As the clamour of voices swelled in intensity, the younger Von Heim ladies—now shielded behind a thick line of sharply dressed, overly eager male supporters—turned their attention to Lugh.
Lirienne was the first to speak, her voice carrying just enough weight to cut through the noise.
"So... Lugh is dead, huh?"
"Yes,"
He replied flatly.
Then, after a mont’s pause, he added with asured precision,
"Montarily."
Orla—a girl whose na Lugh still hadn’t managed to catch—spoke next, her tone uncertain.
"Does this have anything to do with that explosion?"
"Yes. Yes, it does."
A brief silence followed. None of them said anything, the stillness almost surreal amidst the roaring chaos around them. Then Lugh spoke again, his curiosity piqued.
"I’m quite curious... how is it that you all knew to co?"
Lugh had the future-sight granted to him by the Mawglass. He had seen the spell being cast long before it was released, its activation like a bright crack across ti.
But reacting too quickly—too decisively—would expose him. After all, before his magic or intellect, Lugh was infamous for his reflexes.
Speed that had allowed him to survive close combat against multiple beastkin fighting as a single, well-trained unit.
But he had that power. The girls in front of him did not. They weren’t clairvoyant. So how had they reacted so swiftly? And why, of all people present, was it only the female mbers of the family who intervened?
Mirelle responded, casually.
"Oh well, Enji warned us in advance."
"Enji?"
Lugh echoed the na, then pressed further.
"And why exactly didn’t he co himself? Or warn any other... gender?"
Rochelle arched a brow and crossed her arms.
"Oh, I see. You don’t want to admit being saved by a bunch of girls, huh?"
"Far from it,"
Lugh answered easily, completely unfazed.
"I’m just curious, that’s all. It’s not every day you see a shield made of beautiful flowers."
"You—"
She began sharply, but cut herself off, blushing midway.
Damn. He really had a way with words.
Lugh turned his attention to the rest of the group.
"And?"
Selaphiel, ever the voice of reason, was the one who responded.
"Call it a wall of etiquette."
Lugh frowned at the term. She went on to explain.
"The Prince can’t push further if a group of noble ladies stand in his way. He certainly was planning to escalate—but now his hands are tied."
Lugh gave a thoughtful nod, but she continued regardless.
"While he is certainly stronger, if soone like Enji had intervened, it would’ve made things worse. It would’ve triggered an open conflict. A full-blown fight."
Lugh barely registered the aristocratic absurdity of hearing the term "full-blown fight" used so casually in this setting.
More notably, none of the girls flinched—aning this wasn’t an unusual occurrence. But what caught his attention even more was another detail.
"Enji is strong?"
Lugh asked, tilting his head.
Elizabeth, another girl whose na he didn’t know, piped up without hesitation.
"Well, not everyone is a creepy fifteen-year-old serial killer above Crown-level."
Lugh gave her a flat look that made her instantly flinch.
Selaphiel, seeing the tension, interjected with a smoother explanation.
"Don’t let the blind act fool you. That boy is one of the strongest among us. At least—"
She glanced at Lugh
"—by normal standards."
Mirelle spoke then, her voice tight.
"What my sister is trying to say is... his lack of sight awakened him to so more unconventional senses."
"I see,"
Lugh replied simply, giving a slow nod.
Suddenly, a loud crash drew their attention back to the ongoing chaos. A guest had knocked over a decorative vase, sending it shattering across the marble floor.
"And you call yourself a real man?!"
"The kid had it coming! He was more disrespectful than His Highness!!"
The argunts intensified, voices rising like waves crashing on rocks. A fight was inevitable.
At the far end of the grand hall, the older nobles remained rooted in place, watching like statues.
None lifted a finger to stop the escalation. The core actors involved were too high-profile—one a candidate for kingship, the other a long-lost heir to the infamous Von Heim line. A volatile, controversial figure.
None among the elder spectators had the political authority or personal strength to halt what was rapidly becoming an impending free-for-all. Still, that didn’t stop them from whispering.
A sharp-faced woman scoffed.
"Are these truly the future of the noble courts?"
Edrin, swirling the wine in his glass with idle grace, responded smoothly.
"Oh, absolutely. They’ll fit riiight in."
That earned a wave of chuckles from those nearby.
anwhile, the argunt had passed the point of return. People no longer rembered what they were angry about. They were angry because they were angry.
It began with a single thin bolt of lightning—hurled casually from the side of the Prince’s faction.
The magic was weak, easily intercepted by a mana shield, and hard no one. But that was all it took.
Massive amounts of mana surged into the air.
Noble heirs and heiresses alike began chanting, their voices overlapping in a maddening chorus.
Intricate shields flared to life like blossoms of pure energy. The air trembled under the weight of pent-up fury.
And then—
Clap.
The sharp sound rang like a gunshot—two palms colliding with precision. Selaphiel had stepped into the center of the chaos, bringing her hands together in a powerful, deliberate strike.
The sound reverberated through the hall like a shockwave. It disrupted spellcasting and flooded the room with a wave of calming energy.
Magic fizzled. Shields dimd.
Silence fell.
Selaphiel stood tall and radiant, her veil discarded. Her face—now fully revealed—combined with her long, pointed ears and ethereal beauty, held everyone in awe.
Her very presence seed to press down on the room, a reminder of age, power, and sheer majesty.
"There will be no fighting,"
She said, her tone firm—almost motherly. She sounded like she was scolding children, which wasn’t far from the truth when considering her real age.
"Everyone disperse. Go clear your heads."
As if under a spell, they obeyed. One by one, they backed down, blinking in confusion. Why had they been so angry, anyway?
But just when it seed the storm had passed, Selaphiel’s lodic voice rang out once more.
"Not you, Mr. Wittman."
A visible shiver passed through the crowd.
Several people froze in place.
Her radiant smile was gone, as her cold eyes locked onto the Prince.
"I’m not done with you yet,"
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