All conversation ceased abruptly, plunging the hall into a profound, uneasy silence. Azriel stood at the center, feeling every gaze fixed upon him, weighing him down—but he showed none of it.
He couldn't break now; he had to maintain this facade perfectly. The role of Azriel Crimson, the prince who survived the Void Realm alone, was one he'd portrayed relentlessly for the past two months—so convincingly that he occasionally struggled to distinguish it from reality.
Yet…
He couldn't allow himself to lose sight of the truth. Beneath Azriel Crimson, he was still Leo Karumi, and he needed to hold onto that. Every day, he reminded himself of this, careful never to fully lose himself within his own carefully woven lies.
Not yet.
Surrounded by watchful eyes, Azriel was meticulous. Every gesture, every glance, and every word had to be impeccable. A single misstep could rouse suspicion among those present who possessed extraordinary perception.
He couldn't risk it.
Azriel briefly shifted his attention toward Solomon, who sat at one of the tables with an amused smile. Solomon had hoped for Azriel's public return at the military base, and now he had finally gotten his wish.
'Looks like you finally got what you wanted, Solomon.'
Then Azriel's gaze drifted further, settling on the striking woman standing nearby. His breath caught subtly, though he allowed no reaction to show outwardly.
Her obsidian-black hair cascaded gracefully down her back, contrasting starkly with her porcelain skin. Her eyes, sharp and piercing rose-colored gems, regarded him coolly, betraying no emotion save for the faintest trace of curiosity.
'Freya Selene…'
Headmistress of the Hero Academy.
A Grade 1 Saint.
Azriel allowed himself a faint smile, one that only he, Freya, and Solomon would fully understand.
'Things are still progressing according to my plan—for now.'
Though unable to train physically during the past two months, Azriel had not wasted time. He had meticulously strategized, using his knowledge from the novel and his discussions with Solomon. Yet experience had taught him well:
'Always expect the unexpected. Relying solely on predictions is dangerous. With my luck, things will inevitably go awry.'
Indeed, given his peculiar luck—equal to or perhaps surpassing even the protagonist's—he expected the worst at every turn.
He finally turned back toward the gathered guests, his expression calm and assured. Taking a slow breath, he spoke with measured clarity:
"When I was in the Void Realm, I remembered a certain story."
His voice was quiet but strong enough to reach every ear. Even his family, who until now hadn't asked a single question about his experiences, were watching him closely, captivated.
"It was a story about a boy trapped in a land of nightmares. Imagine a place with perpetual darkness, air thick with decay, where twisted trees claw endlessly at the sky, their branches reaching out like grasping fingers. A world where shadows themselves hunted the living."
Confused glances swept across the guests. To them, it sounded like a mere fairy tale—and indeed, it once was. A children's story, told to Leo by his mother.
"This boy was utterly alone. His family was gone, devoured by the horrors that pursued him. Yet he persisted, building a frail shelter from scraps, scavenging desperately for food, surviving day by day."
A hint of nostalgia tinged Azriel's voice, recalling Leo's struggles to survive.
"Every night, he lay awake, haunted by the monsters clawing outside, desperate to break through. But he endured, clinging to hope by the thinnest thread."
Azriel paused briefly, observing the rapt attention of his listeners, and continued softly:
"Then, among the rubble, he found an old book filled with tales of heroes and their bravery. He read it countless times, drawing courage from stories of those who faced insurmountable odds yet never surrendered."
His gaze met Celestina's, and seeing her fully absorbed in his story, his faint smile grew more genuine.
"He survived. He emerged from the nightmare battered and scarred, but alive, his heart still beating with defiant hope."
A moment passed in silence, anticipation building.
"And why did he survive?" Azriel asked rhetorically.
"Was it sheer willpower? A miracle? Or perhaps the indomitable human spirit—that core within us refusing to yield, no matter the odds?"
A spark lit within many eyes, understanding dawning as he spoke.
"The answer is—all of it. Humans will do anything to survive. Every obstacle strengthens us, forces us to adapt, evolve, and overcome."
Azriel's eyes hardened slightly, his voice growing sharper, more authoritative.
"Just like that boy, I too survived a nightmare—the Void Realm. And if there's one lesson I learned there, it's this: strength matters above everything."
He let the truth of his words sink in deeply.
"In the Void Realm, strength is absolute. The weak perish; only the strong survive. It's that simple. Ragnar was correct: weakness is a sin."
Another hush fell upon the room.
"Therefore, I've decided that I'll be attending the Hero Academy."
Shock rippled throughout the guests once more. Prince Azriel, famous for never having trained to become a hero, was joining the Academy?
Azriel glanced toward his sister, whose narrowed eyes already told him she'd deciphered his intentions.
'Sorry, sister—but even I need some room to move.'
Clearing his throat softly, he addressed the gathering again, a playful smile appearing on his lips.
"I realize my sudden reappearance might have cast a shadow over tonight's festivities. So, allow me to lighten the mood. Since several guests here are students—or soon will be—I have a suggestion."
Lifting his untouched glass of wine, he held it high, drawing every eye toward him.
"How about we have some duels?"