Unlike Ihan’s blunt evaluation, most people in the hall gazed at the new arrivals with admiration.

It wasn’t just their appearances—though striking—that captured attention. The fact that they had attained power, fame, and influence at such a young age naturally added to their allure.

Many noblewomen flushed with rosy cheeks at the sight of them, while quite a few noblemen visibly expressed their displeasure at the competition.

As the atmosphere grew slightly awkward—

“Young talents of Pendragon! My name is Salah! I am one of the 17 sultans of the west, but today, do not see me as a sultan. See me simply as a man eager to meet the brilliant young minds of Pendragon!”

The Sultan’s sudden declaration echoed through the hall, taking everyone by surprise, as this was clearly not part of the planned program.

“And to commemorate this meeting, I have brought gifts. But these are only for the cadets, so I hope the rest of you won’t be offended. After all, today’s stars are none other than the students of this academy.”

He pressed forward with a bold display of generosity, as if to emphasize his point.

Snap.

With a light snap of his fingers, dozens of attendants in exotic attire moved swiftly and laid out rows of items.

“Wow…”

The collective gasp of awe was immediate.

Gleaming golden bells, each about the size of a palm, shimmered in the light. The craftsmanship was exquisite, delicate carvings so intricate they seemed almost otherworldly.

It was clear these were no ordinary gifts. The bells bore the unmistakable quality of dwarven handiwork, a detail that made the cadets realize just how valuable these items were.

“Cadets of Pendragon, I hope you find these gifts to your liking. Hahaha!”

The Sultan’s hearty laughter rang out, as if he were oblivious to any lingering tension in the room.

“What a peculiar character.”

“In a way, he’s remarkable.”

“There’s an impressive dignity to him…”

The nobles exchanged quiet remarks of admiration.

The Sultan’s gesture of bringing gifts specifically for the cadets was unexpected, but it didn’t feel like mere ostentation.

And despite not being trained in martial arts, the natural charisma he exuded rivaled that of any seasoned knight.

It was a glimpse of true leadership—a testament to the qualities of a ruler.

Salah al-Adil Muhammad, this man was clearly no ordinary individual.

…However—

“…?”

“What’s wrong, Master?”

“…No, it’s just… While everyone else seems to think this Sultan is impressive, to me, he feels a bit lacking.”

“Huh?”

“How do I put it…? Like a fox pretending to be a tiger.”

“…”

“Compared to the people I’ve seen, that’s all he seems to be.”

“???”

Ihan shrugged lightly.

The “people” he was referring to were the likes of his older sister, the Princess, whose presence was like an all-seeing monarch, and the Duke and Grand Duke, who could command an entire room with a single glance.

Each of them had left an indelible impression on him.

Compared to them, the Sultan felt almost… small.

‘Maybe my standards are just too high,’ he thought.

Why else would this man look so unremarkable?

Like a puppy pretending to be a wolf.

Salah concealed a smirk.

“They’re simpler than I thought. Winning their favor was almost too easy.”

“Compared to the west, these nobles seem unrefined. Perhaps the south’s long peace has made them complacent,” remarked his loyal captain of the guard.

“Or maybe it’s simply that there’s no one of note here. The War God was said to possess divine insight when it came to recognizing talent, but with him gone, there’s no one left to carry that torch.”

Speaking in the dialect of a western minority, their conversation was indecipherable to the surrounding crowd.

“Pendragon without the War God is hardly a threat.”

“……”

“Do you disagree, Haksan?”

“…Sultan, you’re right that Pendragon has lost much of its former glory. However, I caution you not to underestimate them. They still have Mystics and Transcendents. Do not focus on a single tree while ignoring the forest.”

“Hah, you dare to lecture me?”

“My apologies.”

“…Tsk.”

Salah was not a petty man who ignored the advice of loyal retainers.

Though he scoffed outwardly, inwardly he could not deny a lingering envy.

‘A land blessed by Mystics… truly enviable.’

Pendragon’s abundance of Mystics, particularly those of the highest grade, was something that couldn’t be ignored.

The west also had Mystics, of course, and even Salah’s trusted guard captain was a bearer of one.

But the strongest western Mystics were only of mid-to-high rank. Pendragon, on the other hand, possessed top-tier Mystics like the [Demon Sword of Galahad] and [Lionel’s Black King].

These Mystics were the stuff of legend in the west, their tales inspiring generations.

And beyond their Mystics, Pendragon also had Transcendents—monsters capable of single-handedly annihilating an entire army.

‘How I desire those Mystics…’

Salah’s greed burned bright, his ambition palpable.

The Sultan suppressed his desires as best he could, maintaining his outwardly confident demeanor.

“What of him?” Salah asked.

“He is being closely monitored. If he tries anything, we’ll act immediately.”

“Good. Mages are not to be trusted. If he steps out of line…”

“He will be eliminated at once.”

“Excellent. See that it’s done.”

Satisfied, Salah took a sip of champagne and turned his attention back to the hall, his expression once again pleasant and affable.

‘This is going to be fun.’

He could feel the excitement building.

The stage was set, the flow of events unstoppable now.

If there was any remaining obstacle, it was—

‘…The Magic Tower.’

The presence of a mage was always a wildcard.

Despite traveling together, Salah couldn’t read the mage’s thoughts. They were inscrutable, as always—arrogant and enigmatic to a fault.

Yet there was something strangely thrilling about the fact that they both had the same target.

“Lady Irene Windler… I can’t wait to meet her.”

The Sultan’s voice brimmed with anticipation as he thought of the rumored “jewel.”

If even half the stories about her were true, she was more than worth pursuing.

Just as he was reveling in his plans—

“Oh, look, it’s Lady Irene!”

“Lady Irene?”

“Good heavens…”

The sudden murmur of excitement drew Salah’s gaze.

“So, I finally get to see her face—”

Clack.

“……”

Srrrsh.

—And there she was, walking through the garden of flowers like a goddess descending upon the earth.

 

It was almost otherworldly, so ethereal and dreamlike that the title of "fairy" seemed more fitting than "goddess."

But one thing was undeniable—her presence took his breath away.

“……”

The Sultan was speechless.

Like his predecessors, Salah also had a harem filled with breathtakingly beautiful women—jewels he could take into his arms whenever he pleased.

To him, women were like gems stored in a cabinet, collected pieces of beauty.

And yet—

Whoosh!

The moment he laid eyes on her, an intense heat surged through his chest.

It was as though the concept of beauty existed solely for her.

Her radiant golden hair rippled in the breeze, and her eyes, the color of a crystalline sapphire lake, sparkled like precious stones.

Her mere presence seemed to bend the flowers around her in reverence, as if nature itself paid homage to her.

“Irene… Irene Windler…”

Salah murmured her name under his breath, swiftly identifying the source of the overwhelming impact and awe she stirred within him.

Yes, this was—

“Fate. I’ve encountered my destiny today.”

What cruel twist of destiny this was.

 

[Arin, that guy is staring at you really intensely.]

“Ugh, creepy. Look at his face. He’s like some kind of court dancer.”

[Don’t you mean a gigolo?]

“No, I mean an actual dancer. Why is his makeup so heavy? It’s revolting.”

[Arin, that’s gender discrimination.]

“…Fine. Then his makeup itself is revolting. I absolutely hate it!”

[Fair enough, I’ll give you that one.]

Irene Windler shivered as she caught the unnerving gaze of the overly flashy man.

 

Why did people have to stare so much? It was suffocating.

Irene felt incredibly uncomfortable as she walked through the hall, enduring countless eyes that followed her every move.

Her appearance always drew attention, but tonight, the focus was even more intense, leaving her inwardly sweating.

On the outside, she appeared to be a confident and elegant young lady, but at heart, Irene Windler was a deeply introverted and shy girl.

It couldn’t be helped, though.

[You really went all out today.]

Normally, Irene didn’t bother with makeup or elaborate dressing—just a quick splash of water in the morning sufficed. Until recently, she’d only started putting in effort because she wanted to look good for someone.

Today, however, for the first time, she had been dressed to impress.

Irene was already considered the most beautiful girl in the academy, but now she had gone from a brilliant jewel to a dazzling crown jewel.

[You look stunning, Arin. You should dress like this more often.]

If she wanted, she could rival even the Dream Demons in allure.

…Not that she cared about such things.

“It’s not like I wanted this. The maids forced me into it. Ugh, it’s so annoying…”

Her dress, makeup, and jewelry were all chosen in the name of maintaining the Duke’s dignity. To Irene, it all felt cumbersome.

Grumbling to herself, she moved quickly through the hall.

Thankfully, no one dared approach her.

Her natural magical aura, tinged with a serene water-like energy, acted as an invisible barrier, deterring others from drawing near.

Unless they were knights trained in martial arts, few could withstand the overwhelming presence of her magic.

It was as if Moses himself were parting the Red Sea, as the crowd instinctively cleared a path for her.

Unbothered by interruptions, Irene made her way toward the people she felt most familiar with.

The magic department?

Of course not.

Her true companions were—

“Ah, there he is!”

The swordsmanship department.

No matter how far away he was, Irene could always find the towering figure of the one she was looking for. She wanted to run to him, but her unfamiliar heels forced her to approach more slowly.

Beaming with excitement, she was about to call out to him when—

“Excuse me, Lady Irene. May I have the honor of a dance?”

“…?”

—a golden-haired man stepped in her path.

His appearance radiated the same gaudy energy as the bronze-skinned Sultan from earlier, but his aura was different. The golden magic surrounding him was unmistakably powerful, nearly as potent as Irene’s own.

Most mages would have felt an immediate pull toward such a peer, intrigued by the similarity of their abilities or the melancholy in his gaze.

But—

“Ah, sorry, I’m busy.”

“……”

Unfortunately for him, Irene had no interest whatsoever in whether he was a mage or melancholic.

With a curt response, she dismissed him as if he were a street preacher and brushed past, heading straight for the one she truly sought.

“Hey there, Instructor~!”

Gone was the frosty demeanor she’d just shown to the golden-haired mage. Irene now wore an expression so cheerful and playful that one might have expected a wagging tail to appear behind her.

“…Chick, I’m saying this because I’m genuinely worried about you: you really need to be careful around men.”

“Huh?”

“You just seem like the type who’d attract bad ones.”

“Bad ones?”

“Never mind. Forget I said anything…”

Having just witnessed her unwitting ability to captivate even the most notorious types, the knight couldn’t help but shake his head.

‘Isn’t this why people call her a femme fatale?’

Perhaps it was the sheer number of unsavory men she seemed to attract.

Her beauty was beginning to feel like it had an almost predestined cause-and-effect relationship.