The Tower of Magic Conference had concluded, but its echoes reverberated across the world like a seismic event.
The headlines were everywhere.
Arthur Nightingale, Chosen by Archmage Charlotte Alaric.
A Junior Conference Paper Surpasses Senior-Level Research.
Tower of Magic's Newest Protegé: A Rising Star or a Stolen Talent?
Rachel scowled at her phone, her sapphire eyes darkening as she read through the articles. Every single one of them boasted about the Tower, about how they had discovered a rare, unprecedented genius. As if they had nurtured him. As if they had any right to him.
Her shoulders twitched, her grip on the device tightening.
A low, irritated click of the tongue escaped her lips.
"How dare they try to steal him away?" she whispered, her voice trembling with quiet fury.
Because that's exactly what this was.
The Tower of Magic—the institution that had spent centuries trying to rival her family—had latched onto Arthur like leeches. They would shower him with resources, claim him as their own, parade him around like a trophy.
She knew who was behind this.
Her gaze turned cold as she muttered a single name.
Because, of course, it was Cecilia Slatemark.
Princess of the Slatemark Empire. The Tower Master's personal disciple.
Rachel exhaled sharply, forcing herself to remain calm. She needed to talk to him. Before he got too deep into this.
Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she strode toward the elevator, her mind set.
The moment she stepped into the lobby, it was as if fate had aligned itself perfectly.
The doors to the warp gate room slid open, and Arthur walked in.
And—of course—Cecilia was beside him.
Rachel's eyes flickered to the princess, her irritation flaring up at the smug tilt of Cecilia's lips.
"Hey, Rach," Arthur greeted, his tone warm but casual.
Rachel didn't answer. She simply stepped forward, her arms opening.
Before Arthur could even react, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a hug.
Arthur stiffened for a second before relenting, his arms circling her waist as he patted her back.
"Rach?" he muttered, confused.
Rachel buried her face into his shoulder for a brief moment, inhaling his familiar scent before she finally pulled away, her expression now firm and serious.
"Arthur," she said, her voice clear and direct, "are you really going to the Tower of Magic?"
Arthur's brows furrowed slightly, as if the question caught him off guard.
"Well, I can't really pass up an opportunity like that," he admitted.
Rachel's jaw clenched.
She knew he was right.
It was the logical choice.
It was a golden opportunity.
Even her father—King Alastor Creighton himself—while acknowledging Arthur's potential, hadn't given him such an offer.
But that wasn't the point.
"We are better," Rachel said, her voice laced with conviction as she looked him dead in the eye. "We are better than those idiots at the Tower."
A soft chuckle interrupted them.
Rachel turned her gaze, and sure enough, Cecilia was standing there, arms folded, a smug smirk playing at her lips.
"Hey, hey, don't be so arrogant, Ray-Ray," Cecilia teased, tilting her head mockingly. "The Tower isn't so bad."
Rachel's eyes narrowed dangerously.
Arthur sighed, watching the tension crackle between them like a live wire.
And just like that, another battle between Creighton and Slatemark had begun.
Rachel's sapphire eyes glowed with a quiet fire as she crossed her arms. "Everyone knows Creighton mages are above the Tower of Magic's mages."
Cecilia, lounging with her usual smug ease, merely shrugged. "Perhaps. But the Tower Master is stronger than the King of Creighton, isn't she?" Her crimson eyes gleamed with amusement. "The next generation will surpass the Creightons."
Rachel scoffed. "Not as long as I am the next generation." Golden light unfurled from her body like a blooming sun, crackling with divine authority.
Cecilia smirked. "Nah, it will." A scarlet glow erupted from her in turn, rich and potent, witchcraft laced into every particle of mana she released.
Saintess and Witch. Order and Chaos. The two opposing forces clashed in the Ophelia dorm lounge, rippling against each other with terrifying intensity.
For a split second, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then, silver light descended upon them.
The golden and crimson auras didn't simply disperse. They were crushed.
Rachel's eyes widened as her Gift—her light mana—was suppressed as if it were nothing but an afterthought. Cecilia, always full of bravado, stiffened, her usual smirk faltering.
And at the center of it all stood Arthur.
Expression blank, hand raised, as though he had merely swatted away an annoying fly.
Rachel inhaled sharply. This wasn't just mana. This was authority. A force neither holy nor cursed, neither saintly nor witchcraft—it was something different, something overwhelming.
Only then did she fully process it.
Arthur had stopped them.
'It's absurd,' Rachel thought, her fingers curling slightly at her side. She remembered. Back during their first practical evaluation, Arthur had been weak. Not incompetent, but helpless. He couldn't interfere when she fought Cecilia back then—he could only watch.
Now he was above them.
Rachel exhaled, pushing her shock away. "Alright, alright. You made your point," she muttered, brushing a hand through her hair as she took a step back.
Cecilia, ever shameless, recovered quickly. "Tsk," she clicked her tongue, placing a hand on her hip. "You could've just said 'stop' instead of flexing, you know."
Arthur sighed, lowering his hand. "You wouldn't have listened."
Cecilia grinned. "True."
Rachel gave Arthur one last glance. His silver light had faded, but the weight of it lingered in the air. She clenched her fists slightly, feeling a strange mix of admiration and frustration swirl inside her.
Because whether she liked it or not, Arthur Nightingale was no longer someone who needed her protection.
And that… changed everything.
Rachel stared at him, her heart pounding louder than she cared to admit.
"Rach, I'm not going to be tied down to anything," Arthur said, his blue eyes steady as they met hers. "I accepted the offer from the Tower of Magic because it will make me stronger. That's all there is to it."
She exhaled slowly, searching his face for something—anything—that would tell her more than just his words. "So you don't care about the Tower?" she asked, voice quieter than she intended.
Arthur nodded without hesitation.
A flicker of something unfamiliar—something dangerously close to relief—spread through her chest.
"Then what do you care about?" Cecilia's voice cut through the moment, softer than usual.
Arthur turned his gaze to her. And then, without hesitation, he spoke.
Rachel felt the weight of the words settle deep in her bones. Cecilia, standing beside her, had gone still, her usual smirk absent, her crimson eyes searching Arthur's for something she couldn't name.
"I care about both of you," Arthur repeated, and this time, his voice carried an undeniable certainty. "And so… I'll do it. One month from now, against Lucifer, I'll win."
Rachel's breath caught.
Cecilia's fingers twitched.
Arthur stepped forward, closing the space between them, his presence undeniable. "And when I do," he continued, his voice steady, unshakable, "be there. Not as the princess of Creighton, not as the princess of Slatemark." His azure gaze locked onto theirs, something raw and unfiltered flickering beneath the surface.
"Just as Rachel and Cecilia."
No royal titles. No noble responsibilities. No politics.
A quiet hum filled the space between them, a tension that was not uncomfortable, but undeniably there.
Rachel swallowed. She had no response, no clever retort.
Cecilia, for once, had nothing to tease.
Arthur just was, standing before them, waiting.
And neither of them knew what to do with it.