The elves must be having a field trip, but I didn’t have the luxury. I had to prepare and gear myself up. The streets of Waybound City had transformed for the Winter Festival, with vibrant banners of crimson and silver swaying in the crisp air and hanging from every lamp post and shop top as I walked.

The hum of life filled the streets—merchants shouting their wares, children laughing as they darted between stalls, and faint notes of festive music floating through the cold. The snow on the rooftops and sidewalks glistened, starkly contrasting the bustling warmth below.

Solara walked beside me, her wings folding tightly against her back, twitching now and then as though reacting to the lively energy around us. She kept glancing at the stalls, her gaze lingering on the ornate trinkets and colorful baubles.

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” she said, her tone light but tinged with suspicion. Her presence, as she walked beside me, was stronger than before. Not only was she higher-leveled, but her cultivation had also grown, and she’d learned some very useful martial arts. I was curious how strong she was now.

“You’ll see,” I replied with a yawn.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, but I could tell she wasn’t truly annoyed. She followed as I turned sharply into an alley, leaving behind the noise and warmth of the brewing festival. The narrow street was quieter, the snow here undisturbed and crunching under our boots.

Ahead stood a building that looked like it belonged to a different time. Its wooden facade was worn, the sign above the door swinging on rusty hinges. The faded emblem of a hammer striking an anvil marked it as a smithy, though it seemed to lack the grandeur of its competitors. This was the same place Nebula had met me before, and back then, I had come here to buy more than just a sword.

“This is where you wanted to go?” Solara asked, her voice carrying a hint of skepticism as she eyed the shop.

“Looks can be deceiving,” I said, pushing open the heavy door.

The interior was warm, the air thick with the scent of metal and soot. Weapons lined the walls in neat rows, their polished surfaces catching the glow of the forge at the back. The faint clinking of tools against metal filled the space.

From a side chamber, a man emerged, wiping his hands on a soot-streaked cloth. He was large, his muscles straining against his leather apron, and his receding hairline gleamed with sweat. His eyes lit up when he saw me.

“Young master Romani!” he said, his voice booming with familiarity. “You’re just in time. I’ve finished your orders.”

He turned his gaze to Solara, his smile faltering slightly as he noticed her wings twitching faintly. Recognition dawned in his expression. “Ah… and this must be the one you ordered the wing armor for. The last phoenix… I should have known.”

“Wing armor?” Solara’s brow furrowed as she turned to me.

“And a sword for me,” I said, stepping forward. “Let’s see them, Garron.”

He nodded, already heading back to retrieve the items. Solara crossed her arms, her eyebrows rising as she studied me. She gave me an odd look as if I’d committed some stupidity.

“Wing armor?” she said again, her tone skeptical. “You do realize it’s not practical for me, right? When I’m alone, I turn my wings into mana. Where exactly would the armor go?”

“Didn’t your parents, grandparents, and ancestors wear something similar?” I asked, arching a brow.

“Yes, but…” Her voice wavered slightly, and her gaze dropped. “They’ve been lost. Not only was it too expensive to forge replacements, but making something that worked with my bloodline was impossible for any blacksmith outside our family, as they don’t know our family’s secret. The problem is, even though I don’t know what those secrets are since they are only relevant to a blacksmith, my father never taught me. So even if I trust a blacksmith with my life, I can’t give him the secrets to make it.”

“Who made those armor for your family before, then?” I asked, although I already knew.

“We had a blacksmith family who worked directly for us and even lived in the same estate as us. But…” her voice trembled. “They were slaughtered along with my family.”

Before I could respond, Garron returned, carrying a gleaming piece of armor crafted in the shape of wings. The mithril caught the dim light, and faint runes glowed along its edges. He placed it on the counter with care, his expression proud.

“Fear not,” he said, his voice steady. “This isn’t ordinary metal. Mithril, mixed with rare mana-infused ore. I was stunned when the young master Romani brought such expensive material to a no-name smith like me. It’s essentially a magical artifact. The armor reacts to your mana and will vanish when your wings do. It took a lot of effort to make this.”

Given he managed to make it regardless, he wasn’t some “no-name.” I knew his identity from having played Arcane Crown, so I knew who he was.

Solara studied the armor with a critical eye, her skepticism plain. “Even if it works in theory, I doubt it’ll actually function like that.”

Ignoring her doubt, Garron handed me a bastard sword. The sword was stunning—its blade a deep, shimmering purple that shifted to red, and the hilt wrapped in dark leather that felt comfortable in my grip. I tested its weight and balance, nodding in approval. I had many weapons in my Soul Storage for emergencies, but this sword had already become the best in my collection.

I planned to collect one of the Named Blades in the future. That was why I never invested much in making a sumptuous sword, but this was very impressive.

While I admired the blade, Garron turned his attention back to Solara. “Go on,” he urged, gesturing to the armor. “Try it on.”

She hesitated but eventually relented, allowing us to help secure the armor around her wings.

“Alright,” I said, stepping back. “Now, make your wings vanish.”

She sighed, clearly still doubtful, but closed her eyes and focused. Her wings shimmered red, dissolving into mana. The armor vanished alongside them. Her eyes snapped open in shock, and she brought her wings back. The armor returned, gleaming as if it had never left.

“H-how?! This… this doesn’t make sense,” her voice was barely above a whisper as she touched the armor with trembling hands. “All the armors were destroyed on that cursed day, and I’ve tried making new ones ever since. I’ve sought out dozens of blacksmiths over the last five years, but none of them managed to—”

“My lady,” Garron interrupted, dropping to one knee with a reverence that caught even me off guard. “You wouldn’t recognize me now, with my beard so long and my hair nearly gone, and since I’m going by a different name now. But it’s me… Durnan,” his voice carried familiarity, his eyes going hazy as he looked up at his lady. “I was out of town that day. Just me. I… Like you, I also survived.”

The name froze Solara in place, and the confession made her gulp. Her green eyes were wide, trembling as she stared at the man kneeling before her. The room fell silent, and a weight of surprise and kinship pressed down on the two of them.

I stayed off to the side, admiring my sword.

****

The Winter Festival was tomorrow, so a festival evening was being prepared. It was still morning, and the air carried a certain energy as the elven delegation was escorted through the academy grounds. Snow crunched beneath their boots, but the cold was no deterrent to the grandeur Victor Seraph intended to display.

“This is the Health Centre,” he said, pointing to a large building. “Here, any serious patient is admitted. However, each of our buildings has a small infirmary anyway for emergency and easy access.”

“Truly?” An elven girl said from the crowd that followed Victor. “I should pay it a visit then. The journey took a toll on my back.”

Victor smiled, and with a snap of his finger, one of his minions slipped to his side. “Show the young lady the way.” The guests seemed impressed by how well he was handling everything. It was his show now, his opportunity to dazzle, and he wasted no time stepping into the spotlight.

Prince Orion walked beside Victor, wearing a polite smile and commenting every now and then. It’d be unsightly for a Prince to act as a tour guide, but it’d also not be a good look if he wasn’t here to greet the valuable guests since he was a student here anyway. So he was sticking close to Victor, although he didn’t speak much.

Amelia walked near the back of the group, letting Victor lead a group of young elves, who flocked behind the young Duke, the human Prince, and their own prince. Her composure was as steady as always as she walked beside Vaelion and Eryndor.

The elven warrior's stoic presence mirrored Vaelion’s, both figures radiating quiet authority as they followed the group of younglings. Amelia matched them, although hers was mostly a facade. Vaelion walked with them but occasionally stepped toward Orion to exchange words about his father’s health or the state of Ethenia these days.

Victor had claimed the center of attention here. Even among these powerhouses, he was effortlessly commanding the space around him. With his black hair catching the sunlight and his voice carrying easily over the murmurs of students and guests alike, he led the young elves through the academy like a king showing off his castle.

What a pity, Amelia sighed softly. He was a good student, even though his character was questionable. Unfortunately, he’d picked a fight with Iskandaar.

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“This is one of our training grounds,” Victor said, gesturing toward the large open space ahead. Rows of moving targets hovered and danced through the air, their enchanted forms glinting under the weak winter sun. “We use these for precision practice with our blade auras and/or spellcasting. A true test of skill for any aspiring mage or swordsman.”

He turned to Prince Rhydar, his expression carefully measured between charm and confidence. “Perhaps a demonstration would be of interest?”

The elven prince inclined his head politely as he spoke. “I leave it to your discretion, Lord Seraph.” His tone was neutral and courteous, but he had a trace of detachment that only those paying attention would notice.

Victor either didn’t catch it or chose to ignore it. With a quick signal, he called over another one of his attendants, who hurried to prepare the targets. The crowd was now composed of students and the delegation's young elves as they began to gather closer, their whispers buzzing with anticipation.

Victor unsheathed his sword with practiced ease, the blade gleaming as he stepped into the center of the training ground. “Watch closely,” he said theatrically.

He shifted in his spot precisely but didn’t take a step from it. Sword Aura swished out of him, flying toward the targets. His strikes were clean and deliberate as he navigated the field. Each slash of his blade found its mark, easily cutting through enchanted targets. The sword danced in his hand as though it were an extension of himself, the motions fluid and seamless. The crowd wowed.

Then, with a flourish, he shifted to spellcasting. Bright sigils formed in the air as his hand traced intricate patterns, each glyph glowing before releasing bursts of elemental energy. Fire spiraled outward, wind tore through the targets, and bursts of light illuminated the grounds. The display was undeniably impressive, each movement calculated to leave an impact.

He was no Spellsword, so it was likely just one of his Skills, but it was still impressive. For reference, a [Fire Mage] would have something like [Fire Magic Proficiency], which would grow in percentage and grant them more Control over flames, as well as Skills and Spells. Spells didn’t register in the System and could be learned from Spell Books, so one could potentially learn an unlimited number of them quickly.

However, sometimes, fighting classes would gain a single or more Skill, which could be one of many available skills or Spells for a mage.

The crowd responded as expected. Several elven girls in the audience exchanged excited whispers, their giggles carrying through the air as they watched Victor. Many of the students seemed captivated too, their murmurs of approval rippling through the crowd.

Victor turned to Rhydar, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “I trust this gives you a glimpse of what the academy has to offer,” he said, lowering his blade slightly but keeping his posture confident. “Perhaps, if time permits, we could arrange a duel or a sparring session. It would be an honor to cross blades with the prince of Sylvanielle.”

Rhydar offered a polite nod, his green eyes calm and unreadable. “Lord Seraph’s skills are impressive,” he said, his voice smooth but devoid of enthusiasm. “It speaks well of the training here.”

Victor’s smile widened, clearly taking the words as a compliment, though Rhydar’s tone suggested otherwise. He wasn’t slow, he could sense the prince’s disinterest, but he didn’t let it affect him. Or at least, he didn’t show it. The elven prince’s gaze shifted slightly, glancing toward Amelia and the others at the back of the group.

Vaelion and Eryndor exchanged a glance, their expressions faintly amused. If they were impressed, they didn’t show it. Vaelion’s lips twitched as though suppressing a smile, and Eryndor’s stoic demeanor remained unmoved, his sharp eyes observing the display with quiet detachment.

“Lord Seraph is enthusiastic,” Vaelion remarked quietly, leaning slightly toward Amelia.

Amelia’s response was a small smile. “He is thorough, indeed,” she replied, her voice neutral but laced with subtle humor. “But this was merely target dummies. He’s almost about to touch 7th Ascension, one of my finest students, so he shines brighter during true battles. As I said, we can leave the Prince with him.”

After a few more exchanges, Vaelion turned to Eryndor. “Shall we?”

Eryndor inclined his head. “There is much to discuss, we can’t babysit that boy.”

The two excused themselves, joining Amelia as they stepped away from the younger group, leaving Victor and Orion to manage the elven prince and his entourage.

Victor’s attention shifted back to Rhydar, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. “If there’s anything specific you’d like to see, Prince Rhydar, I’d be more than happy to oblige. The academy prides itself on its versatility.”

Rhydar smiled faintly, his expression as measured as his words. “Thank you for the demonstration. I don’t know what the Academy offers, so I am unsure what to expect. So nothing specific. Now that the adults are gone, why not start with your favorite places rather than following this dull routine?”

Victor hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before recovering with a gracious nod. “Of course. Let us explore further. Prince Orion,” he turned to the Prince. “You’re alright with that, right?”

“Sure thing,” Orion nodded. The crowd began to disperse slowly, the students' murmurs mingling with the faint sound of footsteps on the snow-dusted ground. The young elves still followed Victor, but the students had almost vanished.

They continued roaming, and Rhydar turned his gaze back toward the main academy building. His expression was unreadable as he followed Victor’s lead.

His eyes fell on a pair of black and red, and although he didn’t recognize the boy, the wings of a Phoenix on the girl was hard to miss. Rhydar’s subtle disinterest showed a crack that Victor didn’t seem to notice.

The festival had barely even begun, but the players were already taking their place.

****

The atmosphere was a buzz of sound around me as I was sitting inside a banquet. A banquet was held to welcome the elves, and it was attended by not just the elves and students but some important nobles who had also come over.

The large hall hummed with life. Warm laughter mixed with clinking glasses and the golden glow of the chandeliers illuminated tables laden with food. Roasted meats, sweet fruits, and spiced wine filled the air with a comforting richness that could almost lull one into lowering one's guard. Elves laughed and giggled with humans, some even flirting, as the tension from the morning lessened a lot.

But not me.

I sat beside Solara, one hand resting idly on the table while the other toyed with my wine goblet. My gaze was on the air, staring at nothing. My focus wasn’t here.

Her wings shifted now and then, their fiery hue catching the light. “You’ve barely said two words,” she said, breaking off a piece of bread. Her teasing tone didn’t mask the concern in her eyes. “Distracted?”

“I'm just thinking,” I replied, my gaze falling on the far end of the hall. My voice was calm, but my mind was anything but. There was something wrong here—something I could see but couldn’t speak. Given the political situation, I could report this to Amelia, but it’d be impossible for her to do anything for the elves.

She huffed, “You’re always thinking.” Her teasing tone faded into a murmur. “Don’t overdo it, though. It’s supposed to be a celebration.”

A celebration. Sure. I flicked my fingers against the goblet, feeling the subtle activation of my Demonic Sphere. The world around me rippled as I extended its reach, weaving through the room’s bustling energy.

The elves’ mana was easy to pick out—bright, clean, and resonant with nature. Their signature was distinct compared to humans, flowing with a rhythm that was almost musical. It was a stark contrast to the denser, rawer mana of the humans around them. It was also hard to tell one elf apart from the other, at least for me.

Yet even among them, a presence stood out.

A presence. Alien. Malignant. It was very well hidden, Katheran wouldn’t be able to sense it, but I could because Demonic Energy also flowed through me.

“By the way, where’s Lilian?”

…It wasn’t just different—it was wrong. The energy twisted unnaturally, hiding in the shadow of the elven signatures. It was faint, but the sheer weight of its malice sent a cold ripple down my spine. My fingers tightened around the goblet as the feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.

“What is it?” Solara’s voice came again, quieter this time. Her sharp eyes narrowed, noticing that I wasn’t reacting to her calls and my expression shifting. “Something off?”

I shook my head, forcing a faint smile. “Nothing you need to worry about.” My voice came out steadier than I expected, but the tension in my chest hadn’t eased.

I followed the trail of the corrupted energy, letting my eyes roam the room.

[Eryndor Vaelith; Level 149]

Fuck this. I grumbled, eyes landing on the second-most important person seated among the elven delegation. I couldn’t point fingers at him, I had no proof, and it’d paint me an enemy to the elves. The stoic warrior-priest exuded a calm, composed presence, his armor gleaming under the light.

Since his name still shows up as Eryndor Vaelith, he’s not been fully taken over yet. I noted this, but at the same time, I could see the cracks.

The aura clinging to him was tainted. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but there. It twisted at the edges of his mana like an oil slick over clear water. I think the demon could take over any time if he wanted to.

I leaned back, my mind racing.

The memories of Arcane Crown flooded my thoughts, fragments snapping into place. Episode 5, the Winter Festival. The demon among the delegation. I wasn’t sure about its presence when I heard the prince would be coming too, hoping the incident would pass without an issue. But sensing it hiding within Eryndor was confirmation.

I debated what to do for a moment, but no matter how much I thought about it, there was no answer. Exposing him here and now would be a disaster. The elves would see it as an attack, and the political fallout could be catastrophic. Worse, the demon might escape in the chaos, leaving behind nothing but destruction.

The worst thing?

There were a dozen more demons in the room.

My jaws clenched, and I pondered what to do. This was a really shitty situation because I couldn’t show any proof even if I called someone out. Solara nudged my arm, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“You’re doing it again,” she said, her voice tinged with exasperation. “Whatever’s on your mind, share it. Or at least stop staring like that. You’re going to scare someone.”

“Just… the festival,” I said lightly, raising the goblet to my lips. The wine burned slightly as it went down, grounding me. I sighed, “Solara, I didn’t gift you such an expensive armor right before the festival for no reason. Just keep that in mind, and I’ll explain more back at the dorms.”

She gave me a sidelong glance, her gaze turning sharper, but didn’t push. Instead, she returned to the hall, her wings folding neatly against her back as she decided to chat with an elven girl.

“You,” I called over a butler, who turned to me and walked over with his tray of drinks. I grabbed a glass of wine, and someone approached me.

“Hey, handsome,” it was a dark-skinned girl with white hair, her knife ears twitching as she smiled. “Why’re you drinking alone?” She was a beautiful, dark elf lady.

I opened my mouth, but someone else’s voice came over. “Sorry~!” A familiar voice shouted, and an arm went around my shoulder. My eyes twitched as I turned to the side, finding myself blinking at my brother. Iaskin Romani, wearing a grin. “My little brother’s taken, engaged and all. Hello, name’s Iaskin. And I am not engaged.”

“Oh my,” the girl said, covering her mouth with a hand. Her eyes fell on my brother’s neckline as her smile widened.

“See you, Iska,” Iaskin removed his arm, winked at me, and then led the lady away for a dance.

I shook my head and finished my drink. Then there’s him. I saw him laughing with the girl as they began to dance. Hopefully, Lilian finds what I sent her out for. I might not have been born as Iskandaar Romani, but I didn’t want my only brother to end up dead, even if he stole me a dance. After this incident ends, I’d have to deal with him and his little Outer God Cult.

The laughter and chatter continued around me, but my focus never wavered. I tracked the demon’s movements, for this wasn’t just a festival anymore.

It never was.