A Wedding That Shakes Five Nations!

Such awe-inspiring influence belonged to Silva Severola alone. Even the princes and princesses of the First Human Empire—the Kilthor Empire—could only pale in comparison.

The elites of noble families, empires, and races all knew Silva’s capabilities well. Her hand lingered behind countless covert events across the continent. A single decision from her could ignite sweeping change. Her reach stretched boundlessly; agents and influence woven through every corner of the land—even within Demonkind, the race universally deemed most perilous, she had moles embedded deep.

A figure of such continent-spanning power naturally commanded endless admiration. And Silva possessed more: breathtaking beauty, elegant grace, a flawless figure, and magical talent beyond compare.

Calling her the undisputed pinnacle of her generation was no exaggeration.

Rulers of countless races eagerly sought her favor. Years ago, the Holy Maiden of Light had delivered a divine oracle—a proclamation from the Goddess of Creation herself:

*"This era shall be Silva’s era."*

But if the Goddess were to speak that oracle again today… she would surely retract it.

…

Dusk settled gently. Three hours remained until the wedding.

Yet Silva—the continent’s undisputed focal point—still slept soundly, curled atop Roland like a clinging raccoon, a faint sweet smile gracing her lips.

Roland had woken long ago. His dreamtime was brief, and blessed with a buff from the Goddess of Creation, fatigue vanished in moments.

"Hey. You planning to just stand there watching? If you’re not embarrassed, *I* am," Roland muttered, glancing at Yenoa, who stood poised and silent in the room.

Yenoa shot him a cold look, then returned to her usual aloof silence.

"Watching us sleep? So later tonight, during the wedding night, you’ll stand by giving pointers too?" Roland grumbled.

Yenoa ignored him completely.

"Seriously, with that personality? You’ll be forever alone," Roland added.

Still no reaction.

"By the way—where’d you go after waking up?" Roland asked curiously.

This time, Yenoa answered. Her face darkened with clear disgust. "I washed my hands. Your filthy hand touched mine. I *had* to cleanse it."

"…Why not just chop it off?"

"If I could, I would. Without hesitation." She stared at her right hand, disdain etched plainly across her usually impassive features. No trace of jest.

"Whoa. Harsh, man."

Roland was stunned. *How much does she actually hate me?*

What he didn’t know: Yenoa’s disgust had softened after the dream. But seeing Silva cling to him like an old married couple reignited that aversion, sharp and sudden.

"Since you’re awake, come with me. His Majesty wishes to see you." Yenoa turned to leave.

"Hey! Don’t you see Silva’s lying on me?!"

"Figure it out. Just don’t wake little Silva." She exited flatly.

Roland sighed, watching Silva sleep kitten-soft against him. He gently shifted her.

"Mmm…" she murmured, tiny hands clutching his sleeve.

He ruffled her hair softly. "I’ll be right back."

She held tighter. With a helpless smile, he brushed a light kiss on her cheek. Only then did she loosen her grip, sighing into a new slumber.

At the door, Yenoa waited. Two maids and two guards stood nearby—Silva’s assigned protectors.

"Let’s go. I need to speak with Onid too." Roland smoothed his clothes. "Lead the way."

All the way, he replayed that kiss.

Silva’s skin—soft, fair, smooth as milk, supple as jelly. An utterly addictive sensation.

He drifted in that memory until Yenoa’s voice cut through: "We’re here. His Majesty waits inside." She eyed him like scum.

Before them stood the Royal Library.

Inside, Onid and several Imperial Archmages were tidying remnants of chaos. At Roland’s arrival, Onid waved the Archmages out, leaving only the three.

"Speak plainly," Onid said, hands clasped behind his back, voice steady. "What was the Cultists’ true objective?"

Roland glanced between Yenoa and Onid. "I don’t know… Have you heard of the World Stone?"

Onid’s face paled instantly. Even Yenoa’s stoic mask cracked into open shock.

With a sharp sweep of his hand, a sealing magic circle flared around them—utterly isolating the trio.

"*How* do you know the World Stone?!" Onid demanded, voice trembling with disbelief.