The room fell into silence; no one dared to make a sound in front of the three figures before them, afraid they might incur something they did not desire.

The suffocating aura emanating from the trio made everyone uncomfortable. They weren’t even doing anything, yet the pressure in the room came solely from their presence. That fact alone made them even more terrifying.

Standing menacingly at the center of the three was a tall man with broad shoulders, his very presence exuding strength. A fiery glow swirled within his crimson irises, like molten lava. His long red hair spread out behind him, reminiscent of a lion’s mane. His entire being radiated a dominant aura, tempered by a vivid calmness.

He was the Firstborn Son of the Havengarde Family—Lysandrus von Lionshield. He was supposed to inherit the main family name but had vehemently refused, believing it was cowardly to accept an already established legacy. Instead, he forged his own path, creating a new family with a different surname—Lionshield.

His face was plastered with infuriation, clearly showing his annoyance over the incident he had witnessed. His brows knitted together, making his already terrifying face even scarier.

At his left side, standing close to him, was the Firstborn Daughter and Second child of the Havengarde Family—Lissandra von Ironvale. Like Lysandrus, she was next in line to inherit their family’s legacy but had also refused. Her reasons remained unknown. Some rumors claimed it was due to her pride, seeing it as an embarrassment to accept the title without first fighting her older brother. Others believed it was because of her strained relationship with the Patriarch. Whatever the truth, she, too, had built her own family under a different surname—Ironvale.

Like her older brother, she was built like a warrior, resembling a divine angel sent down to their world to fulfill the duties entrusted to her by their God. Unlike her children, she had long vermillion hair, glowing like the feathers of a phoenix. Her silver eyes gleamed like a sharpened blade, and with a single gaze, she cut through the room—silent, precise, and as lethal as an unseen strike.

The striking handsomeness of her face could take the breath away from all who beheld it, but a horizontal scar ran across her left eye. Rather than diminishing her beauty, it only made her look even more formidable.

She, too, remained silent, letting her brother do the talking. However, her sharp eyes scanned the room with clear dissatisfaction—likely for the same reasons as her brother.

Standing at Lysandrus right side was the lastborn child of the Havengarde Family, Alaric von Havengarde. Unlike his older siblings, he had no right to inherit the family name due to the vow of poverty he had taken. Instead, he became a prominent figure in the Heavenly Church, serving as a High Inquisitor. He boasted both exceptional martial prowess and a natural talent for Light Magic, making him a formidable warrior in the eyes of many.

He had a kind look and a dependable aura that made him easily trusted by many. Unlike his family members, he had a lean build. His amber eyes glowed with an ethereal light, and his slightly long mahogany hair gave him the appearance of a saint. His looks made him the textbook image of a knight dreamed of by many women.

His lips were curled into a smile for everyone to see, making it seem as if he was unbothered by the situation—though his eyes told a different story.

Lysandrus spoke again, "Who started this?" His sharp gaze swept across the room, though his eyes lingered on Merina—like he already knew the answer.

A servant, the same one who had escorted Zamel and announced his arrival, gathered the courage to respond. "Your Grace, with a heavy heart, I must inform you that Young Lady Merina and Young Lord Zamel fought one another due to the words Young Lord Zamel spoke towa—"

Before he could finish, Lysandrus cut him off, his voice colder, his anger now more apparent.

"Do not lie to me, servant. I asked you a question, and I expect a true answer. Be certain of your words—because if I find out you're spouting bullshit, I will personally handle your punishment."

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The servant paled, his body tensing as he swallowed hard. "I-I… as I was s-saying," he stammered, cursing himself internally for his foolish attempt to lie to his master. He had hoped to blame Zamel for the incident, thinking it might earn him favor with Merina or her father, but his assumption proved wrong—his master wanted nothing to do with the lies he was about to spin.

He had even referred to Zamel as Young Lord to avoid outright disrespecting the scion of his master's family—especially not in front of these three figures.

Just as he struggled to find his words, a guard stepped forward, saving him from his predicament.

"Lord Lysandrus," the guard declared in a firm, disciplined voice, "it was Lady Merina who started this. She insulted Young Lord Zamel by mentioning his bloodline for all to hear and went so far as to suggest that he take his own life because of the circumstances of his birth,"

His words were swift, clear, and without hesitation—free of deception.

"I see," he said in a low, deep voice.

"What's your excuse for your actions today, Merina?"

"I-I was just making a joke! He was the one who took it seriously," she stammered, her voice tight with fear.

The room fell into silence at her words.

Everyone could already tell she was lying. The excuse she had given could never be considered a mere joke. Did she truly think telling someone to take their own life was the same as a child's playful teasing? It was obvious it wasn’t.

The servant cast a pitiful glance at her after hearing her poor attempt at deception, while the guards remained expressionless.

Merina could feel their gazes burning into her, and she couldn’t help but lower her head in shame. She could also feel Zamel’s stare—it was especially unbearable, as if he were silently calling her stupid.

Even her father looked thoroughly unimpressed, and that only stoked the flames of his temper toward his daughter.

"Is that so," he said in an amused tone—though his anger was anything but.

"Even if what you're saying is true, how could it escalate to the point where the two of you were trying to kill each other? You even went as far as to use your mana, despite being repeatedly warned during your lessons about the dangers of doing so. Did he say something that made you ignore that warning?" Lysandrus asked, his voice firm as he sought to get to the bottom of the situation.

"Ye-yes… H-He said that y-you are—" Merina started but abruptly halted, hesitation gripping her.

Lysandrus narrowed his eyes at his daughter's hesitation. "Do not waste my time, child. My patience is running thin."

This time, Merina did not back down. Taking a deep breath, she gathered her courage and said, "He told me that you were a cold-hearted bastard… and a bitch. He even mentioned my dead mother," she confessed before quickly lowering her head, suddenly very interested in the floor.

The room plunged into a deeper silence.

Everyone gulped, sweat trickling down their foreheads, yet none dared to wipe it away. They held their breath, their tension palpable. Even the guards couldn't help but grow uneasy as they anxiously awaited the reactions of the three figures.

The first to react was Alaric—a faint chuckle escaping his lips. It was quickly followed by a loud, unrestrained laugh from Lissandra, completely shattering the tense atmosphere.

"You heard that, brother? You're a cold-hearted bastard as well as a bitch! HAHAHAHAHA! Not that it isn’t true!" Lissandra cackled, seizing the chance to jab at her brother.

"I agree as well," Alaric added, smirking as he joined in on the laughter.

As the two laughed, their voices grew louder with each passing moment.

Everyone in the room became even more uneasy. Who knew what their laughter entailed? It might just be the calm before the storm. Unanimously, they all stared at the floor, as if something there had suddenly become the most fascinating sight in the world.

Meanwhile, Lysandrus—the one being ridiculed by his own siblings—remained silent, as if processing the words he had just heard.

Time passed, and still, the only sounds in the room were the laughter of Lissandra and Alaric, accompanied by their occasional jabs at their older brother.

Then, something unexpected happened.

Lysandrus, who had remained silent throughout the ordeal, finally chuckled as if he found the situation hilarious—a deep, amused sound sent a chill through the air. His laughter continued for a few moments before it gradually faded. Slowly, he turned his head toward the boy who had insulted him.

A smirk curled at his lips, his eyes gleamed even brighter—unreadable and piercing.

"Is that true, boy?" he asked, his voice a mix of amusement and something else—something no one in the room could quite define.

The boy in question, Zamel, met his uncle’s gaze, his eyes filled with courage. He held his ground.

Or at least, he tried to, his mind said otherwise.

He couldn't help but gulp, his face strained as a single thought whispered in his head.

"Shit, I'm in danger."