As Ludger made another sweep along the ballroom’s edge, his Seismic Sense picked up a cluster of small, familiar vibrations, two light, sleepy heartbeats and one calm, steady presence that he could recognize anywhere. He shifted his gaze toward the western side of the room and spotted a small table tucked near one of the massive decorative windows.

Elaine sat there with the twins, and the scene was… almost comically perfect.

The table was loaded with sweets, the kind nobles paid absurd prices for and chefs spent hours decorating. Tiny layered pastries, sugared fruit slices, miniature cakes shaped like flowers, and creamy tarts. The entire assortment looked like someone had taken the dessert table and condensed its highlights onto one plate.

Elle was nibbling softly on a pastry, her eyes drooping with every blink. Arash had his cheek smashed against the table, one hand clutching a half-eaten tart like it was the last treasure of his short life. Both were visibly seconds away from collapsing into sleep.

Elaine, however… Elaine looked like she had discovered a personal version of heaven.

She was cutting into a slice of cake with extreme focus, almost reverence, and savoring each bite like it was a long-lost delicacy from her childhood. Her eyes gleamed. Her posture was relaxed. She had clearly planned this entire operation down to the final detail: Exhaust the kids → Dessert paradise → Twins fall asleep → Quiet evening for herself.

Her plan had worked flawlessly. Too flawlessly.

Because while she looked delighted, she also glanced at her children with a faint sigh, knowing she would have to carry two tiny, sugar-stuffed sleepers soon enough and abandon her dessert conquest. Ludger almost smirked. Almost. But the atmosphere of the ballroom shifted before he could move closer.

Little by little, the noise receded. Conversations quieted. Chairs scraped softly as people turned toward the grand staircase at the far end of the hall. The footsteps that followed echoed through the room, firm, rhythmic, full of practiced confidence.

Then she appeared.

Viola Torvares descended the stairs wearing an emerald dress that shimmered like starlight on water, tailored perfectly to her athletic figure. Her hair was styled elegantly, braided near the crown and cascading in waves behind her shoulders. She radiated presence, poise and strength, pride and a hint of nervous determination. At fourteen, she carried herself like a knight ready for her first ceremony.

Behind her walked Arslan, chest slightly puffed out, eyes shining with pride as he kept pace at her right. On her left was Lord Torvares, calm, collected, wearing a small, warm smile that betrayed just how much this moment meant to him.

Viola’s dress wasn’t anything like the frilly, childish outfits she’d been forced into over the years. This one was unmistakably different, elegant, mature, crafted to highlight who she was rather than who nobles wanted her to pretend to be.

The gown was a deep emerald green, rich and vibrant under the ballroom chandeliers. The fabric flowed like liquid glass, smooth and luminous with each step she took. Subtle gold threads were woven into the bodice and along the hem, catching the light in delicate patterns that mimicked curling leaves and slender vines.

The cut of the dress was refined. A fitted bodice that highlighted her athletic build rather than hiding it. A gentle off-shoulder line that framed her collarbone with quiet grace. Long sleeves of sheer, emerald-tinted lace that ended in golden cuffs. A skirt that fell in layered sheets, each movement creating soft, rippling waves of green.

It wasn’t the dress of a child or a doll. It was the dress of a young woman stepping into her own.

Her hair had been braided intricately, streaks of gold ribbon woven into a crown-like braid before cascading into soft, loose waves down her back. A thin golden circlet sat above her brow, simple and understated, just enough to mark her as the heir without overshadowing her natural presence.

And what surprised Ludger wasn’t the dress. It was her expression. He’d expected to see her forcing a polite smile, trying to act “proper,” or suppressing the irritation she usually felt at noble gatherings. Viola had always hated pretending to be a fragile princess.

But now? She actually looked happy.

Her smile was genuine, bright, confident, excited. Her eyes sparkled with the kind of energy only a fifteen-year-old heir on the night of her grand celebration could have. She greeted the room like someone who finally understood that she wasn’t just enduring a party…

She was the star of it. Ludger watched quietly from his place among the crowd, seeing, not for the first time, how quickly she was growing. Strong. Elegant. Capable. Someone who could handle a sword and a political room with equal ease. The emerald dress suited her far too well. And this time, she didn’t look out of place in it at all.

Lord Torvares stepped forward with the slow, steady confidence of a man who had commanded rooms far more hostile than a ballroom full of nobles. The crowd gradually settled; whispers faded, glasses lowered. Even the musicians softened their playing as Torvares approached the center of the floor, hands folded calmly behind his back.

He cleared his throat once, just a simple sound, yet it carried across the entire room with ease.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, voice resonant and warm, “thank you all for coming tonight.”

There was a natural authority to his words, not forced, not theatrical. Just solid, grounded sincerity from a man who rarely wasted breath on anything frivolous.

“We gather not only to celebrate my granddaughter’s birthday, but to acknowledge a moment of transition. Viola”—he glanced toward her with unmistakable pride—“has reached the age where childhood gives way to youth, and youth steps toward responsibility.”

Murmurs rippled through the guests, respectful and subdued.

Torvares continued, hands folding in front of him now. “The Empire is changing. Faster than many of us ever anticipated. Threats emerge from unexpected corners, new alliances form, old structures shift… and the pace of it all can feel overwhelming.”

He paused just long enough for the truth of that statement to sink in. Several nobles nodded; others stiffened as they remembered recent political upheavals.

“But,” Torvares said, his voice steadying with conviction, “I believe the next generation will not only adapt to these changes, they will thrive in them.”

He gestured subtly toward Viola, who straightened at his side, regal but still unmistakably herself.

“My heir,” he said, tone warming, “will one day lead House Torvares. And I am utterly confident she will become a far better head of this family than I have ever been.”

That earned him a surprised ripple of murmurs, and a rare smile from Viola, bright and unrestrained.

Torvares inclined his head graciously to the room. “Tonight is a celebration, not a lecture. So I will keep this short.”

He lifted a hand lightly.

“Eat well. Drink well. Dance if you wish. And enjoy yourselves. Meronia is honored to host you.”

Applause swept across the ballroom, polite, warm, and heartfelt. And with that, the celebration truly began.

As soon as Torvares finished his speech, the ballroom shifted into its next rhythm. Nobles, merchants, scholars, military officers, everyone began drifting toward Viola in a steady procession, each wanting their moment to congratulate the Torvares heir. She stood at the center of it all, radiant in her emerald dress, accepting handshakes and bows with a poise that would have made any court tutor proud.

Ludger watched her for only a heartbeat. She looked happy, bright, composed, genuinely enjoying herself. It suited her, being the star for once instead of the sword-wielding trouble magnet she tended to be. But Ludger’s attention never lingered long. His job tonight wasn’t to stand there admiring his half sister; it was to watch the room.

So he slipped back into the edge of the crowd, letting the shadows of tall pillars and drifting noble groups obscure his presence. Every few seconds, he sent another pulse of Seismic Sense through the floors, the walls, the outer halls. Like a living sonar, it mapped out footsteps, weight shifts, the creak of chairs, the thrum of mana-laced decorations, the subtle shuffling of the guards stationed on the outer perimeter.

And yet… nothing. No hurried movements. No concealed mana flares. No double footsteps or weight imbalances typical of someone carrying contraband. Everything was exactly as it should be. Too exactly.

Ludger’s brow tightened faintly. Calm wasn’t reassuring, it was suspicious. Danger often came dressed as peace, and tonight felt like someone had ironed every ripple out of the room.

That was when Arslan approached from behind him, the man’s quiet, steady footsteps familiar even in a sea of noise. He wore formal attire out of obligation, but the steel in his posture seemed to promise that he could draw a blade cleanly even in a ballroom full of dignitaries.

He stopped beside Ludger, hands behind his back, eyes scanning the crowd just as subtly.

“Everything fine?” Arslan asked, voice low enough to blend into the music.

Ludger nodded once. “Yes.”

A pause. Then, dryly: “Suspiciously fine.”

Arslan followed his gaze around the ballroom, at the clusters of nobles laughing over wine, the merchants sharing polite conversations, the adventurers trying to pretend they belonged in fancy clothes, the northerners already competing in drinking games to the horror of nearby servants.

“Sometimes,” Arslan murmured, “too many powerful people in one place is enough to deter the foolish.”

Ludger didn’t disagree, but he didn’t look convinced either. His eyes kept scanning, his senses stretching farther.

“Maybe,” he said.

Arslan glanced at him sidelong. “Stay sharp, but don’t let paranoia ruin your night. This is Viola’s moment.”

Ludger didn’t respond immediately. His attention was already slipping back to the floor vibrations, to the patterns of movement around the manor. He wasn’t paranoid. He was realistic. Calm like this never lasted, not when powerful families, old enemies, and unknown interests all converged under one roof. He gave a small nod, enough for Arslan to understand he’d heard him. But the tension coiled in Ludger’s shoulders said the same thing his silence did: The night wasn’t done testing him yet.

When the greeting faded, the musicians lifted their instruments again, this time shifting into a new melody. Softer. Slower. A deliberate, elegant rise of strings and gentle percussion that filled the ballroom with a warm, expectant tension.

It was a dance piece. A formal one.The atmosphere shifted instantly.

Conversations quieted. Couples straightened. Several young nobles glanced toward the staircase as if waiting for some unspoken signal.

But all eyes eventually drifted toward Viola. Because the first dance of the night, at her birthday celebration, was hers. And everyone was suddenly wondering who would be bold enough to approach her first.

Ludger didn’t need seismic sense to feel Viola’s nerves. She kept her smile perfectly composed, but her fingers tapped lightly against her dress in a restrained rhythm. The straightness of her posture wasn’t elegance, it was tension. The wait was eating at her. She was used to duels, training, responsibility… not being stared at by dozens of hopeful nobles.

Ludger sighed. He’d rather fight a frost rider than deal with ballroom politics, but he wasn’t about to watch his sister get swarmed by a pack of overeager idiots. So he stepped forward.

Through the crowd, straight across the polished floor, until he reached her side. Her eyes widened just slightly when she turned and saw him. Ludger extended a hand.

“Come on.”

Viola’s smile brightened, but she leaned closer, whispering out of the corner of her mouth, “Do you even know how to waltz? It took me months to get the steps right.”

Ludger tilted his head, deadpan. “Watch me.”

Her eyebrows rose. “That sounds like a threat.”

“Not at all.”

But it absolutely did sound like one. She placed her hand in his, and they stepped onto the dance floor. As they moved into position, Viola’s posture relaxed slightly, her smile becoming more real than formal. She wasn’t being hunted by nobles anymore. She wasn’t waiting anxiously for an approach that would either annoy or bore her.

She was dancing with someone she trusted. The musicians picked up the tempo for the first turn. Ludger glanced at her once more.

And then, he moved. Clean step. Accurate turn. Perfect timing. He had memorized the patterns watching others practice, dissecting the rhythm the way he studied combat stances.

Viola’s eyes widened.

“Wait—you actually—”

“I told you to watch.”

He guided her through the opening sweep, steady, grounded, surprisingly graceful for someone whose preferred dance partner was a monster trying to kill him.

And as they glided across the floor, the rest of the ballroom watched with a mixture of shock, admiration…and maybe a little frustration from the young nobles who had hesitated a second too long.

The first dance belonged to Ludger. And Viola looked genuinely, unmistakably happy. Now the other dances wouldn’t be so heavy for her.

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