The countdown began, and the entire room seed to pulse with an electric energy. The holographic clock projected onto the grand vaulted ceiling ticked away the final seconds of 2042. Ten, nine, eight—the anticipation was palpable. Around , the Class A students were abuzz with excitent, their faces illuminated by the shimring lights that decorated the Creighton estate.
For a mont, I let myself relax, watching the kaleidoscope of emotions on everyone's faces. Ian was grinning like a fool, mocktail in hand, while his father, Marcus, was engaged in a lively conversation with Alastor Creighton. Rachel stood nearby, her golden hair practically glowing under the lights, chatting animatedly with Aria. Cecilia was leaning against a marble pillar, one hand on her hip, smirking at so joke she had clearly made at Jin's expense. Lucifer, as always, stood tall, exuding an effortless charisma that seed to draw everyone to him. Ren and Jin, on the other hand, were quieter, their expressions unreadable.
And then there was Seraphina, standing near one of the towering windows, the faint glow of the city lights behind her framing her in an almost ethereal silhouette. Her silver-and-black dress mirrored my own attire, but her gaze was far from —focused on sothing beyond the room, beyond the celebrations. She always had that air about her, as though she was existing just a step ahead of everyone else, a step I couldn't yet reach.
Seven, six, five…
I exhaled slowly, feeling a strange calm settle over . This is the first ti I've celebrated New Year's, I thought. The realization hit harder than I expected. Back in my old life, New Year's was just another day—no parties, no friends, no family. Just , alone with a book or my thoughts. But here, in this strange, vibrant world I used to think of as fictional, I was surrounded by people. People who, for better or worse, cared enough to share this mont with .
And it wasn't bad. Not bad at all.
Four, three…
I glanced around the room again, catching Rachel's eye as she bead at , a smile so genuine it ward even the coldest corners of my heart. Cecilia raised a glass in my direction, her smirk softening into sothing that almost looked like approval. Ian waved his drink at with a wink, mouthing sothing that was likely both flattering and mildly ridiculous.
Two, one…
"Happy New Year!" the room erupted in a chorus, holographic fireworks bursting across the ceiling in a dazzling display of light and color.
I found myself grinning despite myself. Turning first to Rachel, who was still glowing with excitent, I said, "Happy New Year, Rachel."
Her smile widened, and she clasped her hands together, her golden mana sparking faintly at her fingertips. "Happy New Year, Arthur. I hope this year brings you everything you deserve."
Next was Cecilia, who sauntered over with her ever-present air of mischief. "Well, Arthur," she said, her crimson eyes glinting like embers, "Happy New Year. Try not to be too boring this year, alright?"
"I'll do my best," I replied dryly, earning a soft laugh from her.
Ian was next, slapping on the back with an energy that could have knocked over a lesser man. "Happy New Year, Arthur! Let's make this the year we finally see you beat Lucifer, eh?"
I chuckled. "I'll try, Ian. Happy New Year to you too."
Lucifer himself approached after, his green eyes gleaming with a calm confidence. "Happy New Year, Arthur," he said simply, his voice carrying the weight of both respect and challenge.
"Happy New Year, Lucifer," I replied, eting his gaze. For a mont, it felt like we were the only two people in the room, the unspoken rivalry between us crackling in the air like the fireworks above.
As the others celebrated and mingled, I couldn't help but glance toward Seraphina. She hadn't moved from her spot by the window, her silver hair catching the faint glow of the holographic lights. She didn't turn to look at , but I knew she was aware of my gaze.
She didn't wish a Happy New Year, and I didn't approach her. Sothing told that any words exchanged between us right now would feel hollow. Instead, I let the silence speak for itself.
__________________________________________________________________________________
The Kings and Emperor were seated around a table that, by all appearances, looked too simple for their stature. Of course, that was deliberate—humility at a price tag that could bankrupt most nations.
Marcus Viserion, ever the one to cut through tension with a casual bite, took another forkful of his shrimp lasagna and sighed with contentnt. "He's quite impressive, isn't he?"
Quinn Slatemark, Emperor of the most powerful empire in the world, raised a single brow over his glass of wine. "Arthur, you an?"
"Yes," Marcus replied, his voice light but his expression anything but. "Ian's told stories, of course, but seeing him in person... The boy is more impressive than I expected. To go from low Silver-rank to high Silver-rank in four months? That's not normal. Not even for soone in Class A. I'd wager he's already on par with Ren."
Alastor Creighton, King of the Creighton territories and a man of warmth and gravitas, allowed a small smile to play on his lips. "Arthur is... different. Perhaps strong enough to one day claim the title of the strongest in this generation."
"Over my son?" Arden Windward, the Dark King of the North, let out a low laugh. His voice rumbled like distant thunder, a mix of pride and challenge. "I doubt it."
"Don't be so arrogant," Alastor chided lightly, though his tone held no venom. "Lucifer may be the greatest talent since Julius Slatemark himself, but Arthur has sothing... unique. A spark that can't be asured just in mana output or combat techniques."
Arden's eyes narrowed, his competitive nature flaring. "Lucifer's potential is unmatched. He is the destined Second Hero."
"I know exactly how talented Lucifer is," Alastor shot back, leaning forward, "I practically raised the boy. But Arthur... his ability to absorb mana techniques, to adapt and evolve in battle—it's sothing else entirely. Greater than even mine when I was his age. He's a late bloor, much like the Martial King."
The room shifted. It was subtle, but the air grew heavier, as if soone had flicked a switch that dimd the light just a fraction too much. Marcus stopped mid-bite, his fork hovering between his plate and mouth. Arden's sharp eyes narrowed even further, while Quinn's already stoic face beca unreadable, his crimson gaze glowing faintly.
"Don't," Quinn said, his voice cutting through the growing tension. "Don't compare anyone to the Martial King."
Alastor t his gaze, unflinching. "It's not a comparison. It's an observation."
"There can only be one Martial King," Arden said coldly. "And it's not Arthur Nightingale."
Marcus, ever the one to stir the pot, leaned back in his chair and smirked. "Isn't that just because he surpassed you, Arden?"
Arden's jaw clenched, the faintest crackle of dark mana flickering at his fingertips. "Surpassed or not, the Martial King was an anomaly. A freak. He reached heights no one thought possible, and it cost him everything. We don't need another one."
"Perhaps not," Alastor said, his voice softer now. "But we can't deny the impact he had. Without him, the war against the ogres and orcs would have been lost."
"That doesn't an we want to see history repeat itself," Quinn interjected, his tone as cold and precise as the edge of a blade. "Arthur is strong, yes. Promising, undoubtedly. But let's not burden him—or ourselves—with expectations like that."
Arden nodded grudgingly. "Agreed. The Martial King's story isn't one we want to see replayed. Let Arthur carve his own path."
"And yet," Marcus said, swirling his wine lazily, "you can't deny that the tournant at the end of the year will be interesting, no? Lucifer may have a challenger this ti."
Arden's eyes darkened at the implication, but he said nothing. Alastor, ever the peacemaker, raised his glass. "Let's hope it remains friendly competition. They can push each other to new heights without the... animosity we've seen in the past."
"Agreed," Quinn said simply. "A rivalry like that could be humanity's greatest asset—or its greatest liability."
The mood shifted again, this ti to sothing lighter as Marcus clapped Alastor on the shoulder. "Well, enough about the kids. It's been far too long since we had a proper drink together, hasn't it?"
Alastor chuckled, the tension easing. "You're right. Running kingdoms and keeping the peace doesn't leave much ti for this, does it?"
Quinn allowed a rare smile to touch his lips. "At least you don't have vassals constantly questioning your every move."
"And you don't have to fight Shadow Seekers every winter," Arden countered, his tone lightening. "Shall we compare burdens, gentlen?"
They laughed, the camaraderie between them rekindling. But as the conversation drifted into lighter territory, Quinn's crimson gaze flicked toward the room where the students were gathered. His expression darkened ever so slightly.
"What is it?" Arden asked, noticing the shift.
Quinn hesitated, then shook his head. "It's nothing. Just... observing."
Marcus raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Observing what?"
Quinn's voice was as smooth and enigmatic as ever. "My daughter, Cecilia. She seems... unusually interested in Arthur."
The room fell quiet again, though this ti it was a quieter sort of tension—one tinged with curiosity rather than unease.
"Cecilia?" Marcus said, his surprise evident. "Now that's unexpected."
"It's more complicated than that," Quinn said cryptically. "And I hope it stays that way."
"Complicated how?" Alastor asked, his tone sharp with sudden interest.
Quinn waved a hand dismissively. "I may be overthinking it. They're still young, after all."
Marcus laughed, clapping Alastor on the shoulder again. "Well, who knew you'd be training your future son-in-law, Alastor?"
"Absolutely not," Alastor said firmly, though a faint smile tugged at his lips. "I'm not letting Rachel marry anyone until she's forty."
"You said the sa thing about Lucifer when I suggested it," Arden said with a sigh. "You need to let go at so point, Alastor."
Alastor's smile faded slightly. "It's not that simple."
"Still worried about Isolde?" Marcus asked gently.
Alastor nodded, his expression clouding. "I wanted to believe she had her reasons for what she did. But after all this ti... I can't."
The room fell silent again, the weight of old wounds pressing down. Finally, Quinn broke the silence. "Whatever her reasons, they don't matter now. Our focus must be on the future. On ensuring our children are ready for what's coming."
Alastor nodded, his resolve hardening. "You're right. Rachel deserves a future free from her mother's shadow."
"And we'll ensure she has it," Arden said firmly. "All of them will."
The four of them raised their glasses in unison, the unspoken promise hanging in the air. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.
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