6. Traven
As late afternoon gave way to evening, the banquet commenced, and dusk soon settled outside the windows. The sky grew dim, but neither the building's interior nor its surroundings fell into darkness. Magical lamps installed everywhere, just like those on Poenneu Street in Eliyum, blazed with brilliant light.
Having finished their meals in the banquet hall, the nobles flocked to the ballroom. The hems of the long, voluminous dresses worn by the noble ladies swept across the ballroom's mirror-polished marble floor. Beside them, elderly noblemen escorted the women with dignified steps, snatching glasses of wine from the trays of scurrying attendants and wetting their throats repeatedly as they chatted among themselves.
Here and there, young noblemen with weary faces and ambiguous smiles mingled among the ladies. The noble maidens, their faces delicately powdered and adorned with elaborate hairpieces, cast secretive, tempting glances their way.
"It would be wonderful if such splendid opportunities arose more often."
Baroness Belpharos smiled as she surveyed her surroundings. Indeed, the ballroom was packed with so many noblemen and women that one could believe nearly all the central nobles of Ashton and the frontier nobles were in attendance.
"Olivier. Smile, dear."
Baroness Belpharos subtly glanced at Olivier standing beside her, covering her mouth with a silk fan and fluttering it gently. Olivier's expression wasn't particularly bright; the moment they entered the ballroom, she had spotted two familiar faces in one corner, surrounded by noble maidens who looked more mature than she did.
Lord Ritterven and Lord Crushros smiled continuously at the women, chatting with cheerful expressions, and each time, the ladies beside them burst into exaggerated laughter. The two noblemen, who had gone unnoticed on Poenneu Street last winter, had risen as dark horses filling the void left by the young, promising nobles who returned to the eastern continent at the start of the spring semester—now here in Astar.
Even though their eyes had met at the ballroom entrance, they showed no sign of approaching to greet her. Olivier decided that whenever their gazes crossed, she would respond with at least a faintly cold demeanor. Their letters of well-being and small gifts had been nuisances anyway, so outright ignoring them seemed like a fine choice now that things had come to this. Having swiftly resolved to ignore them, Olivier lifted her chin high, scanned the room, and resolved to savor the exhilarating atmosphere of the ball.
Toward the front of the ballroom stood the tall man with ash-brown hair she had glimpsed earlier from her guest room window, deep in conversation with a middle-aged noble. The middle-aged man, whose hair was streaked with gray at the temples, was Count Traven, as her mother had mentioned during the banquet. But she knew nothing about the handsome noble facing him.
Olivier shot a curious glance at Baroness Belpharos beside her. Catching her daughter's look, the baroness fluttered her fan nonchalantly and nodded toward them with her chin.
"He's Lady Loren's fiancé. The famous Sir Kingston of the Ashton Empire."
Now that she mentioned it, Evril seemed even more extraordinary. With her goddess-like beauty, brains enough to enter Eximia, an impeccable family, and a fiancé like that. Olivier eyed Sir Kingston cautiously. Truly, God was unfair. Evril's fiancé was handsome enough to captivate attention from afar. Turning her gaze away from him, she spotted the two wrinkled squids surrounded by ladies in the far corner.
"Why aren't the ladies approaching him?"
As Olivier wore a puzzled expression, Baroness Belpharos lifted the corner of her mouth.
"He's known as the cold ice prince—rumors say he rarely entertains anyone. He doesn't even look considerate or kind, does he? He was born to rule and dominate. They say the only women he's close to are his fiancée, Lady Loren, and Lady Traven."
At her mother's words, Olivier quickly scanned the ballroom. She soon spotted the tall, brown-haired young lady who had stood beside Count Traven just before the banquet began. Lady Traven was heading toward her father. She was slightly taller than Evril, who was already quite tall for a woman—practically the height of an average adult man. Her flawless figure, outlined by the dress she wore today, harmonized perfectly with her sculpted face, leaving no room for criticism.
"They look so well-matched standing together. What if it sparks misunderstandings or rumors in high society...?"
As Olivier voiced her cautious suspicion, Baroness Belpharos slyly lifted the corner of her mouth.
"With a fiancée like Lady Loren? Unlikely. Besides, she's two years older than Sir Kingston. I hear they're simply close as senior and junior from Eximia. And she's in the imperial guard, so she has frequent official encounters with the Kingston ducal family, who maintain close ties to the imperial house. I've heard they don't appear together at private events outside the palace."
Baroness Belpharos was still whispering the latest society gossip to her daughter when—
"Oh? Baroness Belpharos."
A plump middle-aged noblewoman approached the mother and daughter standing by the ballroom wall and greeted them familiarly. Upon seeing her face, Baroness Belpharos's expression lit up with the joy of encountering an acquaintance.
"Viscountess Laiten, what an honor. I hope you've been well."
Baroness Belpharos greeted her with proper etiquette. Viscountess Laiten returned the courtesy and asked,
"I'm doing splendidly, as always. But this lovely lady...?"
"Ah, this is Olivier. Surely you remember? My daughter."
Viscountess Laiten smiled at Olivier.
"You've grown so much I wouldn't have recognized you. Seeing you now after that time in Eliyum three years ago, you seem like a completely different person. If we'd met at another ball, I might not have known you at all."
"Lord Laiten attended the Loren family's dinner party last time alone."
"Mm, I wasn't feeling well then. My chronic headaches flared up. Thankfully, I'm fine today, so it's a pleasure meeting acquaintances like this. Shall we go over there? Let me introduce you to my friends."
Viscountess Laiten pointed to a group of noblewomen in the middle of the ballroom. As Olivier followed her toward them, her heart was a tangle of emotions. She had made her society debut somewhat haphazardly last year during provincial tours with Shaylin—at the Loren dinner party and winter gatherings on Poenneu Street's mansion district—but this Traven count family ball in Astar felt entirely different. Now past her 15th birthday, the gazes directed at her felt like those appraising a prize exhibit at a judging fair. Eyes raked over her hairstyle, makeup, jewelry, and dress from all sides, scrutinizing her entire body.
"This is Olivier of the Belpharos barony in Templton. She's just turned 15."
Viscountess Laiten introduced her to the group of noblewomen. Olivier curtsied with utmost humility and grace.
"It's an honor to meet you."
"What a beautiful young lady."
"And such a feminine voice—delightful to listen to."
Introduced to the noblewomen gathered in the ballroom, Olivier quickly won their favor after just a few exchanges. When the ladies were alone together, as women often did, the talk turned to gossip about the party guests. Quick-witted Olivier sensed their interest lay in the tall, handsome Sir Kingston standing over there. She shared stories of times spent with his fiancée, Lady Loren, framing everything positively to highlight the Loren count family's standing among Ashton's central nobles—carefully avoiding any words that could disadvantage them or harm reputations. She lavished praise on Lady Loren's stunning beauty, especially her refined and elegant demeanor.
The noblewomen quizzed Olivier on the latest gossip about Evril swirling in society, but wisely, when it came to facts she herself didn't know, she shyly lowered her head and evaded, her socially mature poise deeply impressing them. Sensing the favorable comments about her daughter, Baroness Belpharos felt pleased. Olivier needed to leave the best impression possible here. These noblewomen might later introduce her to their acquaintances and relatives at other society gatherings when she reached marriageable age.
For the Belpharos barony—which held only a baronial title with no territory and modest annual income for a noble house—maximizing her daughter's beauty and reputation to marry her off with minimal dowry would be ideal. Their debts, which had begun accumulating late last year, were already pressing the family finances unbearably; they couldn't afford massive wedding dowries. This was a chance to plant favorable impressions for Olivier, drawing young nobles of status and wealth to pursue invitations to the Belpharos household, urging their mothers with tales of her lovely appearance, refined demeanor, and gentle personality.
"So, Miss Olivier, what do you usually enjoy at home?"
One noblewoman asked after hearing that Olivier, past 15, still hadn't entered the Academia.
"I mostly play the piano, do embroidery, or read novels to pass the time."
"Oh, novels? At your age, I devoured romance novels too. Do you enjoy romances?"
The noblewoman smiled brightly. As Olivier nodded shyly, she pressed on excitedly.
"Romance novels come in many genres—which do you prefer?"
Olivier thought of the chaebol romances she'd been bingeing lately but realized money-related topics didn't suit such occasions, so she pondered briefly.
"I read mage romances."
"Is Ferris still the protagonist these days? The White Mage."
Olivier nodded. The noblewoman shrugged and continued.
"She was the model for all mage romances back in my day too—the strongest living mage, after all. But..."
The noblewoman lowered her voice conspiratorially, as if sharing a secret. Olivier widened her eyes and feigned rapt attention.
"Staying long in the western continent, I've heard of an even more dashing and powerful mage. Now that I know of him, I think if Ferris wrote a romance about him for readers tired of her, it'd top the bestseller lists at Leysha bookstores right away."
As Olivier gazed at her with feigned interest, the noblewoman continued, satisfied.
"Head west from here in Astar, and you reach Nibil, the western outpost city. Past Nibil further west lies the barren wasteland of Astarna. I traveled there with my husband once, but a sandstorm hit suddenly, and we got lost deep in the Astarna wastes—it's a vast desert inside. After two grueling days, we found a local village and were overjoyed, but they spoke a language akin to ancient tongue. Luckily, my husband, an Academia arithmetic mage graduate, managed some basic conversation."
Having read mage romances to death, Olivier wasn't truly interested, but she suppressed her boredom and pretended to listen eagerly. Delighted by the young lady's focused attention, the noblewoman went on.
"From what they said, Astarna was once grasslands with a different name. But a thousand years ago, during the Anti-Magic War, a mighty mage battled dragons there, unleashing devastating spells that slaughtered them mercilessly. The aftermath turned it into a barren wasteland overnight."
"Dragons?"
Olivier echoed, and the noblewoman smiled.
"Yes, dragons. I didn't believe it at first either. But the village elder led us to a cliff and showed us. Below lay petrified dragon remains—a tail, wings, and part of a skull."
"If I may ask boldly—is it true?"
Dragons, the mightiest magical creatures, slaughtered? Olivier found it hard to believe. Dragons appeared only in myths and legends now, and a human mage had butchered them?
"I could hardly believe it myself. The elder shared another intriguing tale."
"...?"
Noticing Olivier's genuine curiosity this time, the noblewoman leaned in and whispered.
"Deep beneath the Mirror Sea, dividing east and west continents, sealed dragons are imprisoned. That mage sealed them away. That's why no tides, storms, winds, or mana stir there."
Seeing Olivier's astonishment, the noblewoman smiled again.
"Knowing this, I think mage romance protagonists should be him now, not Ferris. Next year in Leysha, I must host a tea party and tell famous authors—it's prime material, don't you think?"
"Yes, so fresh and new—even just hearing it makes my heart race like reading a novel."
"The western continent's inland is full of mysteries, still unexplored. If I get the chance, I'd love to venture deeper."
The noblewoman continued chatting pleasantly with Olivier on similar topics. Because she was so engrossed, Lord Ritterven and Lord Crushros—who seemed to have wrapped up with the ladies—couldn't easily approach. Having decided to ignore them anyway, Olivier felt genuine gratitude toward the noblewoman sharing such entertaining stories. A young, beautiful lady ignoring potential suitors to converse amiably with a stranger left a profound impression of chastity on the surrounding older women. Baroness Belpharos watched her daughter fondly, fluttering her fan.