The image of Damon and Sylvette lingered on the mana screens inside the massive tent, their battle against the Ironhide Lizard replaying in muted detail. Damon's strained swings, Sylvette's precise cuts, the final kill delivered with effort.

Whispers rippled through the nobles.

"Not bad."

"Graceful, yes, but hardly on the same level."

"Compared to Noel… it isn't even close."

The words carried no malice, only cold recognition. Everyone had seen it. Damon and Sylvette had struggled, while Noel had treated Elites like nothing more than target dummies.

At the central table, Lady Mirelle's lips pressed into a thin line. Lady Serina shifted uncomfortably. Their silence was as sharp as any admission.

That was when Thalanor von Lestaria leaned back in his chair, a warm grin tugging at his mouth. "Still convinced Noel falls short of my daughter, Elena?" His tone was light, but the barb landed clean.

Mirelle's eyes narrowed. Serina shot him a sharp look, but neither answered. The murmurs around them grew louder, nobles glancing their way with hidden smiles.

Across the table, Lord Albrecht remained unmoving, as if carved from iron. His cold gaze stayed fixed on the screens, betraying nothing.

Thalanor chuckled softly, pouring himself a drink. "I thought so."

The screen flickered again, shifting focus away from the Thornes. The whispers died down, but the weight of comparison hung heavy in the air.

The mana screens flickered again, shifting away from Damon and Sylvette. A new image filled the tent—Selene von Iskandar.

She moved through the mountain path with the same composure she always carried at the academy: straight-backed, deliberate, each step measured. The shadows of the ridge did not cling to her—they bent around her presence, as if the cold itself refused to let anything else near. Her short blue hair caught the light of the mana projection, and in her hand gleamed a slender wand, faintly crystalline, as if sculpted from pure frost.

The nobles inside the tent leaned forward. No one spoke.

The drone shifted closer, catching the air around her changing. The temperature visibly dropped, frost creeping along the rocks as she raised her wand. Her lips barely moved, yet the spell took shape with perfect control.

"Frostfall Requiem."

The atmosphere collapsed instantly. Breath fogged and froze in seconds. Then came the pulse—an expanding wave of mana, sharp and glacial, bursting outward like a heartbeat.

The target—a cluster of Ravenspine Wolves prowling at the edge of the ridge—never had a chance. The storm erupted in full force, a blinding gale of white wind and microscopic shards of ice. Wolves howled once before the blizzard swallowed them whole, their cries cut short as the needles shredded fur, flesh, and bone alike.

When the storm cleared, silence reigned. The wolves lay still, frozen statues already cracking under their own weight.

Selene lowered her wand without flourish, her expression unchanging. She did not smile. She did not frown. She simply moved on, steps leaving faint frost prints on the stone.

The tent stayed quiet, every noble watching her as if the air itself had grown heavy.

From Selene's perspective, the hunt was nothing but calculation. The cold steadied her pulse, sharpened her thoughts. She moved along the ridge with quiet certainty, watching the mana traces ahead.

Two Frostfang Panthers emerged from the underbrush, their pelts blending into the snow-dusted stone. Their eyes glowed a pale blue, jaws dripping frost. They circled, low and fast, trying to flank her.

Selene didn't rush. She lifted her wand slightly, her gaze tracking each step. 'Left first. Right will follow.'

"Cryo Grasp."

Hands of ice burst from the ground, seizing the paws of the left panther. It thrashed, growling as frost climbed its legs, locking it in place. The second panther leapt for her flank, claws flashing.

"Glacial Thrust."

Her wand flicked forward, a spear of ice shooting out with surgical precision. It pierced straight through the beast's chest, freezing the wound solid before it even struck the ground. The creature collapsed in silence, eyes still wide with feral hunger.

The trapped panther roared, tearing free of the ice at the cost of bleeding paws. It lunged, desperate. Selene's expression didn't shift.

"Gravition Hold."

Mana thickened around the beast. Its body slammed into the ground, pinned by a sudden surge of gravity. Selene walked closer, her wand steady.

"Frozen Lance."

A condensed spear of ice materialized and drove clean through the panther's skull. The beast twitched once, then lay still.

Selene exhaled quietly, lowering her wand. The cold around her remained, frost lining the rocks, but her face betrayed nothing. Just the same cool detachment as always.

'Efficient. Nothing more.'

She turned, resuming her path, as if two predators hadn't just died at her feet.

Back inside the great tent, the nobles kept their eyes fixed on the shifting mana screens. Selene's icy hunt had ended in silence, her figure walking away from the frozen carcasses with the same calm she had shown from the beginning.

At the table of the Iskandar, Lady Vaelora's expression was perfectly composed—back straight, lips neutral, gaze unreadable. She looked every inch the strategist her house was known for. To the other nobles, she seemed untouched, simply observing her daughter's performance with professional detachment.

But inside, the thoughts cut sharper than any blade.

'She's using his wand.' The crystalline glint was unmistakable, its resonance carrying all the way through the projection.

The corner of Vaelora's hand twitched against her lap, though her face betrayed nothing.

She remembered too well the girl she had once belittled, scolded, pushed past limits not out of guidance but out of cruelty. The child who had learned to harden her heart, not because of training, but because her own mother had left her no choice.

'She will never forgive me. Nor should she. I don't deserve it.'

For a fleeting moment, a shadow crossed her eyes. 'But even so… even if she hates me forever, I will still be here. Watching. Protecting from the distance she demands. This time, I won't turn away.'

Vaelora adjusted her posture, mask slipping seamlessly back into place. Around her, other nobles whispered, impressed by Selene's display.

She simply nodded once, voice cold and steady when she finally spoke: "As expected of my daughter."

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