Journey to Become the Zenith

Smiles Behind Quiet Storms

Though most of the nobles that entered Fantom City died, some actually survived. These people were the ones who had no more intention of getting Videl’s weapon. After learning that Videl had a ring with the emblem of the royals, these nobles decided that the risk of offending her was too much for them to handle, so they left the town as quickly as possible.

They didn’t look back.

Not once.

Even as their carriages rolled over uneven roads and their escorts urged the horses faster than necessary, none of them dared to slow down. The memory of that courtyard... the pressure, the unseen danger... lingered like a shadow behind them.

Some clutched their cloaks tighter.

Others sat in silence, staring ahead.

We were fools...

The realization came too late for many.

But for those who left early—

It saved their lives.

At this point, those that left early didn’t know how lucky they were. The nobles that died in Fantom City were eight in total. News of their deaths would spread to the public after a few days, whispered first in taverns, then carried by merchants, until it reached the capital like a quiet storm.

And when it did—

The reaction was not what their families expected.

The Queen, upon hearing the report from one of her subordinates, didn’t even allow the grieving families to finish speaking. Their pleas, their tears, their desperate attempts to defend the dead—

All cut short.

Coldly.

Decisively.

"Traitors."

One word.

Enough to seal their fate.

The hall fell silent after that.

No second chances.

No investigations.

No mercy.

Once branded as traitors, there was only one outcome.

Erasure.

The Queen did not hesitate.

She couldn’t afford to.

In a time where power shifted like sand beneath one’s feet, hesitation was weakness. And weakness invited rebellion.

If even a fragment of those families chose revenge...

If even one heir grew up with hatred in their heart...

It would be enough to ignite something far worse.

So before that spark could exist—

She extinguished it.

Completely.

Bloodlines erased.

Names forgotten.

A clean cut.

Ruthless.

Necessary.

The kingdom moved on.

But beneath that movement—

Tension deepened.

...

Victor had just returned from his trip to the Mystery Woodland.

Out past the pines, that sharp green smell stayed on his clothes - damp soil, crushed branches, a breath of animal freedom. Yet inside, the guild hall hummed with chatter, bread baking, lantern light bouncing off tankards.

Underfoot, old wood groaned with each step taken. From somewhere beyond, sounds tangled together - sharp words mixed with chuckles, cups knocking. Along the wall, flames held their ground inside a stone hearth, light dancing in uneven patches over walls and floor alike.

Right there in the middle -

Sat Victor.

Relaxed.

Composed.

Opposite he was seated, Isabella took her place.

Guild Master.

And currently -

Trying very hard not to look annoyed.

Smooth strands of violet spilled past her shoulders, glowing where the dim glow touched. Around her face they curled, sharpening cheekbones and jaw like shadows drawn on purpose. Those dark pools - her eyes - locked onto Victor, steady but flicked with quiet annoyance just under stillness.

She wore clothes that made her hard to miss.

A sleek line of black leather hugged her frame, matched by a short top showing smooth stomach beneath. A purple coat draped soft across her shoulders, slipping slightly as she held still. One foot rests on the opposite knee, spine upright yet easy in the chair. Presence fills the space without effort, calm like breath before speech.

And yet—

There was something else there.

Something subtle.

Victor noticed it immediately.

Of course he did.

His golden eyes lingered on her just a moment longer than necessary.

Not crude.

Not careless.

Intentional.

"...You’re staring," Isabella said flatly.

Victor smiled.

Easy.

Unbothered.

"I was just thinking," he replied calmly, leaning back slightly in his chair, "that you look... different."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

There was a hint of skepticism there.

"And how exactly?"

Victor tilted his head slightly, as if considering it seriously.

"More active than your lazy nature," he said simply.

A pause.

That caught her off guard.

Just a little.

"...Oh," she said, her voice softer for a split second before she caught herself. "Thank you."

She cleared her throat lightly, straightening a bit.

"...You’re unusually polite today."

Victor chuckled quietly.

"I’m always polite."

"That’s not what people say."

"That’s because they misunderstand me."

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

"...Or because you flirt too much."

There it was.

Victor smiled again.

Wider this time.

"Do I?"

"You do."

"And you’ve been keeping track?"

A brief silence.

A breath passed before Isabella turned her gaze aside, fingertips brushing the tabletop in quiet rhythm.

"...I deal with people like you often," she said, brushing it off.

Yet a whisper remained -

Of something else.

His fingers curled under his jaw as Victor shifted ahead a touch. A quiet pause settled while he held that pose, gaze steady.

"Still," he said softly, "it’s been a few days since I last saw you."

Back her gaze snapped, fixed on his face again.

"And?"

"And you’ve become more beautiful."

That one—

Landed.

A faint blush touched her cheeks before she could stop it.

Subtle.

But real.

"...You’re laying it on a bit thick today," she muttered, looking away again.

"And yet you’re not stopping me."

"...That’s because stopping you would take effort."

"So you’re enjoying it?"

She shot him a look.

Sharp.

But not entirely serious.

"...Don’t push it."

Victor laughed quietly.

Not loud.

Not mocking.

Just amused.

From where she sat, Isabella studied him more carefully now.

Victor’s black hair fell naturally, slightly tousled, as if shaped more by habit than care. His golden eyes held a calm that didn’t feel forced—it was simply there, steady, unshaken. His posture was relaxed, but not careless. There was control in everything he did, even in stillness.

And that—

Was what made him dangerous.

She clicked her tongue softly.

"...You’re trouble."

"I’ve been called worse."

"I’m sure you have."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The noise of the guild filled the space between them.

Then—

As if deciding something—

Isabella leaned back slightly and crossed her arms.

"...So," she said, her tone shifting, "did you really go to the Mystery Woodland?"

The question hung in the air.

Simple.

But not casual.

Because both of them knew—

That place wasn’t somewhere you just visited.

Victor’s smile didn’t fade.

But his eyes—

Shifted.

Just slightly.

And that was enough—

To tell her—

The answer mattered.