Chapter : 1281

  It was the night before the Royal wedding. The Light-Catcher box had created a huge sensation. A wave of greedy amazement swept through the Grand Hall. It left behind a shocked and hungry silence. The nobles from two kingdoms were there. These people usually measured their importance by their gold, land, and family history. But they had just been shown something new and much more powerful: the ability to own time itself. Their shared desire for it was like a strong, heavy force in the room.

  Lloyd had suddenly become the most popular man in the hall. He might also be the wealthiest. He let the nobles sit with their feelings of wanting more. He was great at putting on a show and guiding people's feelings. He knew that good timing was the secret to a great performance. You don't show a miracle and then follow it with a smaller one. That would be bad entertainment. Instead, you follow it with a revolution.

  He gave a small, hard-to-see nod to his team of butlers. They had been waiting nearby, ready and professional, like a special army unit waiting for their orders. They moved with a quiet and skillful grace that was both beautiful and a little scary to watch. They rolled a new and very strange object onto the stage. Its wheels were silent on the shiny marble floor.

  It was a large, fancy wooden box, about the size of a large suitcase. It was beautifully made from a dark, polished rosewood that seemed to soak up the light. It was decorated with detailed patterns of silver and shiny mother-of-pearl. The patterns showed a swirling scene of stars and galaxies in the sky. The box had no parts that seemed to move. It only had a few strange, crystal-like knobs on its top surface. It also had a large, curved horn on top, made of a shiny, golden brass that seemed to have its own warm glow. It was a beautiful, strange, and confusing object. It looked like a piece of furniture you might see in a dream, something with no clear use.

  The crowd’s attention had been on the exciting idea of owning a piece of the past. Now, they looked at this new device with fresh and suspicious curiosity. What kind of new magic was this? Was it a box that made toast? Or a machine that could automatically shine their already shiny shoes? The nobles had big imaginations when it came to greed and status. But they were surprisingly not very creative when it came to new ideas.

  Lloyd just smiled. It was a quiet, knowing, and very playful smile. He walked over to the box. With a soft and careful touch, like a priest at an altar, he turned one of the crystal knobs.

  Nothing happened for a moment. The silence in the hall grew deeper. Some of the more doubtful lords felt a small bit of hope that it would fail.

  And then, music started to fill the hall.

  It was not the weak, thin sound of a single lute being played in a corner. It was not the polite and slightly dull music of the royal string quartet. That group had been playing the same five courtly songs professionally for the last hour.

  This was a symphony.

  It was a rich, complicated, and perfectly clear wave of sound. It was more alive, more powerful, and stirred more emotion than any real orchestra could ever create. A hundred different instruments could be heard. There were the high, sad sounds of violins and the deep, sad notes of cellos. There was the bright, winning call of trumpets and the deep, rumbling beat of drums that shook you to your soul. All these sounds were woven together in a perfect, amazing, and magical mix of harmony.

  The music itself was strange, wonderful, and almost improper. It was not a serious courtly dance or a grand royal song. It was a piece of music with a strong, catchy, and almost wickedly joyful beat. The rhythm seemed to go past the brain and speak right to the soul. It was a rhythm that made a person's feet want to tap, their hips want to move, and their whole body want to dance.

  The nobles of the court stared. These men and women had been taught their whole lives to keep a polite and slightly bored look on their faces. Their minds tried to understand the beautiful, impossible sound. Where was the orchestra? Where were the hundred expert musicians needed to make such a rich, perfect, and powerful sound? Was this a new and even stronger kind of magic?

  Chapter : 1282

  A group of young noble girls were the first to react. Their young spirits were not so weighed down by the strict rules of the court. The happy, irresistible rhythm took hold of them, and their feet started to tap. A shoulder started to sway. Then, with a shared, secret giggle, they started to dance. It was not the stiff, formal, and boring dances of the court, which had a thousand strict rules and no fun. This was a wild, free, and beautifully unrestrained dance of pure, simple happiness. They laughed, they spun, and they moved with a freedom and joy that was a shocking and beautiful change to the stuffy, formal room.

  The magic of the evening grew stronger. The joy spread to others. The stuffy political event had been a beautiful but very boring show. For a few wonderful moments, it turned into a real and amazing party.

  Then Lloyd, the quiet planner of this new, strange, and deeply joyful change, decided to make the show even better. He was not just there to sell an item; he was there to sell a vision of the future.

  One of his butlers moved with the silent, knowing grace that all his staff now showed. He handed Lloyd a new object. It was a simple, elegant silver wand, about a foot long. It had a small crystal ball at its tip that seemed to catch and brighten the light in the room. It was, of course, a microphone. The technology was so far beyond their world that it seemed like a magic wand from a fairy tale.

  He took the wand. The strange, magical box began to play a new and very different kind of music. It was a slow, gentle, and sadly beautiful tune that sounded like it was made of moonlight and sorrow. Then, he began to sing.

  The song was like a ghost. It was a beautiful and sad modern love song from his old life. It was a song about love and loss, about chances that were missed. It was about the quiet, desperate hope that all people have for a second chance. And his voice—his voice was amazing.

  It was not the loud and slightly out-of-tune voice of a bar singer singing a rude song. It was a perfect, trained, and deeply, almost painfully, beautiful baritone voice. His voice was as smooth as old velvet and as rich as the darkest, oldest wine. It was full of a quiet, ancient, and very real sadness, like a thousand lonely, starless nights.

  The entire hall became silent. The dancing girls stopped. Their happy movements were frozen by this new and much more powerful magic. The whispering politicians stopped their plotting. Their own small goals seemed unimportant next to the powerful beauty of the sound. Every single person in that room, from King Liam on his throne to the youngest servant hiding in the kitchens, was completely and totally mesmerized.

  He sang of a love that was like a quiet, burning fire in a cold and empty room. He sang of a heart that was like a lonely, haunted house, with its doors and windows locked up. Its hallways were filled with the ghosts of what could have been. He sang of a hope that was as delicate and as beautiful as a single, perfect star in a dark and very empty sky.

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  He was not just singing a song; he was showing everyone his own worn-out and very lonely soul. Yes, it was a performance. But it was a performance built on a very real and very deep sadness that he had carried through more than one lifetime.

  And as he sang the song’s heartbreakingly beautiful and deeply hopeful main part, another, even more impossible, miracle happened.

  A new voice joined his.

  It was a soft, clear, and perfectly angelic soprano voice. The voice was a perfect, silver partner to his own dark, velvet baritone. It was a voice that seemed to be made from moonlight itself. The sound was so pure and beautiful that it made the very air in the room seem to sparkle.

  It was Jasmin. She was his quiet, humble handmaiden, the girl he had secretly remade into something more. She was standing just behind him with her eyes closed. Her face showed pure, calm, and deeply moving emotion. She was not a warrior now. She was an artist. She was a singer whose voice was like a gift from the gods.

  Chapter : 1283

  And then, a third voice joined in. It was a deep, strong, and surprisingly soulful bass. This voice was the solid, steady foundation for the other two soaring voices. It came from one of the butlers, a serious-faced, broad-chested former soldier named Yaved. He was a man who looked like he was made of stone and had never smiled in his life. But his voice—his voice was a thing of deep and very surprising beauty.

  And then, a fourth. It was a sharp, clear, and perfectly toned alto. This voice was the clever, complex harmony that wove the other three voices together. It created a single, perfect, and stunning tapestry of sound. It was Annalisa, the stern, scary, and now wonderfully singing Head Maid. Her face, for the first time since Lloyd had met her, was not a mask of cold, professional seriousness. Instead, it showed a quiet, real, and very surprising joy.

  Their four voices—the lord, the handmaiden, the soldier, and the head maid—mixed together in a perfect, angelic, and breathtakingly beautiful harmony. The sound filled the Grand Hall and seemed to lift the very roof off the building.

  The court nobles were seeing a revolution. The party gave them a look into a magical, impossible, and deeply moving future they had never even imagined. The music of the future had arrived in their old and stuffy world. It was a future of recorded sound, of amplified voices, and of a beauty that was not just for kings to hear, but could be shared by everyone.

  And it was beautiful.

  The song's final, high note hung in the air. It was a perfect, crystal-clear thing of pure beauty. Then, it faded into a deep and total silence. For a long moment, the entire Grand Hall was frozen. Everyone shared a single moment of pure, simple, human amazement. The spell was broken by a single, sharp, and very loud sound. It was the sound of one person clapping. It was King Liam. He was on his feet, and his face showed pure, honest, and deeply thankful delight. His single clap was the spark that lit the fire. The hall exploded with noise. It was not the polite and slightly bored applause that usually happened after a performance. It was a roar. It was a thunderous, standing, and completely genuine ovation.

  Lloyd, the creator of this miracle, simply gave a small, humble, and well-practiced bow. He handed the silver wand back to the butler. The four of them—the lord, the handmaiden, the soldier, and the head maid—left the stage. Their short and amazing performance was over. The hall, however, was now a different place. The stuffy, formal feeling of the event was gone. It had been shattered by Lloyd’s two revolutionary inventions. The Light-Catcher had sparked their greed. The Music-Box had won their hearts. And the two together had changed the whole predictable and boring social event into a legend. It was a night that people would talk about, whisper about, and tell stories about for many years.

  Lloyd’s work as a showman was done. He went back to the role he liked best: the quiet, unseen, and watchful commander. He moved to the side of the room and watched the crowd, his mind quietly analyzing everything. The party was a success. The trap was still in place. The enemy had not shown up. From a military point of view, the night was a perfect and very boring success. It was in that moment of quiet, professional pride that a new and very, very interesting person entered the picture.

  She did not make a grand entrance. Instead, she appeared with a quiet, sneaky shift in the room's energy that was almost impossible to notice. She was like a different kind of ghost. She was a woman of such deep, subtle, and terrifyingly beautiful grace that she seemed to flow through the crowd instead of walk. She moved like a silent, dark river of pure and very dangerous elegance.

  She was a stunningly, almost unnaturally, beautiful woman. Her hair was like a waterfall of shiny, black obsidian. It was so dark it seemed to pull the light out of the magic crystals lighting the hall. Her skin was the color of pale, glowing white stone, which was a sharp, beautiful contrast to her deep, dark red dress. The gown was a simple, elegant piece of silk, the color of old blood and even older wine. It fit her body perfectly, showing a form that was a masterpiece of deadly, predator-like grace.

  Chapter : 1284

  But her eyes were the real and very terrible miracle. They were the color of melted gold. They held a look of ancient, deep, and almost playful evil intelligence. They were the eyes of a snake, a dragon, or a being that had seen stars be born and die and found it all a little boring.

  And her eyes were focused completely on him, with a direct and deeply unsettling attention.

  She moved through the sparkling, crowded hall, and the very air seemed to move out of her way. The loud nobles, the plotting politicians, and the powerful lords did not seem to see her. It was as if she existed on a slightly different and far more dangerous level of reality, like a ghost in the social machine of their world.

  Lloyd, however, saw her. His own unnatural senses, the senses of a man who has lived two lives and commanded an army of gods, were screaming at him. She was not a noblewoman. She was not a guest.

  She was a predator. A magnificent, beautiful, and absolutely terrifyingly high-level predator.

  He did not move. He did not show any reaction. His face stayed calm, polite, and a little bored. He just stood there, a quiet, still point in the room, and he waited. He was a rock, and the dark, beautiful, and very dangerous river was flowing straight toward him with a very clear purpose.

  She stopped just a foot away from him. Her scent was not the simple, honest smell of flowers. It was something darker and more unusual. It was the smell of jasmine that blooms at night, of old, forgotten spices, and of something else. Something that smelled faintly, and very disturbingly, like sulfur.

  "Lord Ferrum," she said. Her voice was a low, smooth, and impossibly beautiful purr. It was a voice that was a song, a promise, and a threat, all mixed into one perfect and completely captivating sound.

  And then, she leaned in. Her lips almost touched his ear, and her warm breath was like a ghost on his skin. She whispered a single, quiet, and absolutely world-shaking sentence.

  “My name is not important. But my mistress, the great Lady Leviathan of the Seventh Circle, sends her warmest and most personal greetings.”

  The name hit him like thunder in the secret war room of his mind. Leviathan. Not a Duke like Belphagor, but a Lady. She was one of the ancient, most powerful, and most monstrous female leaders of the entire Devil Race. Her name was only spoken in the most forbidden books. She was a creature from the deep, dark, and forgotten places of the world.

  This was not a court lady. This was not a simple killer.

  This was a messenger. An ambassador from a very different, very old, and deeply hostile kingdom.

  He was a lord of the North, and he was standing face to face with a direct messenger from one of the first and most terrible devils of Hell.

  And she was smiling at him. It was a beautiful, friendly, and absolutely terrifyingly predatory smile.

  Lloyd’s mind had been on high alert, but in a passive way. Now, it went into a state of total, quiet, red alert. Every one of his senses, both human and inhuman, was screaming at him. This was not a social meeting. This was a first contact with a hostile and very powerful foreign force.

  But he did not move. He did not show any reaction. The mask of the calm, slightly amused, and unreadable lord stayed perfectly in place. His heart rate did not even change. He was a commander who had just seen a new, very large, and very dangerous piece placed on his game board. His only response was to study it.

  The woman pulled back. Her melted gold eyes, which held the light of a thousand burning libraries, searched his face. She was looking for a sign of fear, of shock, of anything. She found nothing. She only found a quiet, polite, and almost insultingly curious stillness.

  She was the one who was surprised. She had expected a reaction. A gasp. A flinch. A small, barely noticeable widening of his eyes. She had just dropped a bomb on him, and he was looking at her with the mild, scholarly interest of a man who had just been shown a very interesting, but not very hard, new chess problem.

  Her beautiful, predatory smile grew wider. A flicker of real and thankful respect appeared in her golden eyes. It seemed the reports she had heard were not accurate enough. This man was… interesting.