Chapter 226
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 226
Chapter Title: The One Who Will Become Mine.
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A vast and magnificent stage.
Over a thousand seats.
Layer upon layer of balconies.
The opera house, adorned with nothing but the finest, was so breathtakingly beautiful it resembled a work of art in itself.
Any actor or musician would feel their life complete after performing here just once.
But at this very moment...
Not a single performer graced the stage.
There was only the image projected on the screen and the sound echoing from the speakers installed on the stage.
"Hmm."
At the front of that stage.
In the VIP balcony seat on the second floor—with the best view of the stage in the entire sprawling opera house—a woman was intently watching the footage.
Her long legs elegantly crossed.
Her slender body leaning slightly.
Her pale, delicate hand propping up her chin.
She wasn't so much sitting as reclining, watching the video with an air of utter nonchalance, as if lounging at home in front of the TV.
Well, it wasn't entirely inaccurate.
This opera house might not be her home, but it had undeniably become her property just moments ago.
And so, the woman—who had monopolized this grand space as the sole audience member—spoke without taking her eyes from the screen.
"Are you certain it's him?"
"I stake my life on it."
"What a dull joke."
She sneered at the middle-aged man who had been kneeling silently behind her like mere furniture.
Then she drawled lazily.
"If your report is wrong, do you think sacrificing just your life will suffice?"
It was a ruthless remark toward a man who had pledged his very life to vouch for the report's authenticity.
But the middle-aged man showed no disappointment.
On the contrary, he accepted it as a matter of course, bowing his head even deeper to correct himself.
"Then I stake my family as well."
If there was even the slightest error in his report, he would offer all their assets and commit ritual suicide with every last family member.
She wore a bored expression upon hearing his declaration without a hint of hesitation.
"Forget it. I'm not interested in the Rockefeller family's pocket change, and you're worth more alive than dead."
"My gratitude for your mercy."
"Hmph, at least you know how to speak boldly."
Her scoff was brief.
Dismissing the middle-aged man, she turned her gaze back to the footage.
She stared intently at the hand movements of the black-haired young man playing the violin on the screen, then murmured softly.
"It does seem there's no trace of the Seventy-Two Species Martial Style."
"Yes, the elders confirmed that point as well."
"And yet you sensed powerful psionics in his performance?"
"Indeed."
If any other Seven Dragon Society expert had heard that, they would have scoffed at the absurdity.
Even the seven clans of the Seven Dragon Society had innate limits to the psionics they could wield.
The Seventy-Two Species Martial Style existed precisely to surpass those limits.
It amplified each individual's psionics, transformed their nature to reinforce the body, and manifested them as specific abilities—the society's supreme secret art.
To infuse psionics into a performance without using the Seventy-Two Species Martial Style?
And to spread psionic waves so vividly across all of London?
Impossible.
No even a pinnacle master could control psionics with such precision without borrowing its power.
"What an intriguing tale."
But she looked intrigued.
Not because she trusted the pinnacle master and head of the prestigious Rockefeller family to mistake psionics or joke about his clan's fate.
It was the sheer implausibility that piqued her interest—the need to verify such an outrageous claim.
Moreover, the incident held other fascinating elements.
"It's a pity we couldn't grasp what truly happened in London this time."
"...My deepest apologies."
"Apologize profusely."
Failing at intelligence gathering was forgivable, but dampening her curiosity was a grave sin.
After coldly rebuking the middle-aged man, she tapped the armrest with the fingers of her free hand, lost in thought.
'As expected, there's more to the London incident than we know.'
Magic Lord Carl's death.
The assault by monsters of unknown origin.
Those alone were captivating enough.
But what truly drew her attention was the Azure Dragon Clan's stance on the event.
Normally, whether out of their upright nature or to flaunt their honor, they would report every detail meticulously.
Yet this time, they had only vaguely informed fellow Seven Dragon Society members that Liberation Brigade remnants were involved—then gone silent.
As if they couldn't steal another's glory.
Or as if hiding something that must never be revealed.
'What are you hiding, Rose?'
Any other princess might not raise suspicion.
But for the rigid Azure Dragon Princess to act this way was bizarre enough.
And now a performer appeared who seemed to wield psionics in a completely unfamiliar way—through music—without the Seventy-Two Species Martial Style.
How could she not be curious?
And the Azure Dragon Princess wasn't the only suspicious one.
'Ainsha, what did you see?'
At the center of the footage, a white-haired girl was drawing all attention, spreading psionics even with the Dragon Throat Chant Sound Style.
'And above all, Li Chingwei, what scheme are you plotting now?'
The moment she saw the violinist's jet-black hair, an image sprang to mind: the black-haired girl who treated conspiracy and intrigue as her very nature.
'And what influence did this man have on your strange behaviors?'
The Azure Dragon Princess inexplicably hiding secrets.
The White Dragon Princess breaking her own rule against using psionics in performances.
The Black Dragon Princess, who had forged a marriage pact with the Sword Duke, battling the Liberation Brigade and ruthlessly eliminating spies in baffling ways.
The recent odd actions of these three princesses—all directly or indirectly linked to this man—only fueled her intrigue further.
What if their peculiar behaviors stemmed from this young man?
What was his true identity?
The unprecedented genius who invented the seventy-third martial style in Seven Dragon Society history?
A fraudster cleverly faking psionics at Li Chingwei's behest?
Or some other secret?
'How fascinating.'
Instead of frustration at the unsolvable puzzle, she smiled faintly.
Then, in a voice as clear as a golden bead rolling on a silver tray, she spoke.
"Hans."
"Yes."
"Bring him before me. That will absolve your failure."
"...May I use forceful means?"
"Do as you please."
She nodded readily.
A mere performer might be easy, but dragging someone—an enigmatic psionic master tied to three princesses—would be no simple task.
"However, I won't tolerate even a single scratch on him."
"...?"
Hans blinked in confusion.
The usual her would say as long as he was alive, it was fine—no such conditions.
As if sensing his doubt.
She murmured softly.
"I can't very well ruin someone capable of such ecstatic performances before he becomes mine."
Her sun-like golden eyes fixed on the black-haired youth in the footage as she added one more warning.
"Remember this. If you fail to deliver him to me intact, that will be the moment you truly must lay down your life."
From brilliant talents to rare treasures.
She seized whatever she desired, never once failing.
The greediest of the seven princesses.
Arrogant beyond all others.
And thus, the loftiest.
The Seven Dragon Society's strongest princess began to move.
Tang!
In a forest where birds chirped peacefully.
In front of a cabin deep within, a middle-aged man was splitting firewood.
Each swing of the axe made his worm-like muscles writhe, sending logs flying with resounding cracks.
A sturdy man whose salt-and-pepper hair belied no hint of frailty.
Hermann paused his chopping.
He set down the axe, sat on the stump, and let out a heavy sigh.
Not from exhaustion. Compared to his lifelong labors, this was mere exercise.
But one reason utterly unrelated to his stamina made him unable to swing the axe any longer.
That's when voices drifted from somewhere.
"My clothes are still soaked..."
"I told you, you should've given better directions. You sent us the wrong way, and we ended up splashing into the river."
"The location was accurate. Unlike with the prophecy, the problem was not falling into the Riemann River."
"...You didn't foresee us falling in the river and deliberately give vague distance and direction, did you?"
"Of course. A man and woman falling in water together triggers the suspension bridge effect. Soaked to the skin, appeal skyrockets. Perfect score."
"Fine, the effect of giving me a headache is perfect."
Hermann was puzzled.
Who would wander into this remote forest trail?
But only for a moment.
Seeing the newcomers, his face hardened.
"At least you found the right path."
Hermann ignored whatever the insolent-eyed black-haired youth was saying.
Or rather, he couldn't focus on him.
He was too stunned by the white-haired girl tagging along behind, looking like a drowned rat.
"President Ainsha? Why are you here...?"
The world-renowned singer and High Priestess of the Sacred Alliance.
Owner of the massive Tia Mart conglomerate—a White Dragon Clan princess no true artist could fail to recognize.
As Hermann failed to hide his shock and confusion, the black-haired youth approached casually.
"Hey, you're Hermann, right?"
"...And who might you be?"
"Me? Just a humble violinist."
The black-haired youth shrugged.
Rimon grinned at Hermann and added.
"Oh, and a client with a commission for you."
"A commission? You mean sculpture?"
"Something like that."
Hermann's expression grew complicated as Rimon spoke so nonchalantly about an irreplaceable task.
Then he shook his head.
"Unfortunately, if you're looking for a sculptor, you've come to the wrong place. Please leave."
Called Michelangelo reborn in his youth, the world's greatest sculptor who birthed countless masterpieces.
But for three years now, he had abandoned all work and secluded himself. Slowly, he extended one hand.
With a bitter smile, his trembling fingers pointed to the firewood—not cleanly split, but jaggedly shattered and crushed.
"I can no longer create sculptures."