The door of the carriage opened—
And with it came a scent…
A fragrance so pure, it could awaken the dead.
A scent that made withered flowers bloom once more.
Then, swiftly—
A foot stepped out, fair as untouched snow.
Not a single blemish, not even a speck of dust dared to stain it.
And then—she emerged.
A face so breathtaking, it was as if a goddess had descended,
as if the world itself had been sculpted just to cradle her beauty.
Her eyes…
Eyes that, when met, made people believe they had found the very purpose of their existence.
Dreams long lost began to stir awake, reborn in a single gaze.
Her lips—
Crimson, as if the color red had been created only for her.
A shade no rose could rival.
Her nose—
So delicately shaped, it seemed to define perfection itself.
And her hair…
Silken strands of white, laced with hints of pale blue—
Like the morning sky painted over snow, soft and serene.
Seeing her, the eyes of every person in the crowd widened.
Not a single person blinked—as if blinking meant losing something precious.
Some people slowly began to walk toward her,
as if their bodies were no longer under their own control.
As if their minds had surrendered to her beauty,
and now their every step was commanded by it
********
All the soldiers stepped forward, blocking the crowd
and clearing a path toward the temple.
She walked toward it—
her steps like those of a goddess.
Each movement, a vision,
a sight so rare, it felt like something one would never witness again in a lifetime.
******************
Sam also dazed.
In his life, this was the first time he had witnessed someone so beautiful.
He thought:
'So beautiful...
A beauty everyone wants to protect.
A beauty worth fighting for...
Bad luck...
I'm not going to fall for you...
You're a red flag for me...
I want the background love story...
And you—
you look like the main heroine of the story...'
**********************
As the crowd lived in their dream, mesmerized by her beauty—
Once again, a carriage arrived.
But this time, it came alone—no flashy soldiers, no guards, no grand display of protection.
Only a carriage, pulled by two horses.
The carriage looked as if it were made of gold, with mana cores placed in carefully defined patterns.
It was the very definition of power—
because on it, a flag was placed.
The flag was very simple: only two swords crossed over each other, drawn in black.
But when the first person saw it, he broke into a cold sweat.
He snapped out of his dream,
as if he wasn't seeing a flag…
but Death itself.
Then, slowly, all the people turned.
And one by one, they became just like the first—
faces pale, eyes wide,
all forgetting the beautiful view of the young mistress.
************
All automatically made way for the carriage,
as if anyone who came near it would face something worse than death.
They didn't even dare to whisper,
as if making a sound near that flag was dangerous in itself.
Then the carriage approached the temple and came to a stop.
The door slowly opened.
A young man stepped out—
dressed in simple clothing,
but bearing the mark of the crossed swords on his back,
and a golden sword at his side.
He walked slowly, yet anyone watching could tell with a single glance:
he was the son of the strongest duke of them all.
He looked exactly like his father.
His hair was long and red, flowing like fire.
In his ears, he wore earrings—
each shaped like a small sword, hanging downward.
He appeared to be the most handsome man among all the nobles gathered there—
**************
He walked toward the gathered people and stopped in front of the young mistress of House Friz.
Then he looked her up and down, placing one hand on his lips.
After observing her, he said,
"After awakening, you will accompany me tonight."
As his words left his mouth, all the people gathered were shocked—
but no one dared to raise their voice.
Not even one.
Even Jake Duskgrave,
Elira Lysfey, Drayra Drogans, Kaidan Drogans,
and Kevin Valtoras—
all turned their eyes toward the young mistress of House Friz.
_________
all the soldiers of House Friz started to prepare their weapons.
But the young mistress of House Friz raised one hand.
Seeing that, all the soldiers stopped.
Then she calmly opened her mouth and spoke—
her voice was as sweet as if it had just floated out:
"Young master of House Silver, what gave you the idea that I would agree with your demand?"
Hearing that, the young master of House Silver smirked and said,
"I have a handsome face, wealth, a powerful father—and after awakening, I'll be the strongest of our generation.
Isn't that all a man needs to make a woman strip and dance for him?"
Hearing that, a smile appeared on the face of the young mistress of House Friz—
and then she began to laugh.
Her laughter echoed through the crowd like a melody,
light and elegant, yet laced with mockery.
Everyone who heard it stood frozen, mesmerized by the sound.
Then, with a calm but cutting voice, she said,
"Perhaps that's because the women of your house are nothing but sluts—
chasing power and money, as if that's all life has to offer."
***************
Hearing that, the young master of House Silver began to laugh—
not just a laugh, but a wild, manic cackle that echoed through the temple grounds.
It was the kind of laugh that made your skin crawl.
He didn't stop.
The soldiers of every House began to subtly ready their weapons,
hands tightening on hilts, eyes alert, prepared to act at any moment.
The crowd instinctively took two steps back,
fear creeping into their expressions.
Sam also moved away.
He had no interest in standing near that madness.
Only the heirs of the five Great Dukes remained still—
unmoving, unshaken, watching.
As the mad laughter died down, the young master spoke again:
"Perhaps you're right.
The women of my House are whores, all of them—
eager for gold and power.
That's why I never enjoy nights with them."
A wicked grin curled on his lips.
"But you... I like you.
I'll do whatever it takes to make that beautiful face of yours
wrap around my cock."
He closed his eyes, as if savoring the thought.
"Ahh... imagine it.
Coming on the most beautiful face in the capital.
Slapping that soft, snow-white ass.
Making her cry—then choking her while I punish her untouched pride..."
He licked his lips.
"I can't wait."
Then, with a casual movement, he reached for the belt of his pants.
The crowd gasped in horror.
Faces twisted in disgust and fear.
Even nobles recoiled.
This was no longer arrogance—it was insanity.
The young mistress of House Friz stood motionless,
but her expression had darkened completely.
Her eyes, once calm, now burned with cold fury.
If murder were legal, the man would've already been dead.
But before she could speak—
A golden circle formed mid-air, glowing with divine brilliance.
Its light was so blinding, the entire crowd instinctively shielded their eyes.
Two rows of armored men in golden uniforms appeared,
each raising their swords toward the sky in perfect unison.
And at the center stood a single figure,
calm and unshakable—
holding a glowing golden sphere.
His very presence radiated command—
the kind of man who could lead thousands to war…
and have them die willingly with a single order.
Then, in a voice deep and powerful enough to silence gods, he declared:
"You now stand in the presence of the Second Prince and the Princess of the Kingdom."
As the words thundered through the air,
every person present—
duke heirs, high nobles, nobles, and merchants alike—
immediately dropped to one knee,
a hand pressed solemnly over their chest.
***************
Then a young man and a young woman, around 15 years of age, came out of the circle.
The young man's face was like divine beauty and terrifying majesty. His eyes were not merely golden—they were living suns, swirling with radiant light, impossible to look at for long. When he gazed upon you, it felt as though the truth of your soul was laid bare. His hair flowed like liquid starlight, cascading down his back in strands of silver, white, and gold, shimmering with each step he took. Some said even the moon dimmed beside his glow.
His skin was smooth like carved crystal, holding a faint inner glow, as if infused with divine energy.
Clad in armor forged from mythic aetherium, a metal said to be harvested from the bones of fallen stars, his presence alone commanded armies and silenced all. The air around him hummed with invisible power, bending lightly, unnaturally—birds fell silent, clouds parted, and magic itself seemed to kneel in his presence.
Beside her stood a young woman.
Her face was hidden behind a real mask, crafted from pure celestial steel — a silvery-white metal said to be so rare it could only be shaped in moonlight. The mask was smooth and elegant, with high cheekbones, a slender nose ridge, and no emotion — carved in the perfect symmetry of divine beauty. Intricate lines etched across its surface formed ancient runes and symbols of royalty, protection, and secrets. Around the eyes, the metal curled into feathered wings — sharp, regal, and unblinking.
The slits of her eyes glowed faintly with an icy blue light, the only glimpse of her true self. None had ever seen what lay beneath the mask — not even her most loyal guards. It was said she'd worn it since childhood, after surviving a magical fire that should have taken her life. Some say the mask hides scars. Others whisper it conceals a face too beautiful, too divine for the mortal world.
Her hair, long and silken, flowed from beneath the mask in threads of pale ash and twilight silver, trailing behind her like a living veil. Bound in rings of enchanted crystal, each step made her hair shimmer like falling stardust.
She wore no crown — she was the crown. Her royal robe, dyed in the deep violets and cold greys of the Eternal Dominion, was lined with fur from shadow-wolves, hunted in the frozen lands only her bloodline could survive. Her armor was light, ceremonial, and elegant — etched in runes, fastened with dragonbone clasps, and layered for grace, not war.