* * *
Once he finally calmed down, Anakin joined Lillian’s party as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Lillian, delighted by the rare outing, glanced around excitedly before waving to Anakin and Hilde.
“Over here!”
“My lady. Your dignity…”
They were in Eleanor, the imperial capital — a grand metropolis with good public order and crowds in the millions each day.
Eight skilled knights escorted them openly, with more guards following covertly, so there was no real danger unless someone bolted off and got lost.
“Hey, Young Master Anakin… wait, were you crying?”
Hilde, who had been walking casually behind them, studied Anakin’s face.
“Ah… it’s nothing.”
Was it still that obvious?
Anakin forced a smile, tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Hilde stared at him for a moment with that same expressionless face before looking away.
“The Third Prince and the Crown Prince are intelligent men, but their personalities leave much to be desired. You can be friendly with them if you like, but getting too close will likely drag you into trouble. Best not to overdo it.”
The unexpected advice made Anakin blink.
His visits to the Third Prince’s palace were already the stuff of palace gossip, but coming from someone who usually seemed so disinterested, it was surprising.
“…Are you worried about me? Thanks.”
“……”
Hilde didn’t look back, simply continuing to walk ahead.
He was unreadable on the surface, but there had been a trace of genuine concern in his words — and Anakin noticed.
They walked on until their legs began to ache, when Lillian finally stopped.
They had arrived at a massive opera house, grand and imposing even at a glance.
The wealthy gathered here in abundance, dressed in splendid attire, though there seemed to be a mix of nobles and commoners in the crowd.
“This way!”
The theater staff came out personally to greet them — hardly surprising, given they were the children of high-ranking nobles.
Even the proud owner of such an establishment would lower their head to nobles of this caliber.
As they made their way confidently to the VIP box, the stares of others followed them.
Lillian and Hilde seemed used to it, but when Anakin caught the envious gaze of a little boy before entering, he couldn’t shake a twinge of discomfort.
Back in his previous life, before he found himself here, he had been just an ordinary modern-day commoner — this rigid class divide was still hard to stomach.
“Anakin, look! Pretty?”
Lillian spun around wearing a bread-shaped hat sold in the theater’s lobby.
“Looks like you’re about to head off to work.” Hilde remarked dryly.
“It’s pretty.”
Lillian’s cheeks flushed.
“My lady, you are the most beautiful.”=
“Of all the young ladies we’ve seen today, you are by far…”
The knights quickly piled on the compliments.
Pleased, Lillian linked her arm with Anakin’s and walked ahead — prompting Hilde, behind them, to frown ever so slightly.
Amidst the chaos of being tugged along by Lillian, Anakin suddenly froze.
In the shifting crowd, he’d spotted someone.
“Anakin? What’s wrong?”
Lillian peered up at him in puzzlement, but he shook his head.
“It’s nothing. We’ll be late, let’s go.”
He smiled again and walked on, and Lillian let it go as they entered the building.
But Anakin glanced back one last time — the figure was already gone.
…What was that?
He had never before felt such an unpleasant, suffocating aura radiating from a person.
Suppressing the unease creeping up his spine, he followed the group inside.
The opera was captivating — a tragic romance between a beautiful commoner man and a noblewoman, doomed from the start.
The acting was so good it was impossible not to get drawn in.
“It was fun, right? I told you, things like this are best enjoyed togeth—”
“Lillian!”
Lost in her excitement, Lillian bumped into another young lady while looking over her shoulder.
If her guard hadn’t caught her in time, she might have fallen down the stairs behind her.
The other young lady glared sharply at Lillian, folding her arms with a haughty air.
“Tsk… No manners at all. What kind of noble walks around without watching where she’s going?”
Lillian stepped forward, her gaze like a blade.
“What did you say? Say it again.”
“It’s obvious you grew up without proper etiquette — strutting around in some trendy little dress like—”
Smack.
The worst happened before anyone could stop it — Lillian’s hand struck the young lady’s cheek.
The other’s guards instinctively reached for their swords in shock.
Her name was Iry Martican, daughter of Count Martican — a key supporter of the Third Prince’s faction.
All they’d done was come to see an opera, and somehow they’d stepped right into a political landmine.
Of course, as Lillian and Hilde were close to the Crown Prince, they were natural enemies.
“How dare you… insult me? Someone like you?”
It was clear the two already knew each other by sight — nobles raised in powerful houses were taught the names and faces of all other major families from childhood.
If this turned into a brawl, it could very well escalate into a full-blown political scandal.
Hilde stood there, arms crossed, looking bored. The knights shifted nervously.
Anakin realized he was the only one who could stop her now.
“Lillian. That’s enough.”
“……”
Her eyes were already blazing — she wasn’t seeing anything else.
Anakin stepped in, gently taking hold of her wrist.
“Lady Martican, please forgive us. About the slap… I’ll apologize to you on her behalf later.”
“……”
Iry’s face flushed an even deeper red — but not from anger.
A moment ago, her fury had been ready to boil over, but the instant she looked into Anakin’s gemstone-like red eyes, her mind went blank.
This beautiful creature… what was he?
Her heart pounded uncontrollably just from staring into those eyes, the sting on her cheek already forgotten.
Lillian, meanwhile, stared at Anakin’s hand around her wrist.
The guards on both sides traded wary glances, tensions high.
Then — as if a bomb had gone off — a deafening blast shook the entire building.
KWA-BOOM!
“What the—?!”
“What’s going on?!”
The thunderous noise and violent tremor rattled the chandeliers and sent shockwaves of panic through the crowd.
The knights shouted urgently.
“My lady! Get the young masters out, now!”
“Yes!”
Disasters never announced their arrival — and from the theater’s entrance, a line of unknown armed men began streaming in.
“Come out, you damn bastard.”
From among them, a man in a robe, who looked like their leader, stepped forward and shouted.
“Come out, Pavion. Are you only going to show yourself if we kill every single person here?”
Pavion?
That name… it sounds familiar.
In the tense crowd, one of Lillian’s knights stepped forward.
“Hey, what’s going on? They look like mages from the Latus school.”
Latus—one of the five great schools of the continent…
Unfortunately, the original story focused mostly on romance, so there wasn’t much information to be had about this kind of monster-infested fantasy world.
The most you could glean was from famous incidents and figures that made it into the newspapers… and maybe their connections.
Anakin looked around for an escape route.
But in this enclosed space, the only way out was the entrance blocked by those men.
On top of that, with only two knights, they were badly outnumbered—six trained mages against them.
Even adding in Lady Iry’s knights, they only had four fighters total.
As Anakin’s eyes scanned the crowd, they landed on one man who stood out—calm and composed amidst all the anxious, restless people.
Brown curls. Amber eyes.
To his surprise, it was the unpleasant-looking man he’d seen earlier outside the crowded theater.
He alone looked relaxed, almost like a third-party spectator enjoying the scene.
And when Anakin saw him, something clicked.
Ah… now he remembered. Pavion, the Metal Mage.
A member of the Pasadian school—another of the five great schools alongside Latus—and famed across the continent for his mastery of metal magic.
Matching him perfectly to the description from the novel, Anakin was certain.
Taking a deep breath, he approached the man.
“Oh? Isn’t this the pretty young lord who was staring at me earlier?”
Pavion grinned slyly at the sight of Anakin walking toward him.
“You’re the Pavion they’re after, aren’t you?”
At Anakin’s sharp question, Pavion crossed his arms and smirked.
“That’s right. Sharp one, aren’t you? Not like the other riffraff. You recognized me at a glance.”
“Are you on the run?”
“Well… you could put it that way. Let’s just say they hold a deep grudge against me.”
“If they catch you… will they kill you?”
“What? Pfft!”
Anakin’s question was serious, but Pavion clutched his stomach and burst out laughing, making Anakin frown.
* * *
