The Invincible Young Master

The hall fell into stunned silence, all eyes fixed on the aftermath. The blue-haired man sat frozen on the piano bench, his previously confident smile faltering as he stared at the ruined instrument in disbelief.

His entourage of admirers exchanged bewildered glances, their expressions a mix of shock and embarrassment.

A few guests could not suppress snickers, though they quickly hid them behind napkins or glasses of wine.

In the Jul Empire, four great families stood as its foundation, their power unmatched and influence far-reaching.

Among them, the Dwight family was renowned, not only for their boundless wealth and military strength but for the prodigies born into their lineage.

The eldest, Dwight Reynold, embodied the family's pride. A master alchemist and head of the Alchemist Association,

Reynold carried himself with the authority of a future patriarch. His calm and strategic demeanor earned him respect and admiration across the empire.

The middle child, Dwight Silica, was a stark contrast. Fierce and unpredictable, she followed no rules but her own.

Armed with the Dwight family's power as a shield, she carved a reputation as someone not to be crossed. Yet, her wild nature wasn't what set her apart it was her rare gift: Healing Grace, a divine ability inherited from her mother, making her both revered and feared.

The youngest, Dwight Spark, shared his sister's rebellious streak. He mirrored her unpredictable behavior.

At the lavish establishment's grand hall, an air of unease spread as whispers and furtive glances rippled through the crowd.

All eyes were on the shattered remains of the grand piano, a heap of splintered wood and tangled strings.

Standing amidst the wreckage was the bold blue-haired young man, his posture unyielding, a faint smirk playing on his lips despite his disastrous attempt to impress Dwight Silica.

The audacity of his actions had left the gathered elites both curious and wary.

The murmurs rose in quiet waves.

"Does he not know who she is?"

one onlooker thought, their gaze flicking nervously toward Silica.

"To approach her like this... is he brave or just foolish?"

"He clearly doesn't understand the rules of this circle. No one disturbs her when she's drinking,"

whispered a guest, their tone filled with unease.

Silica's reputation was well-known among the empire's elite. While her divine Healing Grace inspired awe, her fiery temper, especially under the influence of wine, was most talked.

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Stories of her impulsive wrath had deterred even the boldest suitors, and the few who dared challenge her rarely emerged unscathed.

Despite the mounting tension, the blue-haired man remained unfazed. Dusting his hands off with exaggerated nonchalance, he turned back toward Silica.

His confident smirk hadn't wavered, as if the destruction of the piano had only added to his charm.

The gathered crowd exchanged nervous glances. Few could decide whether to admire his audacity or pity him.

Silica, meanwhile, seemed uninterested in the commotion she'd caused. She swirled her wine lazily, her golden hair catching the warm glow of the chandeliers.

Her sharp-eyed companion stood beside her, silent and still, a sentinel guarding against potential threats.

"You're not easily deterred," Silica finally spoke, her voice soft but carrying a distinct edge.

The blue-haired man's smirk widened. "A shattered piano won't scare me off. In fact, I find your fire... intriguing."

A ripple of surprise passed through the crowd. To respond so casually in the face of Silica's disdain was either sheer bravado or foolish arrogance.

Silica raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Intriguing?" she echoed, her tone laced with mockery.

"Yes," he replied smoothly, taking a bold step closer. "A woman with such spirit deserves more than a dull court. Perhaps I was too restrained."

The crowd stilled, holding their collective breath. This man was either completely unaware of the danger he was courting or unfathomably confident in his ability to handle it.

Silica tilted her head, her smile fading into a look of detached boredom. She waved a dismissive hand, turning her attention back to her wine.

"You've had your fun," she said flatly. "Now leave before you bore me further."

For a brief moment, the blue-haired man stood still, his sharp blue eyes flickering with hesitation.

His fingers twitched at his sides, as if debating whether to push his luck further. Finally, he exhaled deeply, straightened his posture, and offered a curt bow.

"Another time, perhaps," he said lightly, though the strain in his forced smile betrayed his simmering frustration.

Turning sharply on his heel, he prepared to make his exit, his entourage hesitantly shuffling to follow.

But before he could take more than a step, Silica's voice cut through the murmurs like a blade slicing silk.

"You forgot to pay for the damage," she drawled, her tone dripping with lazy authority. She raised a finger, unapologetically pointing toward the shattered remains of the piano. "That thing was expensive, you know."

The man stopped in his tracks. His shoulders stiffened as if bracing for impact, and he turned slowly to face her. Confusion painted his face.

"But that was clearly

your

doing," he said, his voice carrying a mix of disbelief and indignation.

Silica tilted her head, her golden hair shimmering under the chandelier's glow. She gave a small shrug, her expression one of exaggerated innocence.

"I don't think so," she said smoothly. "You were the closest to it. Clearly, it's your fault."

Her logic, or lack thereof, left the man visibly baffled. His mouth opened and closed as if struggling to find words that could counter such absurdity.

"What kind of nonsense is that?" he finally blurted. "Everyone here saw it was your doing!"

Silica leaned forward slightly, her smirk growing.

"Everyone who?" she asked, her golden eyes narrowed beneath her playful facade.

At that precise moment, the crowd collectively decided that neutrality was the safest choice.

Heads turned away with the synchronized manner of dancers in a performance. Guests suddenly found their cups, plates, and even the patterns on the wallpaper to be of immense interest.

The room fell into a deafening silence, as if every soul present had agreed to erase the last few moments from their memory.

Silica spread her hands, palms up, as though presenting undeniable evidence.

"See? No one saw me destroying it, so it must be you." She leaned back again, her voice filled with mock finality. "Now, pay up and leave."

The man's jaw clenched tight, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. His blue eyes flicked around the room, searching for an ally, but he found only averted gazes and feigned ignorance.

The silent pressure of the crowd, combined with Silica's unrelenting gaze, left him cornered.

Finally, he let out a sharp breath, his shoulders sagging in reluctant defeat.

Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a heavy pouch of gold coins. The sound of metal clinking against metal carried through the quiet room as he handed the pouch to a nearby staff member.

"There," he muttered through gritted teeth, his humiliation plain.

Without waiting for acknowledgment, he turned on his heel and strode out of the hall, his admirers trailing behind him like scolded children.

Silica, unbothered by the commotion she had caused, swirled her wine lazily in her glass.

Her golden eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned back in her chair, completely at ease.

"Much better," she murmured to herself, as though the incident had been nothing more than a fleeting inconvenience.

Across the room, Zarak stood near a marble column, his arms folded across his chest.

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The faintest flicker of a smile tugged at his lips as he observed the scene.

Silica was fearless, perhaps too much so. Her actions bordered on tyrannical, but she carried them out with such casual confidence that it was almost admirable.

For a long moment, the hall was silent, the tension still hanging heavy in the air. Then, like a tightly wound spring snapping back into place, the murmurs returned, this time in hushed waves.

"Did you see how precise her aim was?"

someone whispered, their voice tinged with awe.

"She destroyed that piano with a single flick."

"Of course, she can. She is an ascendant after all."

"She didn't have to humiliate him like that,"

another murmured, though his words were barely audible.

"Quiet! Don't let her hear you,"

someone else whispered urgently, casting a nervous glance toward Silica.

Despite the mixed opinions, no one dared to voice their thoughts too loudly. Silica's reputation as both a healer and a force of chaos wasn't just a rumor. Crossing her, even unintentionally, was a gamble no one was willing to take.

Silica, for her part, remained utterly unaffected by the stir she had caused. Her attention drifted back to her wineglass, her gaze fixed on the swirling liquid as if it held secrets more intriguing than the world around her.

Just when the atmosphere of the hall seemed to settle, Silica raised her head, her golden eyes locking onto the entrance with a sharp gleam. A grin spread across her lips, mischievous and brimming with amusement.

"Hey, old man, I see you," she called out, her voice ringing across the hall. "Where are you running off to? If you don't stop, I'll tell

him

that you've been sneaking around the capital."

At the entrance, Zarak turned instinctively, catching sight of the old man's retreating figure. He had clearly intended to leave quietly, but Silica's words had halted him mid-step.

The old man froze, his foot hovering midair before slowly lowering. With an exaggerated sigh, he turned back toward Silica, a sheepish smile plastered on his face.

"What could this humble old man possibly do for the young lady?" he asked, his tone polite.

Silica leaned back in her chair, swirling her wine lazily. Her grin widened. "Come here and tell me a story."