The number of nobles attending the Midsummer Festival was no small feat. Many of them were lords of remote fiefs under the Byrd family's domain—unlike Blake, that poor "fall guy," their rise to the position of lord was clearly not due to any desire to be silenced through murder. In truth, though these nobles were merely cadet branches of the Byrd family, they held considerable sway within the clan and were counted among its core members. For the lesser nobles who could not gain a foothold in the main family, the annual Midsummer Festival became the perfect opportunity to curry favor with these branch lords. As the saying went, "Better to be the head of a chicken than the tail of a phoenix." Though many minor nobles held lowly status in the main family, once they left for the remote regions, they could secure relatively substantial benefits and positions of power. And this, too, was an ideal time for nobles to strengthen their bonds.
But today, all their attention was fixed squarely on four outsiders.
The moment Ophelia and her companions stepped into the hall, they instantly became the center of everyone's gaze.
Ophelia was dressed in a gown that was not the least bit ostentatious—one might even call it plain. The pristine, elegant dress accentuated her delicate and graceful figure. A shawl draped over her shoulders lent the young lady an air of refined charm. Framed by her violet hair, her slender arms, covered by elbow-length gloves trimmed with golden lace, stirred the hearts of all who beheld them. Her small nose and pale cherry lips were enough to captivate any man—but before that, the dignity radiating from those deep, azure eyes was enough to make anyone halt in their tracks beneath her gaze. It was the gaze of a superior looking down upon an inferior, brimming with confidence, self-respect, and solemnity. Merely being under that gaze forced many of the nobles present to lower their heads, ensuring they did not commit any breach of etiquette.
Naturally, that cascade of violet hair became the focal point of everyone's attention. Bathed in sunlight, it shimmered with a hazy, ethereal glow that dispelled any doubts anyone might have harbored. Even the nobles within the Byrd family who had long been privy to the matter now cast aside all their suspicions. This was undoubtedly the most authentic hue of the "Violet Blossom"—there could be no mistaking it.
Though Ophelia had stolen the spotlight the moment she appeared, this did not mean the others paled in her shadow. Charlotte wore her usual sweet smile as she followed closely at Ophelia's side, like the moon complementing the sun that was her mistress. Of course, Charlotte's "lineage" hailed from a noble family, and her sweet features were undeniably charming—but they still paled in comparison to Ophelia's. Yet Charlotte compensated for this with her unique aura. Simply by standing quietly beside Ophelia, she exuded a distinct sense of presence—as if she had been born a part of her mistress, never to be separated. It was a presence that felt both natural and unobtrusive.
As for Messiah and Semia, there was little need for further elaboration. Not only were they blessed with adorable, innocent looks, but the twins' unique attire alone was enough to secure them a place in the spotlight.
Just who were these women?
Ophelia, Charlotte, Messiah, and Semia—all were rare beauties, instantly piquing the interest of every noble present. After all, the topics of conversation among nobles always revolved around wealth, power, and women. And they clearly recalled that there had never been any rumors about these four young ladies within the Byrd family. This was clearly a most unexpected development.
The atmosphere in the hall grew subtle in an instant. Young nobles scrambled to inquire about the four women's origins, while the older nobles—those with greater seniority, experience, and prestige—furrowed their brows, pondering the forces these four represented. They had all seen it clearly: this quartet had been personally received by Viscount Wen. Though Viscount Wen held no lofty rank within the family, he was the most trusted confidant of the clan elder. In a sense, these nobles might have held higher titles than Viscount Wen, but when it came to influence within the Byrd family, they paled in comparison to this young viscount. In truth, it was a rare occurrence for anyone to be personally received by Viscount Wen at the Midsummer Festival hosted by the Byrd family.
Could it be that they were members of the royal family?
Many harbored similar thoughts, but they quickly dismissed their own conjectures. From their years of experience, these nobles could tell that the enthusiasm Viscount Wen displayed toward these four young ladies was anything but ordinary. It was not the gallantry of a young man toward beautiful women, nor the deference of a noble toward royalty. If one had to find a word to describe it... yes, it was *warmth*. As if the four standing before him were not members of the royal family, but his *comrades-in-arms*.
What on earth was going on here?
As a general rule, even if nobles felt disdain, they would still treat members of the royal family with the minimum respect befitting their station. Even those aligned with the royal faction had their limits. After all, nobles were nobles—not royalty. They had to safeguard not only the interests of the entire kingdom but also those of their own families. Thus, ordinary nobles would never grow too close to royalty, lest they be labeled as royal "traitors" by their own clansmen. As the clan elder's most trusted confidant, Viscount Wen should have understood this perfectly well. He ought to have known that given his status and position, fawning so openly over royalty was highly inappropriate. Was he not afraid of incurring the clan elder's wrath?
"Please, right this way, ladies," Viscount Wen said, extending a hand to invite Ophelia and her companions into the hall, all the while smiling inwardly. In truth, the moment he felt the confused gazes of the nobles upon him, he had immediately understood what they were thinking. But this did nothing to sway his resolve. In fact, from the moment he had written to report to the clan elder, Viscount Wen had known that without concrete evidence to back up his claims, he too would be branded a traitor by his own family. Thus, the mere presence of these four young ladies here was enough to prove the veracity of his report. After all, Viscount Wen had already informed the family that he had been unable to refuse the demands of that young lord. And the presence of Ophelia and the others was the very foundation upon which Viscount Wen had based that judgment. In this sense, Ophelia and her companions could indeed be considered his "allies" standing on the same side of the line.
With this thought in mind, Viscount Wen drew slightly closer to Ophelia, maintaining a delicate distance as he spoke in a low voice.
"I assume you understand the true purpose of this invitation?"
"Of course I do, Viscount Wen," Ophelia replied in a soft tone, her gaze fixed straight ahead without the slightest deviation. This elicited a faint bitter smile from Viscount Wen. He shook his head helplessly, then shrugged his shoulders.
"Frankly speaking, emotionally, I would have much preferred not to accept his lordship's proposal. But now I have no choice... do you understand what I mean?"
"Personally, I believe you have made a very wise decision, Viscount Wen," Ophelia said, coming to a halt and offering him a smile before gesturing toward a spot nearby. "We shall take our leave here, Viscount Wen. Please feel free to attend to your own affairs."
"As you wish, Miss Ophelia," Viscount Wen said. At these words, he knew his role was now at an end. He bowed slightly to Ophelia, then cast an uneasy glance at the twins standing behind her, who were now giggling and whispering to each other. Though Viscount Wen had never truly interacted with the twin sisters, their peculiar way of speaking and the terrifying power they had displayed in the training grounds were etched deeply in his memory. By the Saints, he prayed no noble would be foolish enough to provoke these two little devils.
Viscount Wen had half a mind to warn them of this, but the words died on his lips, and he could only swallow them back helplessly. After all, given his status, he had no right to tell those two to "behave themselves." In the end, Viscount Wen merely bowed slightly once more, then took his leave.
The moment Viscount Wen departed, the nobles who had been watching from nearby immediately closed in, attempting to pry some information out of the viscount. But Viscount Wen had no intention of entertaining them. Ignoring their polite greetings and probing questions, he turned on his heel and headed for the back hall, where the clan elder was already waiting for his arrival.
"Have our guests arrived?" the clan elder asked.
"Yes, Elder," Viscount Wen replied, quickly lowering his head at the sound of the elder's voice. "Our guests are here."
At Viscount Wen's answer, the old man narrowed his eyes slightly, looking at his subordinate with a hint of questioning in his gaze.
"Judging by your tone, it seems you are quite pleased by their arrival?"
"That is not my intention," Viscount Wen replied, drawing in a sharp breath of surprise. "But I believe that after seeing them with your own eyes, Elder, you will make a wise judgment."
"A wise judgment," the clan elder repeated, the corners of his lips curling upward in a faint sneer. "It seems you have great confidence in your own judgment."
"Though I know this is not the position I ought to take, this once... Elder, I have no doubts whatsoever about my judgment. We have no means to refuse or delay his lordship's demands," Viscount Wen said, lifting his head to gaze firmly at the old man before him, then stepping aside and gesturing toward the hall. The elder fell silent for a moment, then walked over to the window. He took a deep breath, then raised his head to look outside. In an instant, he spotted the four figures standing in the corner of the hall. This was not merely because they were so strikingly conspicuous, but also because of the aura Ophelia exuded—an aura that had made the nobles unconsciously keep their distance. At this moment, she stood with her eyes closed, leaning against the wall, her hands folded before her, radiating an air of unapproachable coldness. The twin sisters, however, seemed completely oblivious to the frosty aura emanating from Ophelia, continuing to whisper and giggle behind her. As for Charlotte, she remained quietly at Ophelia's side, playing the role of her lady's maid to perfection.
But when the clan elder's gaze fell upon Ophelia, his eyes suddenly widened in shock, as if he could not believe what he was seeing.
"How... how is this possible...?!"
"Elder?" Viscount Wen asked in alarm, lifting his head at the sound of the elder's trembling voice. He saw that the elder's face had turned deathly pale, his lips quivering, his hands clenched tightly into fists. This filled Viscount Wen with immense surprise. Ever since he had begun serving the elder, he had never seen the old man lose his composure like this. What on earth had he seen to make him so agitated?
"Her Royal Highness Princess Ophelia...?!" the old man gasped, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with disbelief. Then his figure swayed, and he stumbled backward several steps, collapsing against the wall as he gasped for breath. His face was ashen, and cold sweat beaded his forehead. This was not merely shock—Viscount Wen could even detect a hint of *fear* in it!
Fear?
"Elder? What is the matter...?" Viscount Wen began, hesitatingly.
"What is that young lady's name?!" the elder suddenly cut him off, his voice sharp with urgency.
"That...," Viscount Wen replied, pausing for a moment in confusion before racking his brain for the answer. "The young lady's name is Ophelia West. That much is certain..." As the words left his mouth, Viscount Wen too froze, his eyes widening as he stared at the elder, a realization dawning on him. Just now, the elder had called this young lady "Her Royal Highness the Princess"? But all the nobles in the kingdom knew that King West V had no heirs to speak of—not even a princess. Though in the annals of history, there had once been a royal princess known as the "Violet Blossom." Her name, if he recalled correctly, had been...
At this thought, Viscount Wen's face paled instantly. No wonder he had found the name so familiar when Ophelia had introduced herself. But he had never dreamed that it could *be her*?
This was far too much of a coincidence!
"Just what is that young lady's background?! How did she end up in the Duskwood? What is her relationship with that young man?!" Before Viscount Wen could fully recover from this shocking revelation, he was bombarded with a flurry of questions from the elder. But even if the elder asked him these questions, he had no answers to give! In truth, all this time, the Byrd family had been focusing solely on investigating that young lord. As for this royal member at his side, everyone had simply assumed she must have come from the royal family—and thus, there had been no need to delve into her origins. But Viscount Wen had never imagined that this royal member would bear a name that was impossible to ignore.
"I do not know her background, Elder," Viscount Wen replied, quickly regaining his composure despite the elder's urgent tone. After all, Ophelia had already passed away long before he was born. To this viscount, the young royal lady standing before him was merely someone who shared the same name. It was not something particularly worthy of deep thought or attention. "But from what I have observed, her relationship with that young lord is extremely close. The fact that Lord Blake has entrusted her with the management of his domain suggests that their bond is far more than that of a mere master and servant..."
Viscount Wen's answer was cautious and prudent, but the elder paid it no heed whatsoever. Unlike Viscount Wen, the old man had lived through that era. As a great noble, he had beheld the figure of that royal paragon known as the "Violet Blossom" countless times. Like many other great nobles, he had once hoped that the princess would guide the kingdom toward a more glorious future. But in the end, all their hopes had been dashed...
And yet now, here was a fact that was utterly beyond belief. Viscount Wen had not been alive to witness her, so his lack of surprise was understandable. But to the elder, he could never forget that shimmering cascade of beautiful violet hair—or that beautiful princess, with her regal bearing and dignity as a member of the royal family. This was not something that could be simply imitated!
By the Saints, what on earth was going on here? Could this young lady truly be the Violet Blossom? Why had she appeared here...?
At this thought, the old man's expression suddenly changed. He tore his gaze away, letting out a long, heavy sigh. In that single moment, he seemed to have aged ten years.
"Wen," he called out.
"Yes, Elder? What is your command?" Viscount Wen replied, stepping forward.
"I leave the negotiations regarding the Duskwood domain entirely in your hands. Agree to whatever demands they make—no matter what they are!"
"Huh?" Viscount Wen's eyes widened in shock at these words. He had never expected to receive such an answer. In his mind, the elder had always been an extremely stubborn man. Even with his own explanations, the elder would never make a decision lightly without seeing the evidence for himself. It was precisely for this reason that he had written to invite Blake and the others to the Midsummer Festival. But now, those young ladies had merely stood there—not demonstrating any power at all! Why had the elder suddenly changed his tune, making a decision without even so much as a single test?
"Elder, are you certain you do not wish to reconsider...?" Though events were unfolding exactly as he had hoped, and the suspicion of him being a "clan traitor" had been lifted—which should have been a cause for joy—Viscount Wen could not help but feel confused. After all, the elder's actions right now were far too unusual.
"There is no need," the elder replied, his voice uncharacteristically firm. "Remember my words: I authorize you to grant them whatever they desire, no matter what it may be. If anyone dares to question this decision, tell them to come to me! And I order you to go at once and warn those worthless fools of ours—if any of them dare to harass that young lady, I will cast them out of the family without mercy!"
"As you command, Elder. I shall see to it at once," Viscount Wen replied, bowing deeply before hurrying off, even though he still harbored doubts in his heart. The elder watched his retreating figure, a faint bitter smile playing on his lips.
"Perhaps this is my redemption..." he murmured softly to himself.