The main hall was very spacious, with round tables for four placed at intervals. When people gathered, fights were more likely to break out—some would snarl even if their collars brushed. For this reason, each table bore a name indicating a relatively peaceful grouping. One wasn’t strictly required to sit at “your” table, but if it was pointed out—“here’s your place”—you naturally tended to stay nearby.

“Obviously Director Song, but why am I seated next to Seong Hyunjae?”

Mun Hyunah grumbled. Although it was a four-person table, only three names were listed: Seong Hyunjae, Song Taewon, and herself. She pulled out the chair for Seong Hyunjae and bowed politely.

“Please, Your Highness, take a seat.”

“How kind. Today is the day the Breaker Guild Leader becomes my prince, is it?”

“Nowadays the trend is for princesses to manage everything on their own. And now, our second princess, who has worked so hard—”

Again Mun Hyunah pulled out a chair, and Song Taewon hesitated, unsure how to respond to such odd banter despite knowing the two for years. Especially with Mun Hyunah, it was hard even to ignore her.

“…Thank you, but I find it easier to supervise the hall standing.”

“It’s all because of the eldest. As he blusters about, the second becomes even more stiff.”

“How cruel. I adore and cherish my second princess so much.”

“You say the sweetest things. Director Song, would you like another drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“Why not have one more? Honestly, you need to loosen up. You never let what’s inside out otherwise.”

Though over-drinking was unwise, Mun Hyunah filled his glass to the brim, saying that if you only ever bottled things up, they’d turn into bitter poison.

“…Not today.”

“I’ll brew something truly potent to secure my place.”

“Well then, where is our youngest princess?”

Seong Hyunjae tapped his nameplate with his fingertip. Mun Hyunah sipped lightly and spoke softly:

“You needn’t concern yourself with the Sesung Guild Leader. No matter how adorably cute our youngest princess may be—don’t pay attention.”

“Isn’t it natural for the eldest to love the youngest?”

“…Don’t ruin the mood. Love my foot. If Director Han were my real sister, I’d have spanked her once a day.”

Mun Hyunah winced and frowned, then turned to scan the hall.

“Our Yerim is quite popular.”

Indeed, many hunters showed interest in Park Yerim. The video of the young hunter defeating a more experienced S-Rank hunter had circulated worldwide long ago. Moreover, Park Yerim was the first S-Rank hunter in a personal guild rather than a specialized organization. As a result, some quietly offered her better terms.

“Ah, I don’t really speak English~.”

Of course, Park Yerim brushed off every such proposal.

“I’ll provide a translation item, naturally.”

“But you can’t translate writing. Translate your language into Korean, then contact me. I only write Hangul.”

She shook her head, saying she had no intention of learning any foreign language. Leaping lightly to avoid the commotion at her table, she drew appreciative glances—some purely admiring her cuteness. Most high-rank hunters, especially S-Ranks, were in their twenties—rarely teens. Among them, Park Yerim was the youngest.

“Where’s the blacksmith?”

“He’s high-rank but not combat—too risky to send here.”

“And the ranchmaster’s stats are low.”

Some looked around for Yoo Myung-woo. Since he’d crafted S-Rank weapons, countless hunters had reached out, but he never accepted overseas commissions. Even domestic hunters only had random equipment requests granted, so many sought to befriend the master.

There were grumbles about his aloofness—but beggars can’t be choosers. Even slight discourtesy was passed off as the artisan’s way.

Yet today’s host was Ranchmaster Ki Seung-soo, so most waited for Han Yujin’s arrival. Rumor had it there was a way to raise advanced mounts without {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} special skills. Consequently, the value of juvenile monsters had doubled. Recently, teams specialized in capturing advanced juveniles had formed.

“I wonder if she’ll come out.”

“She might not. Her stat is F-Rank, after all.”

Some guessed she might merely broadcast a feed instead of appearing. Even with many S-Ranks around, an F-Rank stepping forward before unfamiliar advanced awakeners was daunting. Lower awakeners or non-awakeners could grow accustomed, but a strange advanced awakener invoked instinctive fear—like how your own big dog seems cute, but a stranger’s growling one is terrifying. Better not to show up at all.

Amid such murmurs—and growing impatience—creeeeak! the doors opened. At the far end of the hall’s central stairway, the grand doors swung wide, inviting every eye.

Whoosh—a long black veil, three or so meters in length, trailed across the floor. Adorned with white roses, it hid the face beneath a white mask. The figure wore a black formal suit, a white frilled cravat at the neck, a red bloom in the breast pocket, and white gloves holding trailing fern fronds.

Most thought the attire unusual, but a few reacted sharply.

“Hiding your expression is a good choice.”

“What’s with the veil?”

Hunters whispered, unfamiliar with the outfit’s meaning. Though unexpected, most shrugged: specialized themes among hunters were common, and eccentric equipment choices were not unheard of.

“Was the elder embarrassed about this?”

Mun Hyunah whispered. When Song Taewon affirmed it seemed so, Seong Hyunjae remained silent, his expression as rigid as ever.

Chatterbox.

Han Yujin’s appearance in Chatterbox’s costume was easy to guess: he sought to identify those who knew the persona. Anyone unaccustomed would react differently, giving them away. Yet knowing this didn’t make it any more pleasant.

“…I don’t see it at all.”

“How stingy of you to rate him poorly. Or is the Sesung Guild Leader really into hot pink yarn?”

Mun Hyunah laughed, saying it would be amusing if everyone showed up in matching hot pink, but Seong Hyunjae didn’t respond. His discomfort grew.

“Hello, everyone.”

Han Yujin removed his mask to reveal his face. The elegant, smooth motion—from fingertip to mask edge to the bow of his torso—was strikingly graceful. Despite the pale mask, his white-pale face held a smile.

“First, thank you for coming to this distant place.”

Moving slowly toward the railing, Han Yujin tugged at the cravat. The large, flower-like tie plop fell to the floor, and the shirt’s top buttons came undone with precise timing—snap, snap. Beneath the gloves, his hand lifted to graze his nape.

Pressing lightly under his ear, he drew a soft mark—and as his hand descended, whirr—a red sigil appeared, stretching clearly down his neck. Every gaze fixed upon it.

High-rank hunters, especially S-Ranks, held their breath, staring at Han Yujin. A chill pulsed through them—similar yet distinct from confronting a powerful monster. Their bodies tensed, gooseflesh rising, but it wasn’t a foe they could fight.

It felt like a mouse, trapped in its wheel, suddenly meeting a giant’s gaze.

And Seong Hyunjae’s discomfort…

“……”

It peaked. More than the mere aura of the mark, he alone knew its meaning. In his memories, he had no knowledge—but somehow, he understood.

Han Yujin bore the mark of a mage’s sacrifice.

Heat surged within him the instant he recognized it. His mouth twitched with a mingled revulsion of vague memory and present dread—so much that he raised a hand to cover it. His heart thudded, as if it belonged to another.

“What… is that?”

Mun Hyunah murmured, unable to tear her eyes away. Her brows were deeply furrowed. Song Taewon, too, was so focused on Han Yujin that he didn’t notice Seong Hyunjae’s state. His hand on the table had clenched into a fist; his lips were tightly pressed, faint sounds of teeth grinding escaping.

They both had been forewarned—and yet could hardly calm themselves.

In the heavy air, Seong Hyunjae exhaled softly. Suddenly recalling Hwang Lim’s words, a twisted smile played at his lips.

‘I’ve been… complacent.’

He’d been too easy on himself. Though he lacked the memory, his very existence had been—if anything—continually taken from him. Everything.

He had no memories. His skills, titles, overlapped and were stripped away until he possessed none. Even the chains that bound him had been forged by a thief.

And even now—his present life and death—had been lost and returned once before.

The twisted smile softened into a gentle curve. Seong Hyunjae looked up at Han Yujin with a calm, almost benevolent gaze.

‘This works well.’

Despite the intense embarrassment, it had been effective. That Chatterbox fool— the formalwear wasn’t so bad, and the cravat, though cumbersome, suited the attire. The mask… I could live with that. But the veil—what was that? A rose-adorned veil! Never in my dreams did I imagine placing a rose veil upon my own head. Damn Chatterbox—what a taste he has.

At first, I hadn’t intended to disguise myself as Chatterbox; I’d planned a stand-in or a puppet. My physique is hardly puppet-like, even with corseting. But once Chatterbox left the mark, the most effective disguise was my own.

‘This should filter them out nicely.’

Smiling, I surveyed the crowd below the railing. Cameras were planted in every direction. Analyzing that footage would quickly reveal those who’d interacted with Chatterbox.

Those who’d reacted merely to the costume had likely met him in person. Those who reacted to the mark had signed the invitation contract. Even from up here, I could discern a few reactions that differed sharply from the rest.

‘…Perhaps intensifying the sigil’s power was a bit overkill.’

I suppressed my mana around the mark and, with Noah’s aid, amplified Chatterbox’s trace so the mark stood out more. Noah had backed away with a look of “this is too much,” and the hunters’ reactions exceeded expectation.

Fearing some might draw weapons against me, I swiftly reined in my mana, dimming the mark. The tense air dispersed at once. Yet I exhaled as I gazed down at the still-wary hunters… ugh, brace the corset tighter. Exhaling, I moved along the railing.

“It seems I startled you a little. Of course, for advanced awakeners this is nothing.”

Chatterbox was not the only one among transcendent beings outside. Though I’d met many, Chatterbox’s mark had been the most unsettling—tingling the nerves unpleasantly.

Before stepping onto the stairs, I removed the veil. Simultaneously, a blue willow leaf fluttered, and Yuhyun lightly leapt over the railing to stand behind me. Catching the draping veil, he slipped a hand behind me through the obscured gap and neatly cut my corset. At that moment, the loosened corset vanished as Irin stepped in and carried it off.

That’s better. Now then—who among you holds an invitation?

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep