As expected, the Empress ignored her daughter's frantic signals.
Not because she didn't understand what had happened to Linen, of course.
The Empress and Quinn were different.
Quinn—the Silver Dragon Princess—was a genius born superior to all living beings.
From the moment she was born, she possessed everything mortals chased: strength, wealth, power—all easily within reach.
She had never once relied on the Holy Trial to refine her dragonblood. She didn't need it. With her pure Silver Dragon blessing, she already represented the pinnacle of mortal achievement.
The Empress was different. True, from the day she stepped onto the political stage, she had always appeared invincible—overwhelmingly strong.
But whether rising from an overlooked imperial bastard daughter to Empress, or advancing from a merely "adequate" Red Dragon blessing to the Bloodstained Red Dragon who cleared seven Holy Trials and earned recognition from five former monarchs—
She had done it step by step, feet firmly planted on the ground.
As absurd as it sounded, Tivira Norton was a genius forged by effort.
So, it wasn't that she couldn't sense what had occurred.
If anything, having climbed from weakness to strength, she understood better than Quinn just how frightening Linen's transformation was.
And that was exactly what disturbed her.
Because the Empress realized Linen's change was... entirely unlike hers or Quinn's.
Not like Quinn's—born privileged.
Not like hers—built step by step.
What happened to Linen felt like a third kind of transformation—a senseless elevation, as if a mortal from myth had abruptly become a hero.
That abruptness made the Empress' heart tighten inexplicably.
That was the refined explanation.
In simpler terms:
Mom can't help you. Mom isn't sure what he is either.
By now, the pillar of light around Linen had dispersed, revealing the boy within.
Compared to the Head of House Morris—who emerged from the Holy Trial space drenched in sweat—Linen looked completely unchanged.
The same composed posture. The faint, curled smile. That dazzling pale-gold hair.
It was as if the experience he'd endured—dozens of times more turbulent than Morris's—had left no trace at all.
That, often, was the most frightening part.
The Empress' gaze drifted to the golden figure standing behind Linen.
A being composed entirely of energy—silent, towering, almost godlike.
It was unmistakably a Heroic Spirit Blessing.
There were only two common ways heroic spirits came into existence.
The first was brutally demanding: a hero whose deeds earned widespread recognition would perform a special ritual to elevate themselves. Within the entire Zijinghua Empire, perhaps only the First Emperor qualified. The Empress herself certainly did not.
Besides, the heroic spirit behind Linen was clearly female, so she immediately dismissed this possibility.
Which left only the second.
It meant a warrior whose achievements attracted a god's attention—one who served at a god's side—had acknowledged this boy and was willing to share her power with him.
For most on the continent, receiving a heroic spirit's blessing was cause for celebration.
Unless it happened in Zijinghua.
Because Zijinghua was a nation profoundly lacking faith. Its emperors—long-lived, overwhelmingly strong Nortons—had, through generations of storytelling, become godlike beings in the eyes of their people.
When citizens occasionally worshipped a deity, it was probably because the church handed out eggs that day…
Yet now, a prince of this godless nation had received the blessing of someone serving beside a god.
The Empress couldn't help but be wary.
Because heroic spirit blessings from divine servants usually carried a price. The recipient would gradually, unconsciously begin believing in that deity, their speech and actions shifting—less a blessing, more a slow-motion possession.
Furthermore, the Empress had encountered heroic spirits before. She had even fought them head-on.
Yet, for reasons she couldn't explain, the heroic spirit behind Linen irritated her deeply.
It was strange.
Just then, for unknown reasons, the Head of House Bor spoke up, trembling.
"Your Highness… you're actually fine?"
"Or else what?" Linen smiled back sharply. "Were you expecting your old man, who's already in the ground, Uncle Bor?"
The Head of House Bor's lips quivered. He didn't dare respond.
The Empress, however, genuinely exhaled in relief.
Still this uncouth—he's probably not possessed…
"I've answered Uncle Bor's question," Linen continued, stepping down from the center of the stage and walking directly to the Head of House Bor. His smile slowly faded. "Shouldn't Uncle Bor answer mine?"
"You interrupted my blessing ceremony. Shouldn't you compensate me?"
Sweat streamed down the Head of House Bor's face.
"Your Highness, please, listen—let me explain…"
"What, you're willing to donate the other half of House Bor's fief?" Linen's eyes widened in shock. He stepped forward, grasping the Head of House Bor's hand firmly, his eyes glowing with admiration. "I never knew Uncle Bor was so righteous and loyal! It seems I misunderstood you!"
"I—I…"
The Head of House Bor genuinely wanted to cry.
Yet giving up the other half of his fief at least meant he might survive.
If he revealed who had given him orders… he might not survive the night.
In the end, the Head of House Bor could only "donate" the remaining half of his reserved territory—as a "gift" celebrating Linen's victory over his ally…
Only after dealing with Bor did Linen finally have the leisure to sweep his gaze over the banquet hall.
Then he frowned.
"Why is everyone staring at me? And why has the music stopped?"
On stage, the musicians exchanged looks.
Moments ago, Linen and the Head of House Morris had begun the sacred Holy Trial.
The two were practically killing each other and turning worlds upside down—while the ballroom orchestra below played "Sleepless Tonight"?
It felt… inappropriate.
After the trial concluded, they hadn't resumed simply because no one had given orders. The conductor was uncertain if he should continue, so he instructed everyone to hold position.
When the conductor cautiously asked, "Does Your Highness mean…?"
Linen snapped his fingers.
"How can a ball be a ball without music? Keep playing. Keep dancing!"
The conductor instinctively glanced toward the Empress.
She merely turned her head slightly away.
Silence was her stance.
Approval—and indulgence.
Without anyone noticing, even the Empress had become a supporting character at this ball, as though everything existed solely to spotlight Linen.
The conductor instantly understood.
His arms swept down vigorously. A fierce, rousing dance piece erupted, launching straight into its most intense passage, as though determined to tear off the ceiling.
A banquet that had been repeatedly interrupted finally reached its "main event." The dazed nobles quickly regained their composure, resuming their toasts and chatter.
"So this is the empire now," Lily's voice sighed in Linen's mind. "Interesting. Everything here is unfamiliar to me."
After their contract, the two existed in a state of possession and being-possessed—simply put, Lily's power resided in Linen's right hand, available whenever needed.
When Linen first learned his ancestor wished to "live in his right hand," he'd fiercely objected. Yet faced with Lily's pure eyes—even hidden behind golden light—he couldn't bring himself to say why.
So he had given in…
"Heh." Linen smiled. "Miss Lily will see far more interesting things in the future. I hope they'll suit your tastes."
"Oh, I'm certain," Lily laughed. "Following you, little one—I won't be bored."
In this moment, Lily's heart brimmed with delight and ambition.
After abandoning a king's responsibilities, she seemed to regain some liveliness more suited to her appearance.
Only… she felt she'd forgotten something.
After thinking and thinking without recalling it, Lily gave up.
Whatever. The Holy Trial space could run normally without her anyway. If she'd forgotten, it probably didn't matter!
"Linen!"
Elena and Hysteria approached together. Elena looked him over with a restrained yet intense gaze, relaxing only once she confirmed he wasn't hurt.
Hysteria was far more direct. She rose on tiptoe, patted Linen's shoulder, then planted one hand on her hip and nodded with satisfaction.
"Hmph. Small fry you're actually pretty capable. This princess acknowledges you—you can be my underling."
Then, as if suddenly realizing something, her cheeks instantly flushed red. She twisted her mouth and hastily clarified:
"L-let's be clear! It's not because I'm worried about you or think you're decent or anything. I just think you're slightly better than small fry, that's all! Don't get a big head!"
Linen smiled. Over Hysteria's shoulder, he spotted Kaya Mistry standing farther off, waving at him. He nodded back.
The heir apparent of House Mistry had a very comfortable sense of interpersonal distance.
Watching Linen's profile, Elena parted her lips to speak. She tried several times but never found the right opening.
In the ballroom, people had begun to dance.
As a common-born girl, this was her first formal ball. Though she'd learned social dancing in Eden Academy etiquette class, she'd never danced with anyone in a real setting.
And her first dance… she wanted to share with…
Linen.
Linen had been constantly busy before, and Elena hadn't wanted to interrupt him. But now—could she invite him?
Her confession a few days ago… when Elena thought about it, she really had been impulsive.
But a first dance wasn't anything special, right? Linen would accept.
Gathering her courage, Elena opened her mouth.
"Li—"
"Sorry, you two. The Holy Trial made me hungry. Excuse me."
"O-oh! Okay!" Elena blurted, instantly changing her words. Hysteria waved a hand, unconcerned.
Using pastries as an excuse, Linen slipped away to a quieter corner. He lightly tapped the decorative brooch on his chest.
"How is it, Miss Teresia? Are you all right?"
"…"
"Miss Teresia?"
Linen paused.
"…Thanks for remembering I exist at all."
The voice that answered was clearly resentful.
Linen smiled. Tonight, Elena and Hysteria had come as a pair; Miss Teresia really had been left hanging for quite a while. After a moment's thought, he raised two fingers.
"Double pastries."
"Is this about pastries?"
"Triple."
"I'm warning you—don't think I'll compromise because of this! It's not about numbers!"
"Then what do you want?" Linen sighed, genuinely feeling a bit helpless. This wasn't the Teresia he knew.
"At least…" Teresia muttered, "…put preservation Arcana on the cream puffs and little cakes. I'm afraid I won't finish them…"
She said it as though making the most outrageous demand in the world.
Using precious Arcana to preserve food was absurdly wasteful. Those nobles would be horrified. If he refused, she'd just—
"Deal," Linen immediately agreed.
Teresia instantly regained motivation.
"When you were in the Holy Trial, my perspective was restricted too. I could only observe from a few fixed angles."
Linen nodded. Honestly, being able to see anything at all was already fortunate. During the Holy Trial, his body had been protected by the space itself.
"So?" he asked.
"I gained nothing," Teresia said. "Or rather—my gain was precisely that I didn't gain anything."
"What do you mean?" Linen raised an eyebrow. He knew Teresia wasn't the type to be deliberately cryptic.
"There's a ghost in the ballroom," Teresia said, her tone heavy. "One that can't be observed."
"The heads and core members of the Five Great Houses… sometimes behave as if they're talking to someone invisible. Then they act strangely—like how the Head of House Bor actually dared provoke the Empress earlier."
"Could it be linked communication Arcana?" Linen asked.
Such Arcana—allowing secret communication within a designated area through the Arcana network—was extremely practical, essentially the fantasy equivalent of radio.
"No." Teresia shook her head.
"Don't underestimate an assassin's professionalism. Yes, they used Arcana for secret communication. But speaking to someone through a network versus speaking directly to someone beside you—the expressions, gestures, even the eyes are different. I wouldn't mistake it."
"I see." Linen nodded, seemingly unbothered.
"You're not nervous?" Teresia asked, surprised by his calmness.
"A little," Linen admitted. "But nervousness won't solve anything, will it?"
"If they're acting openly in the hall, right in front of Her Majesty and Quinn, then they're either self-important fools unaware they've already been spotted—or someone truly extraordinary."
"Either way, worrying about it won't change a thing."
"Besides—" Linen glanced at Reinhardt, who still hadn't moved, "that old lion hasn't budged yet. Things are still under control."
"So clear-headed, little brother~~"
A gloved hand in silver silk rested on Linen's shoulder. Quinn had appeared behind him at some point, gripping his shoulder as she grinned wickedly.
"I knew it. Your target was never those little kittens among the Eight Great Houses. Tonight's main course hasn't even been served yet."
"Perhaps even that old lion can only count as garnish."
Quinn's arrival was expected. Even without turning, Linen could identify her from the two soft mounds pressing against his back.
Honestly, if she hadn't come to speak with him, he would've sought her out himself.
But her words just now were… rather loaded.
Linen had never taken the heads of the Eight Great Houses or even the Five Great Houses seriously, but for Quinn to suggest Reinhardt wasn't the main course—that was a bit excessive.
If the "main course" was something even the old lion could merely accompany…
A… "Ring"?
Linen swallowed silently.
Yet, one thing Quinn said confused him.
"Why the dance floor?" he asked. "Isn't here fine?"
Quinn chuckled.
"Have you never heard that the most dangerous places are often safest? Besides, I want to teach someone a lesson. Coming?"
"Hah?" Linen snapped. "You—the one who only passed court etiquette because you copied answers off my thigh—want to teach me a lesson? You think you're worthy?"
Clearly, Linen had been provoked successfully.
Amid scattered gasps, the blond boy who had just stolen the night seized the tall, voluptuous silver-haired beauty by the hand and strode onto the dance floor—instantly becoming the center of attention.
It was odd. Why had Linen's partner suddenly switched from Kaya of House Mistry to Princess Quinn?
Yet no one was truly surprised. With their personalities, nothing they did was truly unexpected.
Soon, shameless flattery flowed from all directions.
"Elegant—truly elegant!"
"His Highness and Her Highness dance exquisitely! A textbook demonstration!"
"Come to think of it, isn't this Linen's first public dance? I've always heard a royal prince's first dance usually belongs to his betrothed. Who would've thought Linen's first partner would be Princess Quinn?"
"Linen doesn't have a betrothed, so Princess Quinn helping out is understandable… though it might also be—cough, cough, never mind."
At the edge of the dance floor, a girl who had been waiting with hopeful, desperate eyes listened to the chatter around her, profoundly realizing that other people's joys and sorrows had nothing to do with her.
Hesitation didn't just mean defeat.
Sometimes, it meant becoming the losing heroine.
---
T/N: elena heh ntr'd
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