"Gilensel?"

Charles wasn’t impressed by the name. He knew the Gilensel family was famed for bravery and combat prowess, but beyond that, they were no more familiar to him than a legend. Nonetheless, the Gilensels were undeniably powerful—stronger even than the West and Wilton families. He couldn’t fathom what they found appealing in an alliance with him.

As for his father’s claim that Okogie and Issa Wilton were “in love,” Charles didn’t buy it.

The Duke observed Charles’s reaction with a serene, almost calculating look. "This young Gilensel princess will be starting as a freshman at Violet Academy alongside you. I suggest you make an effort to get to know her."

The Duke’s gaze turned sharp, predatory, as he spoke. "Don't waste this chance, Charles. You have more competition than you realize. But you're clever—you’ll know what to do."

Charles's expression smoothed over as he nodded. "I understand, Father."

“Good. Then leave and prepare for your time at Violet Academy.”

"Are you bitter, Master Charles? Losing your fiancée like that?” Leo teased while helping Charles pack.

Charles lay sprawled on the bed, barely acknowledging him. Okogie, his fourth brother, had long been a thorn in his side, for reasons Charles could never quite grasp. But he wasn’t the type to let grudges fester without intent; sooner or later, he would repay Okogie for every slight.

For now, though, he lacked the means.

"That Miss Wilton is no simple young lady," Leo added with a smirk. "Word from her family's people in the United Army is that she has quite a few, let’s say, ‘devoted followers’ already."

Charles raised his eyebrows at the thought. Perhaps he should thank Okogie for saving him from such an arrangement.

He glanced at Leo, who was meticulously packing. “Leo, how old are you?”

Leo’s hands froze. "Master Charles, a woman’s age is a well-kept secret,” he replied smoothly.

Charles snorted, “Please—you’re a timeless undead. Who are you trying to fool?”

As Leo leveled an ominous look at him, Charles backtracked hastily. "Wait, wait! I meant to say you’re the youngest and prettiest lady I know. Really! Put down the luggage; violence won’t help!”

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Later that evening, Charles slipped a hand inside his ring, pulling out an old belt he’d acquired some time ago. With his days packed with training, he’d almost forgotten about it. Opening the pouch on the belt, he was startled to see a mass of rich, red stones inside.

“Bloodstones?” he murmured, pulling one out. As he focused, his True Vision activated, and golden light glowed around his eyes. It was indeed a bloodstone—rare, valuable, the type dropped by third-tier monsters. He could only guess where the original owner had gotten them, but now they were his.

An idea sparked, and he quickly laid the bloodstones in a pattern on the floor, pouring monster blood around them to complete a summoning circle.

After a moment, a familiar voice echoed through his mind, deep and ambiguously gendered. "My faithful follower, what do you wish for in return for your offering?"

Charles clasped his hands together reverently. “Great Mammon, I offer these bloodstones to you.”

As he watched the stones sink into the circle, Mammon’s voice returned, sounding uncharacteristically pleased. "What would you ask in exchange?"

Charles hesitated; he hadn’t planned that far ahead.

Mammon chuckled. "Then I will decide. A red dragon’s heart should suffice.”

A dragon’s heart? Charles barely processed the words before his vision blurred, and a powerful image—a massive, pulsing red heart—began to form in his mind, growing larger as it drew near. Mammon’s eye, a vertical slit, appeared within the circle, gazing directly at him.

“The eighth-sequence bloodstones… a red dragon’s heart is fair compensation.”

Then, Mammon vanished, the monster blood dried up, and silence filled the room. Charles lay unconscious on his bed, his heartbeat slowly syncing with that of the distant dragon’s, growing louder and louder—a deep, powerful rhythm.

In the imperial capital, far from Charles’s quarters, lay the palace grounds. This was royal land, a space that even the six blue-blood noble families respected, however diminished the royal family’s power.

“Princess Vivienne, tomorrow is the day you depart for school,” a maid said, bowing beside a silver-haired girl clad in white. The girl knelt reverently before a towering stone statue, her face obscured by a veil, her slender hands clasped in prayer.

“Your Majesty has selected three schools. Please make your choice,” the maid continued, standing respectfully nearby.

At length, the girl rose, moving with an ethereal grace as the maid helped support her. Her voice, as gentle and clear as wind chimes, drifted through the air. “I will go to Violet Academy. The gods have shown me that a true dragon will awaken there.”

Elsewhere, Fiona knelt before a priest of the church, her cropped hair and stoic expression casting a stark contrast to her surroundings. Today, she had come to make a life-altering choice: she would relinquish her identity as a wind warrior and undergo re-initiation as a judge of the faith.

Lady Alice, Fiona’s mother, stood just behind the priest, watching her daughter with a quiet pride. If Charles could see it, he would be envious; it was a gaze of deep, unshakeable love—a kind of support he’d never felt from his own parents.

The priest draped a cross around Fiona’s neck, blessing her with calm conviction. “May the God of Light grant you rebirth and cleanse your soul.”

With fierce determination, Fiona repeated the vow, her voice unyielding. “Great because of faith!”