The clamor disappeared, leaving only those cold words echoing.
The entire hall was so quiet it was frightening.
A moment before, everyone at the venue had been filled with envy for the lucky one chosen by the Borgia family.
But now, facing those pitch-black pupils, a chill rose in everyone's heart.
They looked at the youth with black hair and black eyes standing before them. His figure was slightly slender, yet they seemed to see a malevolent spirit.
A malevolent spirit that had walked out of the great fire of Ceylon.
But Enola was not afraid. She just quietly came to Shiayar's side and took his hand.
Eight years ago on the Northern Territory Icy Plains, she had held Shiayar's hand just like this. They had felt the faint warmth between them as they slowly made their way through the endless snowstorm.
"Shiayar Egutt."
A long sigh fell from on high.
"Do you know what you have refused?"
