The wedding.

The Kingdom of Al-Bark had seen many grand events over the years—treaties signed, battles won, heroes crowned—but today, all eyes were turned to a different kind of celebration. The union of two of its most beloved Royal Guards.

Lance of Justice.

And Sofia, the Rose of Justice.

The wedding between them wasn't just a noble affair—it was the event across the kingdom that day. From the far dunes of western Al-Bark to the borders shared with Decartium in the east, cities large and small whispered the same names.

Lance.

And Sofia.

Even beyond Al-Bark's borders, in the other three Human Kingdoms of the continent of Rosendar—Decartium, Solfia, and Valria—nobles and dignitaries had taken note. Word of the wedding had spread quickly, because this wasn't just some formal union of courtly title. It was a joining of power.

The Royal Guards of Justice were no mere figureheads.

There were six of them total. Six elite warriors who stood at the pinnacle of Al-Bark's military might. Each one a Rank 5 Fighter—beings capable of toppling monsters, holding battle lines, or killing a dozen men before they could blink.

Only one person in the kingdom stood higher than them.

The Green Fox.

Rank 6.

The King's shadow and closest ally.

But even he would attend today's wedding—not as a warrior, but as a witness. As someone paying respect to the two who had fought beside him for years, through blood and fire.

And so, the halls of the Royal Citadel were alive with preparation. Banners bearing the twin crests of Lance and Sofia—steel crossed with a rose wrapped in crimson silk—hung from balconies and towers.

And amid all the elegance, wonder, and sheer magnitude of the gathering—

A green lacquered carriage rolled steadily through the broad marble lane leading to the Royal Citadel. Gilded wheels turned silently over polished stone as citizens and nobles alike made way, casting curious glances at the simple but well-crafted vehicle.

And inside it she sat.

Elena.

The Inspector Princess of Jarustum.

And the proud little sister of the groom.

...

In the month since she reunited with her brother, Elena had grown—a tiny few centimeters, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to her, it meant everything. She'd been checking her height, pressing her back to door frames or comparing herself against furniture she'd already measured. Every new fraction of growth made her beam with silent pride.

This second month in Jarustum had somehow been even better than the first. Life in the mayor's mansion remained warm and peaceful, but now it held something extra—certainty. Two weeks ago, Lance had come to visit, and though he hadn't stayed long, it was enough. Enough to show her that he hadn't forgotten her. That he cared. That he was safe.

In those earlier days, back when she first arrived in the city, she hadn't known what to believe. She'd wondered whether he remembered her at all, whether he would ever come. That fear had lingered like a shadow.

But now? Now she knew.

Even if he wasn't beside her all the time, she knew he would come back again. That he wanted to. That he was still her brother.

And while her heart had settled, her daily life hadn't slowed one bit.

She had continued her VERY IMPORTANT duties as the Inspector Princess of Jarustum's grand market district. Armed with a sharp eye, a loud voice, and two city guards trailing her at all times, she patrolled the stalls like a seasoned detective. Merchants greeted her warmly, children followed her with gleeful whispers, and shopkeepers half-jokingly confessed before she could accuse them of anything. According to her, she'd caught a dozen criminals, thwarted countless injustices, and "restored balance to the economy."

So effective was her reign that the first market, under her diligent eye, had quieted down.

Too quiet.

Which, of course, only meant one thing.

It was time to expand.

She'd begun visiting a second market on the other side of the city—slightly messier, slightly more chaotic, and absolutely in need of her justice. There were crooked scales to test, suspicious coins to inspect, and price tags to question. The Inspector Princess was on the move again, and the people knew it.

Now, seated between Rannold and Haseena in a softly rocking green carriage, Elena looked out the window as the Royal Citadel drew near. Her dress—a flowing emerald trimmed with silver—shimmered faintly in the morning light. Her gloved hands fidgeted with the folds in her lap.

One month ago, she'd been uncertain of her place.

Now, she had purpose. A home. People who cared.

And today—on the biggest day in all of Al-Bark—she would stand proudly as the little sister of the groom.

Lance of Justice.

Her brother.

And soon, officially, the husband of Sofia—the Rose of Justice.

The wedding of two Royal Guards, witnessed by kings and nobles across the continent, awaited.

And Elena would be there for every moment.

...

Elena sat between Rannold and Haseena, her hands resting stiffly on her lap. Her heart thudded in her chest. Not from fear—but from sheer awe.

Through the small window, she caught glimpses of towering golden banners, glimmering plate armor, colorful gowns from faraway courts, and distant flashes of glowing crests etched into the marble. The scale of it all was staggering.

She turned to Rannold. "Is… is it always like this?"

The mayor smiled gently. "No. This is something special, little one. You're about to witness a piece of history."

Haseena reached over and fixed a small curl behind Elena's ear. "And you're part of it," she whispered warmly.

Elena nodded slowly, barely daring to believe it.

Not long ago, she had been in a cage, forgotten and afraid.

Now… she was headed to the grandest wedding in the kingdom.

And the groom was her big brother.

As the carriage rolled through the final stretch of gleaming white road toward the capital gates, Elena sat a little quieter than usual, her hands still folded in her lap, eyes flicking between the grand stone towers ahead.

Rannold noticed the change in her. "Something wrong, little inspector?" he asked gently.

Elena hesitated, then said in a small voice, "I'm… a little scared."

Both adults turned to her with soft, patient smiles.

"I've never been to the Capital before," she added, peeking through the window again. "Laransol… it's so big."

Rannold chuckled warmly. "I've been here a few times. It's really not so scary. It's just like Jarustum, only a bit bigger. More buildings, more noise. A few arenas for the big duels. And of course, the Royal Castle up on the hill looking all dramatic."

"That doesn't make it less scary," she mumbled.

Haseena reached over and gently took her hand. "You'll be fine, sweet girl. We're right here with you. Nothing bad is going to happen."

Elena gave a small nod, though her expression still twisted with nerves. "But it's going to be sooo big. The King is going to be there… and the Green Fox… and so many famous people…"

Rannold raised a brow and leaned in a little. "And?"

She blinked, thrown by the question.

He grinned and chuckled. "They might be famous. And sure, some of them have big titles and shiny armor. But today, they're all just people—people coming to cheer on a couple they care about. That's all. Today, they're not kings or warriors or nobles. They're guests."

Elena stared at him, still unsure.

He smiled, softer now. "And to Lance… you're more important than all of them."

Her eyes widened. "Even more than the King?"

This time, it was Haseena who answered, her voice full of certainty.

"Way more than anyone else."

Elena blinked a few times, lips parting as if she might cry—then quickly looked back out the window and sniffed once, pretending to check the view.

But her smile, small and glowing, said everything.

...

Asvin sat quietly in the grey carriage, his blue eyes fixed on the passing scenery beyond the window. His short, messy blond hair shifted slightly with every jolt of the road, though his imperial red coat—sharp, regal, lined with black buttons—remained crisp and still. He was the heir to the Cavias Family of Decartium, son of the legendary warrior known across the continent as the Fierce Lion. And yet, seated among the company he found himself in, even Asvin felt the weight of humility.

Beside him sat a young man around his age, though his presence felt heavier, more contained—like a blade sheathed but ready to unsheathe at any moment. His hair was a spiked crown of deep blue, and his matching imperial blue coat shimmered slightly in the light, buttons black like ink. This was Tanzo, known simply and officially as the Court's Barrier—a Rank 7 Fighter, and one of the four most powerful warriors in the entire Court of Saviors.

Opposite the two sat a woman whose very stillness commanded respect. Her long, flowing white hair fell like silk down her back, her grey eyes sharp but quiet, filled with a strength that did not need to speak. She wore a modest silver dress adorned with delicate black patterns, like ink on polished steel. This was Foliana, the Flower Sword—a Rank 8 Fighter, and not only one of the Court's four strongest, but also the champion of Solfia.

Compared to her, even Tanzo's formidable presence dimmed.

In the world of power and reputation, Foliana stood above nearly all.

Where Al-Bark had the Green Fox, and Decartium the King's Power, Solfia had her.

And unlike those champions—both respected, but only Rank 6—Foliana stood as something more.

Stronger. Quieter. Sharper.

And now, all three rode together through Al-Bark's lands toward the capital, toward the wedding of Lance of Justice and the Rose of Justice.

But for Asvin… this journey meant more than duty.

Hidden beneath his calm expression, a quiet anticipation stirred in his chest.

Because among the honored guests waiting at the Royal Citadel—

Was her.

His master.

And the sister of the King.

The Princess of Al-Bark, and the same one who invited him along with the other two to this very same wedding.

The carriage rumbled steadily along the stone-paved road, its wheels cutting a smooth rhythm beneath them as the capital grew closer. Inside, the air was calm—at least until Tanzo leaned back with a dramatic sigh and stretched his arms wide, nearly elbowing Asvin in the side.

"So," Tanzo said, his grin already spreading, "I get why I'm here. You know—high-ranking Court legend, people love me, I'm the Barrier, yadda yadda…"

Asvin gave him a sidelong look. "Here we go…"

Tanzo pointed a thumb toward the figure sitting across from them. "And Folly—"

Foliana's grey eyes flicked toward him the moment the nickname dropped.

"—she's obviously here to be mysterious, terrifying, and diplomatic. Makes sense. Champion of Solfia, Rank 8, living blade of elegance and all that."

Foliana said nothing, of course. She merely turned her gaze back to the window with the faintest, almost imperceptible sigh.

Tanzo chuckled like a man who lived off dangerous amusement.

"But you, Asvin?" he said, turning back to the blond heir with exaggerated curiosity. "Why are you here? Don't tell me it's just because you're the student of Al-Bark's dear princess. Because last I checked, she's not the one getting married."

Asvin blinked once. "Wow. That's a long setup just to mess with me."

Tanzo grinned, teeth flashing. "I mean… I am known for my eloquence."

"You're known for tripping over your own spear during training last month."

"One time. And it was raining!"

Asvin crossed his arms, trying to fight the smirk tugging at his lips. "For the record, I was invited as an honored guest. Court connections. Political courtesy. You wouldn't understand."

"Uh-huh," Tanzo nodded sagely, then leaned in, voice dropping just enough to sound conspiratorial. "But don't you think it's strange that someone would go through the trouble of inviting a random student—you, of all people—to a wedding full of kings, champions, and Rank 5 powerhouses?"

Asvin tried not to squirm. "...It's called diplomacy."

"Right," Tanzo said, eyes gleaming. "And it's definitely not because a certain princess personally requested you be there. Nope. No hidden intentions. Nothing at all to do with the way you look at her like she lights up the whole sky."

Asvin's face reddened slightly. "You done?"

"Oh no, I'm just getting started."

Foliana shifted slightly across from them, her silver sleeves catching the light. She didn't look at them, didn't speak, didn't move to interrupt.

But she did roll her eyes—very subtly.

Tanzo saw it, of course, and grinned wider. "Even Folly knows I'm right."

She did not respond.

She never did.

Asvin sighed and leaned back against the seat, arms behind his head.

"Say what you want, but I'm still going to enjoy the wedding."

"Oh I know you will," Tanzo said with a wiggle of his brows. "Can't wait to see how red your face gets when the princess introduces you to her brother."

Asvin groaned.

Foliana blinked.

Tanzo laughed.

Asvin raised an eyebrow, still red-cheeked but recovering quickly. "Right, and when you trip over your own charm and spill wine on the King's robe, I'll be sure to act shocked."

Tanzo clutched his chest dramatically. "You wound me, Asvin. How dare you predict my future so accurately."

Their laughter filled the carriage once more, easy and genuine.

But Foliana wasn't listening to them—not really.

Her gaze remained fixed outside the window, though her eyes weren't following the scenery.

They were far away.

Back home.

Solfia.

Born into nobility, Foliana had never cared much for courtly dances or political whispers. Her title meant less to her than the way her younger siblings looked at her when she returned from training, sword at her side, wind in her hair.

Geremy, the oldest of the three, was eight now—clever and serious, always pretending to be the "man of the house" when their father was too weak to leave bed.

Florance, five, was more energy than person most days, running around with wooden swords and a voice twice his size.

And Flora, barely three, was still small enough to sleep curled in Foliana's lap during colder nights.

A faint smile tugged at her lips as she thought of them—especially Geremy. One of these names doesn't belong, she mused silently. Geremy, Florance, and Flora. Two flowers and a… Geremy. What were our parents thinking?

Her smile faded almost as soon as it came.

Their parents.

Both of them—bedridden for nearly a year now. Victims of an illness not even the best Court physicians could name. Something slow. Cruel. Not deadly—yet—but worse in its own way.

Every day was a battle to sit up. To speak. To smile.

They'd sent for doctors from Solfia, Decartium, even a healer from Al-Bark who charged more than a minor noble's estate. The best they'd managed was a rare, expensive remedy—one that didn't heal, but softened the pain. Gave them just enough strength to endure. Just enough to not feel like corpses trapped in a waking body.

Foliana blinked slowly, her hands resting in her lap.

She didn't let the sadness show on her face. She never did.

But she thought of her mother's voice. Her father's laugh—both now rare. Of her siblings waiting at home, always watching her with quiet hope that she could fix everything one day.

And here she was.

Riding toward a wedding.

Sitting beside boys who joked like nothing in the world could touch them.

She didn't envy them.

But part of her wished… just a little…

That she could laugh, too.

It seemed… they wouldn't last more than a few more years.

Foliana didn't want to think it—but she wasn't the type to lie to herself.

Their parents, strong once, pillars of her childhood, were now shadows of those memories. She often found herself wondering, What then? What would happen if they were gone?

She didn't know.

Geremy was the heir, but he was only eight. Barely old enough to read and write, let alone manage a noble estate, and protect Florance and Flora on top of it. Foliana had her duties—too many of them, stretched between the Court, Solfia's interests, and her own name. There was no way she could return home and raise them properly. Not while bearing the sword that now defined her.

Her chest tightened with guilt.

She sighed—heavily, deeply—and then immediately regretted it.

Because when she glanced up, she found both Asvin and Tanzo looking at her.

Tanzo's smile spread across his face like it had been waiting there. "Uh-oh. That's a dramatic sigh. What's on your mind, Folly? Don't tell me you're sad the wedding isn't yours?"

She shot him a flat, withering glance—nothing more—but in her world, that was practically shouting. Her lips pressed into a thin line, silently cursing herself for breaking her silence.

Asvin, catching the moment, grinned and leaned forward. "Hey, ease up, Tanzo. You can't just harass the Champion of Solfia. Someone's got to protect her honor."

Tanzo gasped. "Oh? Look at this! The Young Lion draws his blade!"

"Only to defend the Flower."

Foliana closed her eyes for a second. Idiots. The both of them.

Utterly ridiculous.

And yet… she felt the corners of her mouth twitch.

Just slightly.

They were stupid. Silly. Careless with words and loud with feelings.

But somehow… it made the carriage feel less heavy.

And it made her feel just a little less alone.

The carriage wheels clacked steadily as they wound up the main hill road, the Royal Castle of Laransol now visible in the near distance—its towering spires and silver banners casting long shadows in the rising sun. At the base of the hill and spilling up its side, the capital buzzed with life.

Outside, the streets brimmed with color. Arts Users were out in force, performing for the gathering crowds. Trails of golden light snaked upward into the sky, forming intricate patterns before bursting into bursts of harmless flame—Flameworks. Nearby, figures twisted and moved with seamless grace, shaping pillars of light or water, or weaving platforms that lifted laughing nobles and wide-eyed children into the air.

"Street show?" Tanzo asked, watching with a crooked grin. "Or a soft display for the noble audience?"

"Bit of both," Asvin replied. "It's wedding day—everyone gets a show."

Most of the Art Users seen outside weren't nobles, of course. While Arts were usually the domain of noble bloodlines, a small number of gifted commoners had clawed their way upward. Those were the ones out now, showing off. Hired or ordered to perform. Spinning their blessings into spectacles for others' joy.

Tanzo leaned close to the glass, watching one fire spinner with real interest. "She's not bad."

"Mm," Foliana said softly, a whisper of a sound that may or may not have been agreement.

Inside, the mood was quieter, more focused. Asvin, now settled in with one arm over the back of the cushioned seat, had shifted the conversation back to something that clearly lingered in his thoughts.

"Two months ago," he said suddenly, "I met a kid."

Tanzo blinked. "That a setup for another terrible joke?"

"No," Asvin said, his voice steady but lower now, as if the memory carried weight. "This isn't a joke, Tanzo. I met him during an incident two months ago. I was on my way back from Court training, passing a village on the edge of Decartium's borders. Quiet place. Peaceful."

He paused.

"Until it wasn't."

Tanzo sat forward, his teasing grin fading. Even Foliana tilted her head, her attention locked now.

"There was shouting… smoke. Fire everywhere. Black Fire—that's what they're calling it now. Black Tower had sent a group of rogue Arts Users to burn the village down. Just because they could."

He exhaled sharply. "I got there late, but not too late. Killed one of them. I Managed to save three kids, a boy and two girls."

Tanzo blinked. "Wait. Don't tell me… the girls?"

Asvin nodded. "Yeah. I brought them back. They're with my family now. They're my little sisters now, actually."

"And the boy?"

"Matthew," Asvin said quietly. "I tried. I really tried. But… we couldn't take him in."

Tanzo's brow furrowed slightly.

"So what happened?"

"I got him into an orphanage in the city. But I wasn't going to leave it at that." Asvin sat forward now, more animated. "I hired an Arts User to teach him."

"And?" Tanzo asked.

Asvin smiled, this time proud. "He's doing amazing. Not just fast—he's instinctive. He's already learned a few Arts."

That stunned both of them.

Tanzo's jaw dropped. "Wait. He knows Arts? At seven?"

Foliana actually blinked—then spoke, her tone laced with rare surprise. "That's… extremely rare."

"I know," Asvin said. "But you haven't seen him. You don't feel what he carries. It's like the One Power sings around him. Loudly. If nothing goes wrong, and he keeps at it…" He glanced toward the window, jaw tightening slightly. "He's going to be terrifying when he grows up."

Tanzo shook his head with a low whistle. "Kid's blessed. That kind of potential… maybe more than most of the Court ever sees."

Foliana didn't say anything more. But her eyes had narrowed slightly. Thoughtful.

Asvin leaned back again, gaze still distant.

"Wish I could've taken him too."

There was a long, quiet pause.

Tanzo didn't tease.

The carriage slowed after a final gentle curve in the stone path and came to a smooth stop.

A moment later, the door was opened from the outside with a smile from one of the castle's royal stewards.

Asvin stepped out first, boots meeting the polished white-stone steps, his eyes immediately drawn upward. Tanzo followed with an appreciative whistle, and Foliana emerged last, her silver dress catching the morning light as her eyes scanned the surroundings quietly.

Before them stood the Royal Castle of Laransol—a massive, towering structure carved of pale white stone veined with silver and grey. Its sharp turrets pierced the sky like ivory spears, and broad walls lined with carved reliefs wrapped the complex in a protective embrace. Dozens of narrow, arched windows reflected the sunlight like fragments of crystal, and two great banners—green and silver, the colors of Al-Bark—hung proudly from the tallest spires.

The castle was neither gaudy nor grim. It wasn't covered in gold or drowning in ornamentation. But it radiated strength, dignity, and age. The kind of place built by warriors—not kings who sat, but kings who fought.

"Now this is a castle," Tanzo said, hands on his hips. "Not too flashy. Not too cold. Just right."

"I wonder how many duels have been fought in those courtyards," Asvin murmured.

"Probably more than we've had hot meals," Tanzo grinned.

Foliana didn't speak. But she stared at the massive gates for a moment longer than the others. Then her eyes shifted… to the people.

Dozens—hundreds—of citizens and nobles had gathered around the castle grounds and terraces, all there to catch a glimpse of the wedding's honored guests.

And everywhere, there was green.

Hair the color of emerald, eyes like forest leaves. Some wore it long and braided, others short and tied back. But there was no mistaking it—Al-Bark's people, with their warrior bloodlines and sharp gazes. Green was the color of their pride, and it bloomed across the castle like spring.

Asvin took it in with open curiosity. "You'd think they dyed it for the occasion."

"Nope," Tanzo said, nudging him. "That's all natural. Al-Bark's people are born with it. If you see someone without green hair or eyes around here, they're not from here."

"Remind me to blend in by hiding under a table."

Foliana's eyes flicked toward him.

Tanzo, grinning, whispered, "Don't worry. You're not the only one here with yellow straw for hair."

Asvin smirked. "Better than blue or white."

Foliana looked at him as if saying, "What did I do?"

A mix of attendants, court officials, and ceremonial greeters dressed in Al-Bark's sharp forest-green colors, approached with practiced elegance. The foremost—a young steward with intricate embroidery on his sleeves—offered a polite smile.

"Honored guests of the Court of Saviors," he said, voice crisp and clear. "On behalf of His Majesty, the King of Al-Bark, we welcome you to Laransol and to the wedding of Sir Lance and Lady Sofia."

Asvin nodded respectfully. "Thank you for receiving us."

Tanzo grinned. "We brought our best clothes, and most of our manners."

Foliana just nodded her head slightly.

But it wasn't the steward who truly commanded attention.

Standing just behind the envoy, slightly apart, was a man of presence.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. His body was clad in pristine white plate armor, each segment smooth and gleaming as if freshly polished for the occasion. The armor was ceremonial yet unmistakably functional—battle-ready, but shaped with an elegance that marked him as no mere soldier. At his left shoulder fluttered a small black flag, stitched with the sigil of a black rose—the solemn emblem of Al-Bark's Royal Guards.

There was no cloak, no ornamentation beyond the standard of the Guard. He didn't need it.

His green hair, neatly combed back, and sharp green eyes radiated discipline and quiet command. He looked every inch the veteran he was—an Al-Barkian to the core.

Even before he spoke, one could tell—he was a warrior.

"Ah," Tanzo whispered under his breath. "This one's a pillar."

Asvin nodded slowly. "Royal Guard. That's not a bodyguard. That's one of the six."

The man finally stepped forward and placed a fist over his chest in a firm salute. "Welcome to Al-Bark," he said, voice deep and weathered like stone under pressure. "I am the Sword of Justice, Royal Guard to His Majesty, sent in his name to greet and ensure your comfort during your stay."

His eyes locked on Asvin with a familiarity that crossed both borders and decades.

"You are the son of the Fierce Lion, are you not?"

Asvin blinked, caught slightly off guard by the recognition. "I am. Asvin Cavias."

The Sword gave a single respectful nod. "Your father fought well in the Monster War. A stubborn one, that Lion. Gave my unit more than one headache on the southern front—even though we were on the same side."

A faint smile crept to Asvin's lips. "He still complains about coordination between fronts. Says your side was all noise and explosions."

The Sword chuckled, low and warm. "Sounds like him. Give him my regards, when next you see him. And tell him—Sword still remembers."

Asvin's smile deepened. "He'll be glad to hear that. He remembers, too."

Behind them, Tanzo looked at Foliana and mouthed, You think I'll be that cool at fifty?

She didn't respond. But the side glance she gave him spoke volumes.

No.

The Sword of Justice then shifted his gaze from Asvin to the other two stepping down beside him.

The steward and his company, still standing dutifully nearby, exchanged uneasy glances. They were supposed to be the ones guiding and entertaining the honored guests—not the Royal Guard himself. But none dared to interrupt. Not only was the Sword one of the six Pillars of the Kingdom, but in Al-Bark, his authority eclipsed all of theirs combined.

The stewards looked helpless. The guests looked engaged. And the Sword? He looked entirely in command.

He turned first to Tanzo, nodding with genuine respect. "The Court's Barrier," he said. "Your reputation precedes you, even here. Rank Seven, master of defense—though I've heard you hit hard enough to flatten walls when it suits you."

Tanzo grinned wide. "Only the ugly ones."

The Sword gave a rare smile. "We could've used a few like you during the Monster War. Might've saved half my men from broken ribs."

Then his eyes turned to Foliana.

The tone subtly changed—softened, perhaps, in admiration. "And you… You don't need an introduction. Not just one of the Court's Four, but also the Flower Sword of Solfia. Your name carries weight even in our barracks."

Foliana remained silent, her expression unreadable.

The Sword crossed his arms, white gauntlets clinking softly. "Though I hate to admit it… if you and our Green Fox crossed blades, I'm positive you'd win that fight."

That made even Tanzo raise an eyebrow.

Foliana, after a pause, spoke. Her voice was quiet, steady, and clear.

"I'm not here representing Solfia," she said calmly. "Today, I am a sword of the Court of Saviors, nothing more."

The Sword's grin widened slightly. "Modest, too. They said you barely speak."

"I usually don't."

Tanzo snorted, clearly enjoying himself. "And when she does, it's to remind everyone she's the scariest person in the room."

Foliana didn't respond—but a flicker of amusement reached her pale eyes.

Asvin folded his arms. "So, Sword of Justice… do we get the royal tour next? Or are you going to challenge someone to a spar first?"

The Sword laughed—a short, deep bark of a laugh. "Don't tempt me, son of the Lion. But no. For today, I'm only your guide."

He turned toward the gates, motioning them to follow.

"This way."

Just as they were about to move forward toward the castle gates, the Sword of Justice slowed and looked contemplative for a brief moment. Then a faint grin touched his face, and he turned back toward Asvin, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

"Lord Asvin," he said formally, but with an edge of curiosity. "Since you've traveled all this way as a guest of honor from the Court of Saviors, and the son of the Fierce Lion no less… perhaps you'd be willing to offer our kingdom a demonstration of your strength?"

Asvin blinked, a slight stiffness forming in his shoulders. "…A demonstration?"

The Sword nodded. "Nothing serious. A friendly match. You and one of our Royal Troops—a Rank 3, for fairness. From what I understand, that's approximately your level?"

There was a pause. Asvin didn't answer immediately.

His mind turned, slowly, carefully. A match. A challenge. Why?

The man before him was one of Al-Bark's six Royal Guards. His father had spoken of him before—not fondly. The Sword of Justice was known not just for his battlefield prowess, but for his nationalism, his pride in Al-Bark's strength. He had fought beside Asvin's father during the Monster War, but that didn't mean they were friends. In fact, his father had once said, "That man may be just, but he never forgets who's foreign."

Was this about him? Or was it about his bloodline? About Decartium?

Maybe the man wanted to test him. Or maybe… he wanted to humiliate him. Just enough to remind the other guests that Al-Bark's strength outclassed even the heirs of their allies.

But Asvin couldn't say no.

Because deep down, he also remembered the reason he was here.

This was the kingdom of the woman he hoped to marry. And this event—this wedding—was the first time her family would see him not just as a visitor, but as a possible future match. In Al-Bark, strength was everything. If he refused here, if he stepped back from challenge…

It might be the only thing they'd ever remember.

He straightened slowly and gave a small nod. "Yes. That's my level. I accept."

The Sword's grin widened, clearly pleased. "Excellent. Then I'll arrange it. We'll host the match later—likely this evening. It'll be presented as entertainment during the gathering. Nothing formal, but many eyes will be watching… if, of course, that doesn't bother you?"

Asvin gave a tight smile. "It bothers me. But I'll do it anyway."

Tanzo laughed from behind him. "That's the Asvin I know. Brave, brooding, and definitely doomed to win anyway."

The Sword let out a deep, amused chuckle and clapped Asvin's shoulder with one white-gauntleted hand. "Good. Then we'll see just how far the Fierce Lion's cub has come."

Foliana gave Asvin a small glance. As always, she said nothing, but her look gave him a nod of respect and trust. Asvin had learned to read her looks and what they meant, and this one told that she believed in him.

Tanzo, meanwhile, leaned over toward her and whispered with a grin, "Our cub is about to become a Lion, aren't you proud too?"

She didn't answer.

But she did smile.

...

The young girl stepped down from the green carriage, her green hair catching the soft light of morning. Rannold offered her a hand, which she took gladly, and Haseena followed behind them with a gentle smile.

They were met immediately by an envoy stationed outside the outer steps of the Royal Castle, a cluster of well-dressed officials in ceremonial garb. But the one who drew attention first wasn't the diplomats—it was the man standing at their head.

Clad in pristine white plate armor, a black flag with a black rose emblazoned boldly across his chest—the symbol of the Royal Guards—he stood tall and still, like an anchored statue. His black hair was slicked back, and his black eyes carried a quiet, heavy calm. He looked over the group for a moment before stepping forward.

"Mayor Rannold," he said firmly but not unkindly. "Of Jarustum. A small city, but still a city of Al-Bark. Welcome."

He turned his gaze slightly, acknowledging Haseena with a respectful nod, and then his eyes rested on Elena—and he gave a brief smile, nothing too dramatic, but enough to note her presence.

"You have traveled far, Mayor. From Pantos, no less. Another continent altogether. And yet you've made a name for yourself in our land… enough to be elected mayor by your people. I commend that."

Rannold smiled slightly, his voice warm and even. "That's generous of you, sir. You're one of the Royal Guards, I take it?"

The armored man nodded. "Shield of Justice. I serve His Majesty and the realm."

Rannold raised an eyebrow. "You don't carry the green hair of Al-Bark. If I may… are you from outside as well?"

A small smile flickered across the man's stern face. "Good eye. Yes—I was born in Decartium. I came to Al-Bark after the Monster War ended."

Rannold's brow lifted further. "Trouble back home?"

The Shield gave a brief shrug, the kind that held years of unspoken politics. "Let's say… some things no longer aligned between me and the crown there. But I had friends here. And purpose."

Rannold folded his arms, clearly intrigued. "And you are?"

"Tomason. Of the Ankston Family."

That made Rannold pause. "Ankston? As in… the family of Aron the Knight? The one who fought the Blood Count 400 years ago?"

A flicker of pride crossed Tomason's face. He nodded once. "The same."

Haseena looked toward Elena with a whisper-soft voice, "You're meeting legends today."

Elena blinked, eyes wide. "…I read about him in one of the books the mayor gave me…"

Tomason's expression softened as he looked down at the girl. "Then you're already wiser than most I meet."

Rannold chuckled. "You're full of surprises, Shield. I look forward to speaking more, if time allows."

"Perhaps after the wedding," Tomason replied. "For now, please follow the envoy. The castle staff has arranged your quarters and prepared for your presence."

Elena looked up at the towering white walls of the Royal Castle, its banners fluttering in the breeze. She felt small… but not in a bad way. In a world this grand, she could grow into something just as grand one day.

The Shield of Justice, Tomason, turned and began leading the group toward the castle's grand white archway, flanked by banners from each side. As they walked, his voice carried steady and warm, clearly used to explaining things with military precision.

"The wedding itself will be held tonight," he said. "It'll be a grand celebration—nothing short of the best. Until then, you're free to do as you please."

He glanced back at them. "You may wander the palace grounds, or explore the city—within reason, of course. Otherwise, there are two halls prepared for entertainment and socializing. One for women, another for men. It's where many of the nobles are already gathering."

Elena's head perked up. "Can I see my brother?"

Tomason chuckled. "Right to the point."

She smiled sheepishly. "I just… I haven't seen him since he visited Jarustum two weeks ago, but if he's super busy it's okay…"

The man nodded. "He is busy at the moment. Meetings, arrangements, formalities—wedding things. But…" He paused, then smirked lightly. "He has… begged—ahm, asked—me to look after you today."

Elena blinked, surprised. "He did?"

"He did. Very insistently." He looked amused. "And if you want, I could introduce you to the Princess or Prince as well. They've heard of you."

Elena flushed bright pink. "I-I'm not ready for that! I'll mess up something, I know it!"

Tomason laughed, a deep, amused sound. "Then we'll leave that for later."

She looked up at him. "Can we go around the city instead? I've never seen the capital before. It's really big."

The Shield gave a slow nod. "Of course. It would be my honor."

He then turned to Rannold, standing at the castle steps with a relaxed stance and hands behind his back.

"Permission, Mayor?"

Rannold chuckled heartily. "If I can't trust a Royal Guard with her safety, then I can't trust anyone." He gave Elena a wink. "Go have fun, little Inspector Princess."

Haseena leaned down and kissed Elena's forehead. "Don't tire him out too much."

Elena giggled, giving her a little wave as she straightened.

Rannold then turned to his wife, offering his arm. "Shall we go mingle with nobles, each to their gendered pens?"

She took his arm with a smirk. "I'll try not to scare them."

And with that, the couple departed into the castle, arm in arm.

Elena turned back to Tomason. "Well then, Mr. Shield—shall we begin the tour?"

He extended a gloved hand. "Lead the way, Princess Inspector."

She beamed and skipped ahead, her laughter echoing beneath the high castle walls.

...

The grand halls of the Royal Castle stretched endlessly around them—arched ceilings painted in soft golds and greens, with sunlight filtering through tall stained glass windows. The envoys walked a respectful pace ahead, their ceremonial robes brushing against the polished marble floor as they led Rannold and Haseena deeper into the castle.

As they turned past a pair of tall, oak doors adorned with golden roses, Haseena leaned in slightly and whispered to her husband, "Did you truly not know who he was? The Shield of Justice, I mean. All that about the Ankston Family and Decartium?"

Rannold chuckled under his breath, his hands clasped behind his back. "Of course I knew."

She raised a brow at him, amused. "Then why play ignorant?"

He smirked. "Because it makes for a better greeting. Gives the other person full power to choose how much to share about themselves."

Haseena gave a quiet grin, her voice teasing. "You're starting to act like a real noble."

He laughed softly. "Kind of. But really, it's just the merchant in me. Nobles and merchants have more in common than either side likes to admit."

She smiled, her eyes fond. "True enough. But you've always been better at it than the nobles themselves. At least the ones I know."

Rannold gave her a wink. "That's why I married a noble, the smartest in Al-Bark, to sharpen my skills."

She rolled her eyes, but her smile only grew.

...

The city of Laransol was alive in a way Elena had never seen before. The streets were overflowing with people, nobles and commoners alike, their voices a chorus of excitement and laughter. Vendors called out, children ran past, and Arts Users occasionally shot flares of colored fire or sculpted water in the air to impress passersby. It was loud—really loud—and Elena had to stay close to Tomason, the Shield of Justice, just to hear anything clearly.

People stared.

Of course they did. A Royal Guard, in his full white armor bearing the black rose of the royal order, walking through the main streets with a young green-haired girl beside him—it was a rare sight, even today of all days.

Many looked as though they wanted to approach them, some simply out of admiration, others perhaps out of curiosity. But the moment their eyes met Tomason's cold gaze, their courage melted away. His focus was fixed entirely on the little girl at his side, his broad form walking like a shield against the crowd.

Whether he was simply committed to his role as her guide—or he just really didn't like fans—Elena couldn't tell.

They took a turn down one of the side roads, away from the main square, and the noise began to fade behind them. The further they moved into the heart of the city, the calmer it became. Most people had gathered near the Royal Castle to catch a glimpse of nobles arriving or to enjoy the spectacle of Arts Users performing. These quieter streets, with flower boxes hanging from windows and cobbled stone paths, felt almost like another world entirely.

Tomason glanced around before speaking. "Your brother… he's a good man."

Elena tilted her head up to look at him. "Really?"

"Mhm." He nodded. "Keeps calm in most situations. Not in a shy way. Not like he's putting on an act either. Just… normal. Which is rare in our line of work."

She smiled softly. "He's always been cool."

"He still is. And he's amazing with the lance. Easily the best in the kingdom."

"Really?!"

"Absolutely," Tomason said without hesitation. "I'd say he's the third strongest of the Royal Guard."

Elena's eyes widened. "Who's first and second?"

"The Sword of Justice, without a doubt," he said. "And then the Fist of Justice. They're both monsters. But your brother's not far behind."

Elena beamed with pride, her pace picking up slightly as if walking faster might bring her brother closer.

Tomason followed with an amused glance, still keeping that steady guard's poise behind her. The quiet street, the soft morning light, and the knowledge that her brother was so respected—it was starting to feel like this might be a perfect day.

As they walked deeper into the quieter parts of the city, Elena kept stealing glances at Tomason, her curiosity bubbling up again.

"Can you tell me more about my brother?" she asked, voice soft but hopeful.

Tomason gave a light huff of laughter, arms crossed behind his back. "You really do admire him, huh?"

She nodded immediately. "He's my big brother. Of course I do."

He gave her a sideways glance, the edges of his mouth twitching upward. "Well, you've got good reason to. You know… a lot of people at the castle thought he was boring when he first joined."

"What?!" Elena gasped.

Tomason chuckled. "He was always calm. Always serious. Did the work. Ate quietly. Practiced. Slept. Repeated. Everyone thought he was one of those overly righteous, no-fun types."

She pouted. "That's not true…"

"I was sent with your brother once, about a year and a half ago," he began. "There was a report of a monster sighting near the northern border — not just a beast, mind you, but something warped by corruption. It had torn apart two patrols already, and the scouts that made it back were shaken to the bone."

Elena looked up at him, listening quietly.

"Three of us went. Him, me, and another younger Royal Guard. It was a trap. The creature was smart — more than we gave it credit for. Split us up in a dense ravine."

He let out a short breath. "I was injured. Pretty badly. Thought I'd die there. The other Royal Guard did. Sofia took his place later."

Elena gasped in shock. "What happened?"

"Your brother happened." Tomason's expression shifted, more serious now. "He found me. Fought off the beast alone while carrying me on his back. He had no reason to. He was the fastest. Could've run. Called for help."

"But he didn't," Elena said, eyes wide.

Tomason shook his head. "No. He didn't. He fought it, bought time, and didn't stop until reinforcements came. When I woke up days later in a healer's tent, he was already back at work like it was nothing."

Elena lowered her gaze, a quiet pride in her eyes.

"That's when I realized," he continued, "he's not loud. He doesn't boast. But when it matters? He's the Lance standing between others and danger. The kind of man you don't hear much about — because he's always too busy doing the right thing."

They walked a little more in silence before she asked softly, "What about… the King?"

Tomason gave a knowing smirk. "King Alvaron. Now there's a man."

Elena waited.

"He's not like other kings. Doesn't sit on a velvet throne or drown in politics. He's a warlord. Built this kingdom with blood and fire. He ruled from the battlefield before he ruled from a chair. Everything about him says 'power.' Even his silence."

"That's… scary," Elena said.

Tomason nodded. "It is. But he values one thing above all else — strength. Not just of the sword, but strength of will. That's why he respects your brother."

She blinked. "Really?"

"He's seen Lance in action. Seen his loyalty. That matters more to Alvaron than any noble title. Your brother doesn't serve him because of duty — he serves him because he believes in justice. And the King… respects that more than most people realize."

They turned down a quieter lane lined with old lanterns and ivy. Tomason gave her a gentler look.

"And then there's Sofia."

Elena's face lit up just a little. "Big Sis Sofia…"

"She's... a good one," he said with a rare softness in his voice. "Kind through and through. Always helping the small folk when she can. You'll often find her patching up wounded street kids, carrying grain for old women, or slipping coin to orphanages when no one's looking."

Elena looked up at him in surprise. "Really?"

Tomason nodded. "It's why the Queen likes her so much. His Majesty's wife — she's a good woman too, you know. Always trying to do what she can for the poor and the forgotten. She's done more for the orphanages of Al-Bark than anyone else in power."

Elena blinked. "But… how does Sofia help with that?"

"Because to do all that," Tomason said, "especially in this kingdom… you need protection."

He leaned down a little, lowering his voice.

"The Green Bulls — that gang? They're all over the slums. Nasty folk. They don't care if you're a merchant or a queen. They've hurt people before. That's why the King made sure the Queen always had someone with her. Someone strong. Someone quiet. And someone who never hesitates to draw steel when needed."

"And that's Sofia?" Elena asked quietly.

Tomason nodded. "Rose of Justice. She's the Queen's blade in the shadows. She doesn't brag. Doesn't flaunt her power. But every time the Queen walks through the poorer districts, Sofia's behind her. Watching. Protecting."

Elena smiled softly. "She really is amazing…"

"She is," Tomason said, then added with a small smirk, "But don't let her catch you saying that out loud. She's modest. Hates attention."

"I noticed," Elena whispered with a grin.

Tomason chuckled. "Then you're already smarter than half the palace."

They walked in silence again for a few steps. Tomason slowed his pace slightly as they turned down a narrower, quieter alley of the capital — the hum of celebration now distant, muffled by stone and shadow. Elena noticed the change in him. His hands, which had been relaxed at his sides, were now tucked behind his back. His eyes no longer scanned their surroundings but lingered low, on the cobbles ahead.

She tilted her head and asked softly, "What's wrong?"

He didn't answer at first. His jaw shifted as if weighing words. Then, finally, he spoke — quieter than before.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, voice far more gentle than the teasing strength from before. "About… the Black Fire. That night."

Elena's steps slowed, her breath catching for a moment.

"You don't have to answer," he added quickly, lifting a hand. "I just—"

"No," she interrupted, voice quiet. "It's okay. What… what about it?"

Tomason looked ahead again before replying.

"How did you survive?"

That question hit harder than she expected, sharper, like a gust of cold air through her chest. Her lips parted, but no words came. She wasn't ready to speak of it — not really — but she didn't need to. He noticed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have asked. It's just…"

He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing slightly. "My little sister… her name was Raela. She died that same night. Different village, farther north. I wasn't there."

Elena's eyes widened in shock. Her lips trembled. "I… I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

Tomason gave a single nod, not looking at her. "It's all right. I've made peace with it… or I'm trying to. I just—"

He finally turned to her, his dark eyes meeting hers. "I want to stop them. The Black Tower. At least inside Al-Bark's borders. I know we can't erase them from the continent — not yet. But if I can stop just one of their hands from reaching another village here… then maybe I can sleep better."

Elena looked down, clutching her arms. The memory of the cold cage, the screaming, the smoke, Eric's face... it all burned inside her chest.

"I heard," he went on, voice firmer now, "that a village in Decartium survived. Mostly untouched. And every Black Tower Arts User that attacked them… died. All of them."

Elena blinked. "Really?"

He nodded. "That's what the reports from Decartium say," Shield of Justice muttered, his voice steady but low. "A full Black Tower Squad was sent to a village there… and none of them made it out alive."

Elena's eyes widened.

"We don't know how," he continued. "The reports are... strange. None of the survivors saw anything. Just fire, and screaming, and then... silence. But when the smoke cleared, the Arts Users were dead. Every last one of them."

He glanced at her.

"Some say it was the Shadow Assassin."

Elena stopped walking, her breath catching in her throat.

"The Shadow Assassin?" she repeated, the words almost trembling off her lips.

Tomason turned, surprised by her reaction. "You've heard of him?"

Of course she had. The man was a legend. Or a nightmare.

She remembered the whispers. The assassin who struck a noble's heart in Decartium, leaving no trace. The one who once belonged to the Crows of Death — the infamous organization that trained killers so precise, so silent, they were rumored to kill before shadows even formed.

But that kind of person… saving a village?

It didn't make sense.

It was probably just a story — a false rumor people clung to because the truth was too impossible to swallow. Or too frightening.

Still, the thought of him lingered like a chill on her skin.

Tomason continued walking slowly, his tone returning to that quiet edge. "I don't know if it's true. I don't really care if it was him or not. What matters is someone stopped them… That means they can be stopped."

A few more steps passed in silence before he turned to her again, more gently this time.

"But… you. How did you make it out?"

Elena breathed in — deeply, shakily. Her hands tightened around the sides of her dress. The old feeling crept in, bitter and tight.

"There was a man," she said. "An Arts User from the Black Tower."

Tomason's brows lifted slightly, listening.

"His name was Eric."

She didn't look up, just kept staring at the path ahead.

"He… he killed my mom. On purpose. Just to hurt me. Then another came, and he wanted to kill me. But Eric stopped him. He said no. Then he just… walked away."

She finally turned her eyes toward Tomason. There was a flicker of something unreadable in them — pain, confusion, guilt.

"I don't know why he didn't kill me," she said. "Or why he let me live. I still don't. I think about it every day."

Tomason's face hardened slightly. But his voice, when it came, was quiet.

"He marked you."

She blinked. "What?"

"Maybe not with a blade. But he marked you. He wanted you to remember. People like him… they play with pain. Like fire they don't intend to put out."

Elena didn't answer, but her hands had curled into small fists.

"…But he made a mistake," Tomason added, voice cold now. "He let you live."

Elena's eyes met his — and in that look was something silent and strong.

He was right.

Eric had made a mistake.

Because Elena had something inside her — something she didn't understand, didn't fully control… but knew was there. A monster, she sometimes called it. A thing that came out when pain boiled too far. A thing that had screamed through her veins that day in the cages, when the blood ran hot and her teeth found flesh. The Green Savage — that was the name she had decided to stick with.

Thinking of that made her chest tighten.

Her thoughts drifted — from Eric, to the cage, to the blood, to the trembling cries of others behind the bars. And then, like smoke rising from the cracks of memory, a name resurfaced.

She turned to Shield, gaze steady.

"Have you ever heard of someone called Scarface?" she asked.

He paused and furrowed his brows, shaking his head. "Scarface? Can't say I have. Who is he?"

She looked away, drawing in a slow breath.

And then, step by step, she told him everything.

After Eric killed her mother and walked away, she had blacked out. When she came to, she wasn't in her home anymore. She was in a cage — high up in the trees, bound and barely conscious. Bandits had taken her. She wasn't alone; there were many others, all locked away in hanging cages, frightened, helpless.

She told him how they had laughed, how they threatened the younger ones, how one of them in particular stood out.

She then explained that it was Mayor Rannold who eventually sent help. A boy named Aaron had escaped, and brought word to the city. Guards came, people fought, and many were saved.

Scarface had fled. Disappeared before justice could be served. Slipped into the dark like smoke in the trees.

By the time she finished speaking, her voice had gone quiet. Not weak — just drained. The telling of it had brought it all back again, every cold breeze, every mocking laugh, every rattle of the cage.

Tomason didn't speak right away. His face had grown grim.

Scarface. A name worth remembering.

He nodded slowly, absorbing it all. "Thank you for telling me," he said quietly.

And meant it.

"I'll keep an eye out for this Scarface," Tomason said, voice steady. "If he's still in Al-Bark, he won't be free for long."

Elena nodded, though her eyes were already distant, thoughts shifting. A few steps later, she tilted her head up at him.

"What are bounties for?" she asked. "And who can take them?"

Tomason blinked at her, surprised by the sudden question. "Why do you ask?"

She folded her arms, almost as if imitating how adults did when they were serious about something. "Uncle Rannold put a bounty on Scarface," she said. "So I was wondering."

Tomason smiled slightly, then gave a thoughtful hum. "Well, if a bounty's posted by a lord, like Mayor Rannold did, then pretty much anyone can try to claim it. As long as they're strong enough to catch the party mentioned, of course."

Elena's eyes lit up with interest. "So even I could do it?"

He laughed. "You'd need a bit more than a brave heart, little one."

She squinted. "Hmmmm… how do you become someone who does go after bounties?"

"That's where the Adventurer's Guild comes in," he replied. "It's where people go to take on quests and bounties officially. Most mercenaries — you know, the people who fight for coin — they join the Guild so they're allowed to take bounties."

She tilted her head. "Why not just be full adventurers, then?"

Tomason shrugged, his armor clinking faintly with the motion. "Because real adventurers have rules. They're tied by law. If there's a war, for example, they can't help one side. Or, say, a noble wants someone removed — they can't do it. Mercenaries? They have more freedom."

Elena frowned in concentration. "But… then why does the Guild let them in?"

He chuckled at her serious face. "Because they pay."

She blinked. "Pay?"

"Yup," he nodded. "They pay the Guild a set amount of coin, like a big fee, just to be allowed to take on bounties. But they're still not considered real adventurers. It's like… they're renting permission."

Elena squinted. "So, they give money to the Guild to pretend to be part of it and get paid for bounties, but they're still mercenaries?"

Tomason laughed again, a warm deep sound. "Exactly. You do catch on quick, Inspector Princess."

Elena beamed at his words, then stood a little straighter with pride. "Thanks for saying that," she said, her smile bright. "I am smart. I'll learn all the rules one day."

Tomason raised a brow, amused. "All of them?"

"Yup," she said with a firm nod. "And then I'll make sure things are done the right way."

But a second later, her smile faded slightly, and she glanced up at him again. "Why don't the kingdoms stop this then?" she asked. "Like the Guild letting mercenaries in?"

Tomason sighed lightly, scratching his stubbled chin. "Some kingdoms do try," he admitted. "They put in laws and restrictions… but the truth is, Guilds don't really belong to one place. If they don't like the rules, they just move their main base somewhere else. No one can really stop them for good."

Elena frowned. "I don't like that."

He smiled down at her. "Neither do I. But that's just how it's done right now."

She walked a few more steps in silence, her brows furrowed. "Are mercenaries bad?" she asked at last.

Tomason shook his head. "Not all. Some are," he said honestly. "A lot of them will take any job if you pay them enough. Even… bad ones. That's why many people don't trust mercenaries. Some have even worked as assassins."

Elena's eyes widened at that, but she kept listening, thoughtful.

"But," Tomason added, "a lot of mercenaries are good people. They just don't want to be tied down by laws or rules. Doesn't mean they don't have their own code."

Elena looked up again. "What about the White Hunter? The one who leads the White Hunters?"

Tomason chuckled at the sharpness of her question. "You do know a lot."

"I told you!" she said with a grin.

He nodded. "Well, I don't know him personally. But from everything I've heard? The White Hunter seems like one of the good ones. His group's the biggest in the world, and they've stopped a lot of bad things over the years."

She nodded slowly, letting all of that sink in. Then her gaze turned determined, eyes gleaming with something more than just childish curiosity. "One day, I'll make my own guild. A better one. One that helps people. Not for gold, just... because it's the right thing to do." she said firmly.

Tomason blinked at her, genuinely impressed. Then he smiled, soft and proud. "That's a noble goal," he said warmly. "I'd like to see you try, Young Lady Elena. Truly. Sounds like something the Queen herself would say. Or Sofia, for that matter."

Elena beamed, her heart swelling with pride. "Then I'll do it. Just wait and see."

...

The fountain stood in the middle of a quiet plaza, its crystal waters dancing in the midday light. The water shimmered like liquid silver beneath the sun. Despite the grandeur of the day, the area was oddly calm—likely because most of the city's population had gathered closer to the castle for the wedding festivities.

Elena and Tomason arrived, the soft splash of the fountain greeting them as they stepped into the square. She marveled at the sight, her eyes lighting up with awe.

"It's beautiful…" she whispered.

Tomason gave a nod. "One of the oldest in the city. They say the artist who made it used to dream of one day visiting the Marine Empire, so he left this here."

As Elena wandered closer to admire it, Tomason's gaze shifted to two young men seated comfortably on the fountain's edge. One had short, messy blonde hair and wore a sleek red coat with black buttons. The other, with spiked blue hair, leaned back casually in a sharp blue imperial coat that matched his bright energy. The way they spoke—laughing, gesturing, teasing—it was clear they weren't typical nobles.

Tomason tilted his head slightly. "Blue hair… likely from Solfia," he muttered thoughtfully. "Blondes and blacks, mostly from Decartium or Valria. Not a rule, of course—Valria's too mixed for rules. But green's the only real signature we have here in Al-Bark."

Elena glanced up at him, curious. "Do you know them?"

"Not yet," Tomason said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But I have an idea of who they might be."

He studied the two casually seated figures, noting their posture, the way they carried themselves—relaxed, but not unaware. "They're not normal guests, that's for sure. That blonde one… he's strong. Still young, not fully polished, but there's power there."

Then his gaze shifted to the blue-haired one, and a slight frown formed. "But the one with the blue hair… he's crazy strong."

Elena blinked, confused. "Like… how strong?"

Tomason crossed his arms. "Strong enough that if we fought, I might lose."

She gasped. "But you're a Royal Guard!"

He chuckled softly. "Exactly. Which is why I don't say that lightly." He didn't look bitter or ashamed—only thoughtful. "There aren't many who could push me to my limit, but that one… I'd rather not test him unless I had to."

Elena stared at the two figures with newfound awe. "Who are they?"

Tomason shook his head, a faint grin on his lips. "Let's find out."

...

Asvin sat casually at the edge of the fountain, one leg folded over the other, eyes watching the water dance while the distant hum of celebration rolled across the capital. Beside him lounged Tanzo, his blue hair spiked messily as always, his imperial blue uniform half-unbuttoned like he couldn't be bothered to care about formalities.

Tanzo let out a whistle, arms stretched behind his head. "You really shouldn't have accepted that duel, blondie."

Asvin didn't look at him, just smirked faintly. "I had to."

Tanzo raised an eyebrow. "Had to? Against a Royal Troupe fighter? You realize they'll be watching."

Asvin turned his head slightly, blue eyes calm but unreadable. "Exactly."

Tanzo stared for a moment before leaning forward. "Ah. 'Exactly,' he says," he teased, nudging Asvin's shoulder. "Don't tell me this is about her."

Asvin didn't respond immediately, only gave a slight shrug and looked up toward the royal hilltop, the castle spires catching the midday light.

Tanzo chuckled but his tone softened. "Then why not just propose already?"

"I'd like to," Asvin admitted, voice lower now, almost hesitant. "But she said it might be harder if her family doesn't approve. Especially if the king sees me as weak."

Tanzo clicked his tongue. "But it's her decision, no? Royal or not, she's not just any girl."

"I know," Asvin replied. "But she doesn't want them to look at her like she made the wrong choice. She wants them with her, not against her."

Tanzo leaned back again, the teasing mostly gone now. "I get it. It's not about just winning her over—it's about winning them too."

"Exactly."

A pause settled between them, only the sound of water and distant laughter breaking the moment. Then Tanzo stood up suddenly, stretching his arms with a grin. "Alright then, blondie. You wanna spar? Shake off the nerves before the show?"

Asvin raised an eyebrow. "You offering to fight me before I fight someone else? Not trying to wear me out, are you?"

Tanzo grinned wide. "Nah, I'll take it easy. Just want to make sure you don't trip in front of the king."

Asvin laughed lightly at Tanzo's jab—until his eyes caught movement nearby. His gaze shifted toward a pair approaching them: a tall man clad in pristine white plate armor, the black flag and black rose of the Royal Guards clearly emblazoned across his chest. Asvin's expression straightened slightly with recognition.

"A Royal Guard," he murmured under his breath, sitting upright.

Beside the armored man walked a small green-haired girl in a light dress, her steps full of curiosity and poise. Asvin took in her appearance: the neat clothes, the way the man walked a step behind her rather than ahead. She wasn't a servant, and with that hair…

"A princess?" he muttered, just loud enough for Tanzo to glance over.

Seeing them already making their way toward them, Asvin offered a polite smile and raised his hand in a wave, ever the gentleman. If she was royalty, best to make a good impression.

The white-clad Royal Guard approached the two young men by the fountain with a calm but imposing stride. His armor, pristine and gleaming under the daylight, bore the black flag and black rose emblem of the Royal Guards, marking him unmistakably as one of the six defenders of the kingdom.

"Are you… Young Lord Asvin Cavias?" he asked, his tone direct but not unkind.

The blonde-haired youth looked up, a flicker of surprise flashing in his blue eyes before he chuckled lightly and rose to his feet. "I am," he replied with a polite nod.

The man gave a small grin. "Tomason. Of the Ankston Family."

At that, Asvin blinked. He knew the name. Of course he did—Ankston was an old Decartian house. But it was strange, hearing it now from a Royal Guard of Al-Bark. A Decartian… serving here?

He didn't voice the thought, keeping it to himself with a measured smile. He was a noble, yes, but most of his time was spent in the Court of Saviors, sharpening his body and mind through battle, not navigating noble politics. Those webs of status and power were something he had promised himself he'd deal with later in life. Much later.

Tomason, unaware—or perhaps entirely aware—of Asvin's internal pause, continued with a nostalgic warmth to his voice. "I served with your father in the Monster War. The Fierce Lion… he tore through the enemy lines like nothing I'd ever seen. Half-Animal soldiers fell before him like grass under flame."

Asvin couldn't help but grin. "That sounds like him."

"The Red Lion Style," Tomason said, eyes glinting, "particularly that Spear technique… it reminded me of the Second Step of the Black Death Style. Calm. Efficient. Beautiful in a brutal sort of way."

Asvin nodded slowly, his pride swelling quietly in his chest. His father's name carried weight, even here. Still, he glanced at the green-eyed girl standing beside the armored man, and though he didn't say anything yet, curiosity stirred in him. A child accompanied by a Royal Guard… and not just any guard, but one who served alongside his father.

Who exactly was she?

Tomason noticed Asvin's gaze shifting toward the small green-haired girl at his side, and a knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Ah, forgive me," he said, tone apologetic. "I got carried away talking about old battles. Allow me to introduce someone far more important than my stories—this is Elena. She's the younger sister of Lance of Justice."

Asvin blinked at that, then offered the girl a polite smile. "A pleasure to meet you, Lady Elena," he said warmly. "I must admit, when I first saw you, I thought you were a real princess. You certainly look the part—adorable and regal."

Elena's face lit up with a proud smile. "Actually… I am called a princess!" she declared with a little bounce in her step. "The Inspector Princess of Jarustum!"

Asvin chuckled, his interest genuinely piqued now. He was about to ask what such a grand-sounding title meant when a pointed cough broke through the conversation. He turned to see the spiky blue-haired young man beside him give a dramatic roll of his shoulders.

"Right, before he starts interrogating the poor girl," the man said with a playful smirk, "let me introduce myself. Name's Tanzo. Court's Barrier. I'm one of the representatives sent by the Court of Saviors for the wedding."

He gestured toward Elena, his eyes gleaming with curiosity and mischief. "So, if I've got this right… you're the little sister of the groom?"

Tomason gave a short nod, confirming. "That's right." His tone was simple but held the weight of truth. "Little sister of the man getting married tonight."

Tanzo let out a low whistle, glancing between Elena and Asvin. "Well, today's getting more and more interesting."

Asvin tilted his head, still smiling. "Inspector Princess, huh? That's quite the title. How exactly did you earn that one?"

Elena puffed her cheeks slightly and waved a hand. "It's a long story."

"I've got time," Asvin said, intrigued.

She looked up at Shield, tugging at his arm gently. "Can we stay here for a little while? I wanna explain."

Tomason gave her a kind smile and nodded. "Of course. If they don't mind."

Asvin looked at Tanzo, who gave him a shrug and a grin. "We don't," they both said in unison.

With that settled, Elena pointed to the edge of the fountain. "Let's sit."

Asvin followed, and just as he was settling beside her, Tanzo tapped Tomason on the shoulder. "Come on, Guard of Justice, let's give them a little space." He nodded toward a shaded spot nearby. "Besides, I've been meaning to ask you something about the Monster War. That style you mentioned earlier—Black Death's Second Step, I've seen it before actually, and I have to agree with you, the Red Lion Style is very much so inspired by it. I've got insiders info on it, wanna hear?"

Tomason chuckled and nodded, the two of them stepping a few paces away and falling into a quiet but animated conversation about fighting styles and war stories.

Meanwhile, back by the fountain, Elena began recounting her tale to Asvin—her time in Jarustum, her "very serious" duties in the market, and how she'd solved all sorts of dramatic cases (most of which involved missing fruits or suspicious-looking strangers). Asvin listened with growing amusement, leaning in as the little girl painted the picture of her grand adventures as the fearless Inspector Princess of Jarustum.

As Elena continued recounting her grand market tales—how she caught a man "pretending" to sell apples while sneakily eating them himself, or how she helped a lost little girl find her way to her mother by asking "the right questions"—she casually mentioned Mayor Rannold a few times.

Asvin tilted his head slightly, curiosity sparking in his blue eyes. "This Rannold… is he your father?"

Elena blinked, then hesitated. "No," she said, voice a little quieter than before. "But he and Aunt Haseena take care of me. Since Big Brother Lance is always busy being a Royal Guard, I've been living with them for about two months now."

Asvin's expression softened at that, but something in his tone shifted as he asked the next question, his voice gentler. "And… before that? Where did you live?"

Elena paused for a second, noticing that he seemed a bit unsure—hesitating just slightly, like he was afraid to ask. She didn't quite understand why.

"I lived in a small village," she said, her eyes drifting a little downward. "But… during the Black Fire, it was destroyed. I barely got out. A lot of… things happened." She took a deep breath, straightened her back, and lifted her chin with a grin. "But that's how I ended up as the cool Inspector Princess."

Asvin chuckled, but there was something off about the sound. It was light—but hollow.

His gaze wandered briefly, staring not at her but at something beyond, something heavy in his thoughts.

Black Fire.

He remembered it too well.

Eight villages. Multiple kingdoms. All hit on the same night by coordinated attacks from the Black Tower. The chaos. The screaming. The flames.

Elena was one of the victims.

And back in Decartium… he remembered Matthew. That terrified, soot-covered boy with eyes far too knowing for his age. And the Marlston Sisters—young, orphaned, and now his little sisters.

The same horror, the same night, different places. Different children. Same scars.

He clenched his jaw slightly before forcing a warmer smile back onto his face, not wanting to let her see how much her story hit him. She didn't need more sadness today. Not on a day like this.

Asvin's gaze softened, and after a brief pause, he smiled and leaned forward slightly, his tone brightening. "You know," he began, "I actually met someone really special about two months ago. A boy named Matthew. He lives in an orphanage back in Decartium."

Elena blinked, curious despite herself.

"He's the most blessed boy I've ever seen," Asvin continued, eyes lighting up. "By the One Power, I mean. Even at seven, the same age as you, he's already training with a tutor—an actual Arts User. And get this—he's not just learning fast… he's teaching the other orphans alongside him." He chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief. "Just recently, he even helped one of the girls, she's a little older than him, actually see the One Power for the first time."

Elena let out a small gasp, her eyes widening. "He can do that?"

Asvin nodded proudly. "He can. I've never seen anything like it."

Elena's awe faded just a little, replaced with something colder—uncertainty. She looked down, hands fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

He was strong. Strong with Arts.

Her heart beat just a little faster.

It wasn't Matthew's fault, of course. She didn't even know him. But still… she remembered the flames. The screams. The night her home vanished in smoke and horror. All because of them—Arts Users from the Black Tower. They weren't like Matthew, no, but the fire they made… that wasn't something she could ever forget.

Sure, Fighters could be dangerous too. The bandits that captured her were all Fighters. But at least Fighters felt human. You could see them coming. With Arts Users… a flick of a hand, a whisper—and your world was gone.

Elena looked up again, a conflicted look in her eyes. She didn't say anything, but her silence spoke volumes.

Asvin noticed the change but didn't press. He understood. He could almost see the shadows crossing her gaze, and he could guess what they were.

So instead, he smiled gently and said, "He's a good kid. Like you. Wants to help others. That's why I believe he'll become someone amazing."

Elena nodded slowly, though her heart still held doubts.

Seeing Elena's expression dim, Asvin's heart sank a little. He hated seeing people sad—especially kids like her. So he paused, thinking for a moment, then a small grin tugged at his lips as he leaned slightly closer.

"Hey," he said gently, "have you ever heard of the Fierce Lion?"

Elena blinked at him, then nodded quickly. "Of course I have! Who hasn't? He's super famous! Even though he's from Decartium and I'm here in Al-Bark, people talk about him all the time."

Asvin chuckled. "Well… you probably heard it earlier already, but yeah—he's my father."

Her eyes widened again, and she tilted her head. "Really? You're really his son?"

He nodded, still smiling. "Yep. Asvin Cavias, heir to the Cavias family. Though… sometimes I wonder how someone like me is supposed to succeed someone like him."

Elena leaned forward, eyes sparkling with new interest. "So what's he like? Is he always big and scary?"

That made Asvin laugh, a genuine, full laugh that echoed softly around the fountain. "You'd think that, right? But actually... I've seen both sides of him. The scary 'Fierce Lion' that trains troops and makes grown warriors tremble just by walking into the room. That version? Terrifying. Even to me."

Elena giggled.

"But…" he added, lowering his voice dramatically, "there was this one time... he got lost in our own garden."

She gasped and laughed out loud. "No way! That can't be true!"

"It's true," Asvin said, trying to look serious even though he was laughing too. "He spent fifteen minutes walking in circles and wouldn't admit it. Kept saying he was 'scouting for pests.'"

Elena clutched her stomach as she laughed. "That's so silly!"

"I know," he grinned. "But you can't tell anyone, alright? It's top secret."

She nodded eagerly. "Your secret is Super Safe with me!!!"

They shared a smile for a moment before Asvin leaned back slightly, letting out a small breath. "But yeah… then there are days I see him talking to important nobles or standing on the training field… and he becomes that Fierce Lion everyone talks about. A big man. A grand one. And sometimes… it's scary."

Elena tilted her head, a little quieter now.

"I'm supposed to succeed him someday," Asvin added, eyes thoughtful. "And I wonder… how do you even become someone like that?"

Elena blinked slowly, looking at him for a moment, then said softly, "Maybe you just try to help people first."

Asvin looked at her—and smiled. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."

As a moment of silence settled between them, the distant sound of conversation reached their ears. Tanzo's voice carried easily through the open space near the fountain, his tone light but animated as he spoke with the Shield of Justice.

"…and I'm telling you," Tanzo was saying, "training with the Smiling Monster isn't training. It's surviving. Barely."

Tomason's voice followed, laced with both disbelief and curiosity. "Is it true? That even now, in his late fifties, he's still—well, a monster with the sword?"

Tanzo laughed, loud and genuine. "A monster? No, no, you don't get it. He's not just a monster. He's a beast. That's what he is. A cheerful, bloodthirsty beast."

Asvin chuckled softly at the exchange and leaned toward Elena, his tone teasing, "You hear them? These two brutes only know how to talk about fighting, it seems."

Elena giggled, her eyes sparkling again. "Maybe that's how they can talk."

Asvin smirked, nodding. "Fair point. If fists and swords are their words, I guess they're poets in their own right."

...

Time passed gently around the fountain as the sun began to shift in the sky. Elena and Asvin chatted back and forth with ease now, the earlier awkwardness long gone. At one point, Asvin leaned back, arms resting behind him, and mentioned, "So… I've got a little match later. Against one of Al-Bark's Royal Troop."

Elena's eyes lit up. "Really?!"

He nodded, half-smiling. "Sword of Justice himself set it up. Apparently, they want to test how 'tough' a Decartian noble really is."

Elena grinned, her small hands balling into fists. "I'll cheer for you! As loud as I can!"

Asvin blinked in surprise, then smirked. "Oh? That means I already have a fan?"

She laughed. "Yup! The Inspector Princess always supports her friends."

Just then, Tomason stepped forward, brushing invisible dust from the edge of his armor. "We should get moving, little inspector," he said with a light smile. "Still much to do before the evening."

Elena gave a small pout but nodded. "Okay…"

Tanzo stretched his arms and stood. "We've got some sparring to do anyway. Need to shake the dust off before your big moment," he said, nudging Asvin with an elbow.

Tomason gave Asvin a firm nod. "I'll be watching later. Let's see what the heir to the Cavias name can do."

"I'll do my best," Asvin said confidently. "I won't shame the name."

With that, the two groups began to part ways. But just before they did, Elena ran up to Asvin and held out her hand for a high five. He chuckled, crouched down a little, and gave her the gentlest high five in return.

"I believe in you!" she said brightly.

"Thanks," he smiled. "With a fan like you, I think I'll win for sure."

They both laughed, and with one final wave, Tomason and Elena turned toward the city, while Asvin and Tanzo walked off in the other direction.

As Elena and Tomason walked back toward the castle under the soft golden hue of the afternoon sun, he glanced at her and asked, "Would you rather ride back in a carriage, or is walking fine?"

She shook her head quickly, her green hair bouncing lightly. "Walking's better! That way I can see more of the city."

He smiled at her enthusiasm. "Fair enough. I agree, it's a beautiful city, especially today."

And so they walked, passing through gradually busier streets as they neared the royal grounds again. Tomason spoke lightly of the two young men they had just met—Tanzo, the Court's Barrier with wild energy and sharp skill, and Asvin, the polite Cavias heir who bore the name of one of Decartium's most legendary families. Elena listened closely, nodding along and asking curious questions every now and then.

As they passed a street performer showing off a small, harmless Art trick to a group of children, Elena's gaze lingered for a moment. Her smile dimmed just slightly as her mind wandered—not because of the performer, but because of a name that had stuck with her from earlier.

Matthew.

The boy Asvin had mentioned. The one living in an orphanage, learning Arts despite being so young. She'd never met him, but the way Asvin spoke of him, it was like talking about someone destined for greatness. Someone who could change things.

She wasn't sure why he stuck in her mind so much. Maybe because he was like her—without parents, trying to find a place in the world. Or maybe because, unlike her, he was already on his path, already training, already growing stronger. A boy that young, blessed by the One Power… it felt like a story from a book.

Still, she didn't know how to feel about that power. Arts Users had destroyed her home, taken away everything. Even if Matthew was different, the idea of the Arts still made her stomach twist a little. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Scary.

Tomason was still talking beside her, telling her about the Court of Saviors and their strange ways, but she only half-listened. Her thoughts were with the boy she didn't know and might never meet… and whether someone like that could really grow up to be good, even while holding that kind of power in their hands.

As they made their way up the sloped stone path that wound its way around the base of the hill, heading toward the castle grounds, Elena noticed more and more people looking their way. Some were commoners lingering around the edges of the celebration, others were finely dressed nobles standing in small groups along the path, laughing and talking in flowing silks and embroidered coats. But whether rich or poor, their gazes all seemed to drift toward one man.

Tomason—Shield of Justice—walked with the same calm, firm stride he always did, his white armor polished to a shine, the black flag and rose of the Royal Guards shined in the rays of the sun. There were only six Royal Guards in all of Al-Bark, and everyone knew them. He didn't seem to pay the attention any mind, his eyes forward, a quiet confidence in every step.

Elena glanced up at him, then around at the stares, and quietly stepped a little closer to his side.

"Where are we going now?" she asked, her voice small but steady.

Tomason looked down at her with a slight smile. "We're going to meet the princess."

Elena froze in place. Her steps halted completely. "W-What?" she stammered, eyes wide. "R-Really?"

He nodded, still walking but slowing a bit when he noticed her not following. "Yup. Finally."

"I… I don't know if I want to," she admitted, hugging her arms. "What if I mess up? What if I say the wrong thing? What if she doesn't like me?"

Tomason let out a low chuckle, stepping beside her now and placing a gloved hand gently on her head. "Don't worry. Honestly? Between us, the princess is kind of haughty. Bit annoying, too."

Elena blinked in surprise.

"That's why," he added with a grin, "I want you to meet her. Maybe even befriend her. She needs someone to show her how to be decent sometimes."

That only made Elena's nerves spike further. "But what if I make her hate me more?"

Tomason laughed again. "That's not possible. I already told her she had to be nice. So don't worry, okay? But if you really don't want to meet her, we can skip it. Nothing says you have to."

Elena stared at the cobbled path beneath her feet. Her hands balled into tiny fists at her sides.

"No," she said at last, lifting her head with a determined nod. "I can do it. It's a big step… but I have to take it. I need to stop being scared."

Tomason gave her a warm smile and resumed walking, this time a bit slower so she could keep up. "Good. That's the spirit."

And so, with the weight of noble eyes on her back and the warmth of courage flickering in her chest, Elena took another step forward.

...

The two stood before a tall, golden door, its surface engraved with curling vines and tiny inlaid emeralds that shimmered faintly beneath the hall's sunlight. Two guards, both dressed in ceremonial green and white armor, flanked the entrance. As Tomason—the Shield of Justice—stepped forward, the guards instinctively shifted, stepping aside without a word. Royal Guards outranked almost everyone in Al-Bark, and they knew better than to question his presence.

Tomason knocked gently on the door. "Princess," he called through, "may I come in?"

A voice answered immediately, sharp and unmistakably annoyed. "What are you doing here now, Tomason?"

He sighed under his breath before turning to glance at Elena. Without saying anything more, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Elena hesitated, her eyes flicking nervously to the guards, who didn't even glance her way. She swallowed and followed after him.

The princess's chambers were large and bright, the walls painted a soft, deep green with silver trim along the borders. A thick carpet of matching green covered the floor, and hanging from the ceiling was a pale crystal chandelier shaped like falling leaves. Sunlight streamed in from the tall, open balcony on the far side of the room, where sheer white curtains swayed gently in the breeze.

The princess sat near the center of the room on a cushioned bench, a modest but elegant green dress hugging her small frame. She was young—around twelve—with long flowing green hair that spilled past her shoulders and vivid green eyes that narrowed the moment she saw Tomason. She looked nothing like what Elena expected a royal to look like. No crown. No haughty posture. Just a girl annoyed that her game had been interrupted.

Around her sat three maids. Two were younger, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, dressed plainly but neatly as they giggled and chattered with the princess while handing her carved tiles and game pieces. The third was older, middle-aged with a more composed demeanor, clearly overseeing the others. They all paused as Tomason entered but didn't rise.

Tomason stepped aside slightly and motioned Elena forward. She hesitated again, then quietly entered the room behind him, her small footsteps nearly silent on the carpet.

The princess didn't speak—yet—but her sharp eyes flicked over to the new arrival with clear suspicion. Elena could feel the air shift slightly.

She had a feeling this was going to be harder than she thought.

The princess stood with a subtle huff, her green dress shimmering slightly as she made her way across the room with grace taught and practiced. Her long green hair swayed behind her like a banner of pride, her sharp green eyes locked on Elena with a haughty gleam. She didn't speak to her. Didn't even acknowledge her.

Instead, she turned toward Tomason with a flick of her chin. "And who is this?" she asked, her voice already curled in disgust.

Tomason offered a calm nod. "As I told you earlier, your highness. You were to meet the groom's little sister today. This is Elena. Lance's little sister."

The princess's lips curled in scorn. "A commoner? Why is a commoner being brought here? I was told I would meet someone important, not…" she waved her hand dismissively toward Elena, "...this."

Elena stood frozen, unsure of how to react, her heart thudding. The words stung, but more than that, the coldness in the room made her feel small. The maids kept their eyes down, silent. No one stepped in.

Tomason, trying to keep his tone composed, said, "She's the little sister of Lance of Justice. That alone is more than enough reason to treat her with decency."

The princess scoffed. "Lance might be a Royal Guard, but that doesn't mean he can invite whatever peasant brat he finds."

Tomason's jaw twitched. He took a step forward, raising a hand—and whack—a light but firm knock came down on the princess's head with two fingers. Not harsh, but enough that she took a startled step back.

She looked up at him, wide-eyed and mortified. "Y-You dare strike me?!"

She stomped back, glaring. "I'll tell my brother! He'll teach you a lesson!"

Tomason crossed his arms, unfazed. "I've beaten your brother so many times I've lost count."

Her face went red with rage. "Then I'll tell the king!"

He chuckled. "Go ahead. Do it. Then we'll all find out who'll be getting taught a lesson."

The princess stared at him in disbelief, her pride bruised and trembling. The room was silent, thick with the tension of hierarchy and defiance. Elena stood quietly beside Tomason, still shaken, but now watching something she didn't quite understand yet: the weight of someone standing up for her.