Chapter 32

Opening her eyes, she found herself inside a luxurious banquet hall.

“Aethlyn. How can the guest of honor fall asleep?”

A playful voice woke her. Aethlyn blinked her long eyelashes and looked around in bewilderment.

‘Was I having a nightmare?’

She didn’t remember the exact details, but it was definitely a nightmare. After all, her heart was still hammering wildly, as if it was about to burst right out of her body.

“Hey. Didn’t you hear me?”

“Keep it down. My head hurts.”

Aethlyn snapped back reflexively.

“Right, right. Just how much did you drink and party yesterday.”

As Aethlyn slowly lifted her head, the owner of the voice came into view. It was Federin. Her close friend, the eldest son of the Taragor family. Federin Taragor.

Seeing a familiar face brought a strange sense of relief. As Aethlyn muttered without a word, Federin raised one of his thick eyebrows. He said in a playful tone.

“Even if you are the hero who saved Esta, dozing off openly at a party is a bit much, isn’t it?”

“I wasn’t sleeping, just thinking for a moment.”

“Were you pondering how to revive this Morning Star Alliance? I committed a rudeness, not realizing such deep intentions.”

“Federin.”

“Sorry, sorry. I was just joking. If you’re tired, go upstairs and get some shut-eye. There’s no need for you to stubbornly hold down your seat.”

The moment Federin finished speaking, he sat down in the empty space beside her, and the scent of expensive pomade tickled the tip of Aethlyn’s nose.

“Of course, for me, wanting to spend more time with you, it’s a bit disappointing.”

The man’s expensive silk suit sleeve brushed against Aethlyn’s bare skin. Only then did she realize she was wearing a dress instead of a military uniform. And a proper dress at that.

“Why on earth am I wearing a silk dress during wartime?”

Even if it wasn’t a combat situation, wearing such decorative clothes right now felt a bit off. As Aethlyn grumbled while smoothing down the hem of her dress, Federin sitting beside her stiffened slightly.

“Aethlyn. The war is over.”

“What?”

“You must still be half-asleep, aren’t you?”

Federin asked with a worried look as he scanned Aethlyn up and down. When she didn’t say anything, he let out a dry laugh.

“Aethlyn. The war really is over. You’re not a soldier anymore. You got a medal and went to a parade just a few days ago.”

“Ah.”

Aethlyn nodded faintly. Come to think of it, it seemed she had.

“Thanks to your exploits, the honor of all mages has risen. Even the non-mages who always looked down on us showed respect this time.”

“So, we won.”

Federin didn’t respond to that.

“Anyway, do you even know what kind of gathering this is?”

“I must still be drunk. I don’t remember well.”

A sharp headache, as if her crown was splitting open, assaulted her. At the same time, the sound of a wyvern’s breath went “Screeeeech” right nearby. Aethlyn’s hands began to tremble violently, independent of her will.

Without a word, Federin placed his hand over Aethlyn’s left hand.

Ignoring how stiff Aethlyn’s body became, he said calmly.

“It’s a celebration for you becoming the next head of the family.”

“What?”

The playfulness slowly vanished from Federin’s face. After lowering his head, he whispered softly into Aethlyn’s ear.

“Congratulations on becoming the head of Wintercrown.”

After that, it was a continuous stream of dreamlike situations. Heading to the dance floor with Federin, Aethlyn received the applause of everyone. With contented expressions, the people praised and lauded her as both the future war hero and the master of Wintercrown.

Some even mentioned the former Duke Wintercrown, Aethlyn’s grandfather.

“The former duke was also an honorable member of the Magic Army. Wasn’t he the one who completely drove out the rebellious Golden Dragon insurgents from the north?”

Aethlyn’s gaze locked onto a portrait hanging high in the banquet hall. It was the place where her grandfather’s portrait hung.

Aethlyn had deeply respected and grown close to her grandfather during his lifetime, but the man in the portrait felt strangely unfamiliar. Naturally so, since the former duke in the painting was barely past his early twenties. He had received his first medal at twenty-one.

With cold blue eyes and light brown hair, the Duke Wintercrown bore a uncanny resemblance to Aethlyn. Even though it was just a painting, it possessed a sharp edge that made him difficult to approach.

Yet, that usually cold gaze in the painting somehow looked warm this time. It was as if her young grandfather was telling his granddaughter, “I’m proud of you.”

“Aethlyn, let’s dance together.”

“Alright.”

With a smile, Aethlyn clasped Federin’s hand and slipped among the dancers at the most opportune moment. When they stepped in, thunderous applause erupted once more.

And so Aethlyn danced. With Federin, with her friends, and with the social elites of Esta.

Three-quarter time. A slightly syncopated waltz continued. Aethlyn’s dancing skills were simply flawless. The sky-blue dress with a hint of pearl gracefully enveloped her body, undulating like waves every time she spun. Enamored gazes clung to the nape of her neck and her ears.

After sending away her fifth dance partner, the final turn arrived. This time, Aethlyn’s father, the Duke Wintercrown, clasped both of her hands. Without looking, she could tell everyone was beaming.

The Duke Wintercrown seemed immensely pleased by those gazes. For once, he beamed brightly at Aethlyn. Then, in a voice as sweet as sugar-coated cake, he said:

“Aethlyn. I am proud of you. With you, I believe I can safely entrust this family to your care.”

‘Thank you, Father. I will make sure to prove it.’

Just as Aethlyn opened her mouth to reply, the interior of the banquet hall dimmed, brightened, and flickered. Much like a lightbulb with a burned-out filament flashing on and off.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

The banquet hall began to tremble and vibrate minutely in time with it. That is to say, the entire banquet hall. The champagne glasses on the tables shook and tipped over, and the chandeliers swung violently from side to side as if they were about to come crashing down at any second.

Even the people who had been dancing excitedly until just a moment ago buzzed with panic.

An earthquake? Or enemy artillery fire? Were the remnants of the Barbaros Empire trying to carry out a terrorist attack here? There was also the possibility that they were Golden Dragon followers or disgruntled Wildmen.

Aethlyn tried to step back to do something. However, she could not move an inch from her spot. Her father’s hand, which was gripping her waist and holding her hand, remained immovable like solid iron. It bound her painfully, like a noose tightened around the neck of a hunted beast.

Aethlyn asked in a voice she barely managed to squeeze out.

“Father?”

And at that moment, her father’s face suddenly morphed into her grandfather’s face, and her grandfather’s face shifted second by second into the faces of the former dukes she had seen in the portraits.

The faces chanted in unison like a chorus.

“Aethlyn. You are a failure.”

“There is no reason for you to become the head of the family.”

“You know better than anyone that you lack the qualifications.”

Stunned by shock, Aethlyn could not say a word in that spot. A searing, burning pain flared up along her left hand. She let out a silent scream.

Screeeeeeech!

“Get out of the way, move if you don’t want your head blown off!”

“Shit, Donovan’s hit!”

“Dammit, when is air support getting here? A whole bunch of those damn wyvern units are here!”

“Poison magic! Mask, where’s my mask!”

“Medic! Medic!”

When she opened her eyes, she was inside yet another nightmare.

To Aethlyn, who was struggling to gather her wits amid the ringing in her ears and the noise of the battlefield, a desperate voice shouted out.

“Lieutenant! Lieutenant, can’t you hear me right now? Pull yourself together!”

It was Sergeant Vilev.

It felt as though only a moment had passed, or conversely, as though an eternity had gone by.

She had no idea how long she had been knocked out, but she had come to her senses after being slapped across the cheek by Sergeant Vilev, nearly turned into slime by a wyvern’s acidic breath, and ordered the remaining soldiers (though it seemed to be only herself and Sergeant Vilev left) to retreat toward the Etal Pass.

Amidst a chaotic situation where every possible disaster in the world seemed to be happening all at once, an even more astonishing event occurred.

Sergeant Vilev, who until just a moment ago had stood on two feet, worn a human face, and spoken human words, suddenly transformed into a wolf.

It happened in less time than it took to blink an eye.

‘Good grief.’

He’s huge.

In truth, it wasn’t something to be shocked about. She had known since her academy days that werewolf people possessed a quadrupedal beast form. Besides, hadn’t she just witnessed wolves fighting wyverns moments ago?

Yet seeing Sergeant Vilev, the man she knew, suddenly morph into a beast was a shock nonetheless.

He was a black wolf. Fur colored darker than the deepest dark. Irises flashing a vivid, glaring yellow. Every single fang and claw as sharp as a finely honed dagger.

‘Now I understand why they say a veteran Wildman special operative is equivalent to a single tank.’

Of course, with dozens of wyverns running amok right now, such thoughts weren’t important.

The moment Sergeant Vilev turned into a wolf, he bit and ripped apart the wing of a wyvern nearby. Without a moment’s hesitation, he dodged the acidic breath spewed out amid a shrieking roar, and this time, the rider mounted on the wyvern raised their left hand toward him.

Seeing that, the corners of Aethlyn’s eyes sharpened.

‘How dare you.’

Aethlyn extended her blood-stained left hand toward the rider, forming her fingers into a claw shape. She muttered in an icy voice.

[Atatria.]

At the same time, the rider’s torso exploded as if struck by a bomb.