Chapter 339

Chapter 339. Invitation

Things ‍​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‍were even less troublesome in the Northern Territory.

General ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍Kane of the Demi-Human Legion was still faithfully carrying out the “tacit understanding” between him and Sylvia—every three days, he would send a small squad to posture as if they were attacking at the border, while the Northern Territory defenders cooperated by firing a few cannons. Both sides put on an extremely lively performance.

Everything ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍was under control.

The ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍days moved forward one by one. Before anyone realized it, the date of the coronation ceremony had arrived.

...

The ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍night before the coronation.

Every street in the Royal Capital was illuminated as bright as day by newly installed magitech lamps.

Silver-white light poured down from the tops of the streetlights, casting a warm luster over the ancient bluestone road, making it look like a flowing galaxy.

The shops and residences along the streets had long since been hung with silk bearing the royal family’s golden lion pattern.

Children chased and played in the streets and alleys, while adults crowded every tavern, raising cheap ale cups and using the crudest yet most sincere language to either curse or celebrate the coming of a new era that belonged to everyone.

Golden Rose Palace, third floor, bedchamber.

Unlike the roaring clamor outside, this place was so quiet that she could hear her own heartbeat.

Sylvia stood alone before the enormous dressing mirror.

The woman in the mirror wore the simplest white silk nightgown, and her waterfall-like silver-white hair was unbound, falling smoothly over her shoulders.

On the velvet tray before her, a crown lay quietly.

The crown of Astrelia.

Its design was not particularly intricate. It could even be called somewhat simple. Four gemstones of different sizes were embedded in its silver frame, symbolizing the kingdom’s four territories.

At the very center was a thumb-sized blue Magic Crystal, transparent throughout.

Ancient records claimed that this Magic Crystal came from the sword of Roland, the first Hero King, and contained the power of the stars—another day, she could find Roland’s Memory Construct and ask whether that was true.

Under the lamplight, the gemstones refracted a cold and dignified radiance.

Sylvia slowly reached out, her slender fingertips stopping at the sharp edge of the crown.

She stood before the mirror for a long time.

The cheers, songs, and clinking wine cups outside came through the thick glass, becoming blurred and distant.

Ten years.

From the time she was twelve, when she first met that filthy boy during Saint Arcadia’s entrance test,

to the time she was fifteen, when she was forced to make a military pledge in court and truly understood her goal.

From carving out a world of her own with sword and fire amid the wind and snow of Winter City,

to today, standing at the pinnacle of power in the Golden Rose Palace, with a crown symbolizing supreme authority placed before her.

Ten years of drinking ice could not cool the blood in her heart.

Everyone was cheering for her and celebrating for her.

But no one knew what she was feeling at this moment.

Excitement? There was indeed some.

Nervousness? Of course, that was not lacking either.

But beneath these clearly identifiable emotions, there also settled something more complicated, something harder to explain or describe.

Sylvia finally moved away from the dressing mirror. She raised her hand and released the miniature seal on her Storage Ring.

A faint white light flashed, and a neatly folded set of clothes quietly appeared in her palm.

A deep-blue cloak, silver-gray lining, and on the left side of the chest, carefully embroidered in silver thread, the sword-and-shield school emblem of Saint Arcadia Academy’s Knight Branch.

It was the school uniform from when she graduated.

She unfolded the uniform and examined it carefully under the lamplight.

The material was excellent. Even after so many years, it had not faded.

Sylvia removed the smooth silk nightgown and slowly put on this slightly old uniform.

When the final silver button was fastened, she looked at the mirror again.

The waist was a little tighter, and the collar was a little looser.

After all, so many years had passed, and the youthful innocence of a girl had long since faded.

But that feeling—

After putting on these clothes, the invisible weight that had seemed to press upon her shoulders, heavier than mountain ranges, miraculously became lighter.

She was no longer the queen who was about to be crowned.

She was only Sylvia.

She did not alert any of the guards standing outside the door.

Just like that, alone, wearing Saint Arcadia’s old uniform, she stepped with soft footsteps that were almost inaudible, passed through the silent corridors of the Golden Rose Palace, and familiarly pushed open the heavy stone door leading to the underground secret laboratory.

Inside the door, the dim-blue glow flickering from all kinds of magitech instruments cast constantly jumping light and shadow across the cold walls.

Logaris was sitting before the central operating table.

Before him lay three ancient dragon-language tomes, each as thick as a brick. His left hand held a Memory Crystal that was recording data at high speed, while his right hand traced empty lines through the air, manipulating a rapidly rotating three-dimensional spellwork model so structurally complicated that it made one’s scalp tingle.

When he raised his head and saw Sylvia standing at the door, the fingers manipulating spatial Mana abruptly stopped.

His iconic red and blue heterochromatic eyes moved from Sylvia’s silver hair, slowly down to the collar of her uniform, then from the collar to the familiar sword-and-shield school emblem.

“You—”

“Change into yours.”

Sylvia directly interrupted him. She leaned lazily against the doorframe, folded her arms before her chest, and raised her chin slightly.

In her silver-gray eyes was a wonderfully indescribable light, somewhere between command and coquettishness.

“What?”

“Your old uniform. The senior teaching assistant one.”

Sylvia tilted her head, and a sly curve appeared at the corner of her mouth.

“Do not tell me that someone as sentimental as you threw it away.”

Logaris stared at her and remained silent for a full three seconds. In the laboratory, there was only the monotonous hum of the magitech instruments.

Then he put down the crystal in his hand and stood from the high stool.

He raised his right hand, brought his index and middle fingers together, pointed them at himself, and casually snapped his fingers.

“Snap.”

A soft sound rang out.

The spiritual light of transmutation magic silently spread through the air.

Faint-blue light flowed out from his fingertips like living water, spreading silently upward along the hem of his black research robe.

The elaborate black research robe with gold trim receded inch by inch within a single breath.

In its place appeared a deep-blue cloak, a silver-gray senior teaching assistant uniform, and the silver faculty brooch on his chest that represented Saint Arcadia Academy’s highest academic honor.

Even his hairstyle underwent a subtle change—the black hair that had originally been combed perfectly neat now became slightly messier, carrying a touch of youthful unruliness.

Sylvia stared at him for several seconds without saying a word.

“What is it?” Logaris asked, casually pushing up the rimless glasses on the bridge of his nose, as if they were welded to his face.

“Nothing.” She quickly looked away, her voice barely louder than a mosquito’s hum. “I just think... it really does look quite good.”

The final three words were almost spoken inside her mouth.

Logaris did not respond to that sentence. The corner of his mouth only curved slightly.

Then he casually grabbed several spare High-Purity Magic Crystals from a storage cabinet beside him and stuffed them into his pocket.

“Let’s go.” Sylvia seemed to feel that the air was somewhat hot and turned first, walking toward the door.

“Where to?”

“What do you think?”

She looked back.

In the night sky over the Royal Capital, a new round of celebratory fireworks exploded with a bang.

A golden rain of light scattered across the sky and shone through the Gothic window at the end of the corridor, falling perfectly across her peerlessly beautiful profile.

Saint Arcadia’s old uniform set off her moonlight-like silver-white hair, and the roaring waves of celebration outside the window became her backdrop at this moment.

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