Chapter 739: The Young Nobles of the Empire

As nobles, socializing with peers of similar rank was part of their societal duties. Naturally, as heirs to protector dukedoms and young nobles of comparable age, Findel Wilde and Eleven Franklin were well acquainted—and even shared a certain private camaraderie.

That camaraderie could basically be summed up as “we’re each other’s ‘other family’s kid.’”

During the Ansu era, aside from the already declining Cecil family, the heirs of the other three protector dukedoms—close in age and status, each bearing significant responsibilities—inevitably found themselves in such relationships.

But this didn’t diminish their friendship.

Findel and Eleven hadn’t seen each other for quite some time. Now, reunited in Cecil City—the forefront of the mage-industrial age—and sharing the same goal of study, they naturally had much to catch up on. Yet before that, there was a third person present.

Philm felt his mind growing hazy. To think that his traveling companion of half a month was the heir to the Northern Duke—something so dramatic it wouldn’t even be scripted in a play—made it hard for him to distinguish dream from reality. The young man from the Baren region swayed slightly, and when he looked at Findel again, his gaze was no longer so natural. “I… you…”

Before Philm could continue, Findel waved him off. “Friend, stop. No need for formalities or honorifics.”

Philm’s eyes widened, unsure how to respond.

Findel sighed inwardly.

He thought he’d done well to bridge the gap between noble and commoner during their journey, to draw closer to this friend from the lower ranks.

He had studied King Gawain Cecil’s theories on the essence of the noble system carefully—ideas that had opened the eyes of this young noble born and raised in the Northern mountains, stirring a yearning within him.

But perhaps that yearning was just the restless impulse of youth, drawn to rebellious ideas without fully grasping their weight.

When he left the Northern mountains, he believed he would be an exemplary “new-style noble.” He was willing to support King Gawain Cecil’s reforms, to personally break down the decayed barriers built up by the old Ansu nobility, to sweep away the ancient kingdom’s stagnation and rot. He was confident—he was the heir to the Northern Duke, a noble of high standing. If someone like him was willing to break with tradition, what could possibly stop him from befriending one or several commoners?

But now, he vaguely understood what his aunt meant when she spoke to him as they passed through Saint Suniel—

“…If you think that way, it means you’re still arrogant. The barrier between nobles and commoners isn’t something a noble can break just by ‘lowering themselves.’”

Findel smiled quietly as he looked at Philm, whose eyes betrayed nervousness and whose voice was hesitant.

That wall was truly solid. King Gawain had blasted through the Shattered Stone Ridge, pierced the Holy Spirit Plains, and stripped nobles of their privileges by decree—but the wall still stubbornly stood, rooted in people’s hearts, as unyielding as the frozen boulders of the North.

And Northerners were often more stubborn than stone.

He reached out and gave Philm’s shoulder a firm pat.

“Relax, friend. You’re the creator of the shadow play—let’s put aside all this talk of status for now. Didn’t you say you have a letter of introduction from that great merchant to meet Princess Rebecca?”

Philm snapped out of his daze. The mention of “Princess Rebecca” instantly shifted his focus away from the weight of being the Northern Duke’s heir. The blond young man instinctively touched the box he’d been carrying—the fruit of his labor, the hope for his family’s theater troupe’s revival, the all-in bet that had brought him to the southern lands. All these thoughts quickly steadied his nerves.

Eleven looked at Findel with curiosity. “You mentioned shadow plays just now… what exactly are those?”

“Ha! It’s a novel and fascinating idea—if you’re interested, want to join in?”

…

Amidst cheers and the booming of ceremonial cannons, Gawain stepped down from the podium after his speech.

Behind him, hundreds of runes flickered softly on the grand classical archway of the Imperial Academy. The heavy protective shield covering the gates was gradually fading. The first group of symbolic teachers and students were entering. Santis Saide, the tall and slender academy director, stood at the entrance, his eyes shining with excitement as he watched them file in.

Around the plaza, several large holographic projections looped simple, easy-to-understand videos introducing the academy’s main subjects, the four colleges, how imperial citizens could apply, and the basic admission requirements.

Citizens gathered in the square were slowly dispersing, though many lingered, gathering around the projections with curious eyes. Some shook their heads in regret, while others’ eyes sparkled with inexplicable hope.

Gawain didn’t disturb the scene. He returned to the mage-powered carriage parked at the plaza’s edge.

No sooner had he sat down than a small figure appeared beside him—Amber, perched there, resting her chin on her hands as she gazed toward the Imperial Academy.

“What a beautiful place… even nicer than your shabby palace,” the half-elf muttered. “You really know how to spend money.”

“This is the foundation of the nation. No matter how grand my plans, in the end, it all depends on people—and people need these academies to be trained,” Gawain smiled. “What, are you interested in going back for some ‘re-education’?”

“Not a chance,” Amber snapped, turning to glare. “The mighty head of imperial intelligence going back to school because of poor grades? How would I keep my authority in front of those little brats?”

“…I never said anything about your grades…”

“Isn’t it obvious? Don’t you know how much I’m worth?”

Gawain was speechless.

After a helpless chuckle, he shook his head. “What are those two young men up to?”

“Exploring the city, experiencing life. They seem quite interested in mingling with commoners and ignoring the usual rules… but I think they’re also observing the ‘Cecil Order’ on behalf of their families. They haven’t done anything out of line.”

“Let the young relax a little,” Gawain said with a smile. “Curiosity and enthusiasm are their greatest treasures.”

“You sound like an old fogey,” Amber pouted. “When did you get so lenient with young people? Weren’t you always saying the old powers—and especially their young—need strict reform and re-education?”

Gawain didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned to look out the window at the figures entering the academy.

“Now I can be more tolerant,” he said softly. “After all, school’s about to start.”

…

To Philm’s surprise, the Mage-Industrial Research Institute was not hard to find—or even that difficult to enter.

It was located not far from the Imperial Academy, a tall, eye-catching complex with a spacious entrance and a small fountain plaza. Unlike the gloomy, forbidding mage towers he’d imagined, there were no terrifying arcane constructs or heavily armed guards at the door. Though many people came and went, most wore plain white robes or blue uniforms—ordinary folk, with none of the aura or mannerisms of mages.

After presenting his letter of introduction and Saint Suniel-issued ID, and verifying his identity, the guards at the institute’s entrance welcomed him in with surprising friendliness.

Philm was taken aback.

Findel and Eleven exchanged a glance.

As spellcasters, they saw a very different reality than Philm did.

From the plaza to the lobby, the institute was riddled with hundreds of magical power monitoring devices, countless hidden spell countermeasures and mana interference traps. The seemingly ordinary guards were likely armed to the teeth with mage-tech. Inside, powerful magical energy sources were everywhere, enough to make one’s skin crawl.

Magic items here were truly as if they were free.

The two young nobles tensed, watching their words and actions carefully.

They hadn’t revealed their noble status, entering only with ordinary “citizen IDs” (a new invention under the Cecil Order) and Philm’s sponsorship. They didn’t want trouble here—not only would that ruin their southern journey’s start, but it would also bring shame to their families.

The three entered the institute and confirmed with a guide that Princess Rebecca was indeed here. Following directions, they took an elevator connecting the main building’s floors and soon arrived on the third floor.

Bright, spacious corridors and neatly arranged labs, researchers quietly moving about, runic devices embedded in the walls, and magical constructs everywhere—everything amazed the three young men.

Findel couldn’t help but feel moved.

Seeing this, he realized the advanced “Highlander” ship was really nothing special.

“I’ve never seen a magical research facility like this,” Eleven whispered. “My father’s lab looks more like a dungeon in comparison.”

“My aunt’s is the same… no, probably worse,” Findel shook his head. “She’s a disaster at organizing things, and she won’t let anyone else touch her experiments.”

Listening to these two heirs discuss secrets of the highest nobility, Philm felt a strange mix of nervousness and excitement, but dared not speak freely.

Fortunately, his tension didn’t last long—they had arrived at the lab the guide mentioned.

Just then, a researcher in a short robe stepped out. Findel immediately approached and explained their purpose.

“Looking for Princess Rebecca?” The man, with a slightly receding hairline, eyed the three curiously before shaking his head. “There’s been a bit of an incident. She’s gone out for now.”

“An incident?” Findel asked, glancing through the open door into the lab.

Though the view was obscured, it looked like something had exploded inside—charred fragments embedded in the walls, smoke drifting in the air, and a sharp, acrid smell.

“Just some routine experimental byproducts,” the researcher said calmly, stepping to block their view and pointing down the hall. “Princess Rebecca is resting in the lounge. You can wait there, but please don’t disturb her—she’s undergoing self-adjustment.”

Self-adjustment?

Findel and Eleven grew even more puzzled. Their curiosity about the imperial princess they’d only heard rumors of, about the daily operations of this facility, and about the so-called “self-adjustment” process deepened. They exchanged a glance, then, with the still somewhat bewildered Philm in tow, headed toward the lounge at the end of the corridor.

As the three of them reached the lounge door, they hadn’t even pushed it open yet when faint sounds drifted out.

It was gentle, soothing music—clear, melodious notes that tugged at the heartstrings. Findel, about to open the door, couldn’t help but pause.

Carefully and slowly, he eased the door open.

Inside the brightly lit room, a young girl sat at a piano. She wore a simple long dress, over which was draped a white short robe. She was completely absorbed in her playing.

Only her profile was visible. The light from above spilled onto her light brown hair, casting a soft, radiant glow, while gentle shadows played across her face. Her fingers danced over the keys with serene grace, her expression calm and detached, as if she and the instrument were one—untroubled by anything around her.

The beautiful, flowing melody poured from her fingertips, filling the entire room.

But the girl wasn’t alone. Several others in standard white robes were seated around the room—likely researchers taking a break. At this moment, they all seemed equally lost in the music.

Findel, Eleven, and Philm, stepping cautiously inside, guessed that this piano player must be the rumored “Princess Rebecca.” Findel felt a flicker of surprise. He’d heard stories about Princess Rebecca before, and the image painted by those rumors didn’t quite match this quiet, focused musician. Eleven, meanwhile, caught snippets of hushed conversation among the researchers:

“I never expected Princess Rebecca to have such musical talent…”

“Is this your first time hearing her play?”

“Yeah, it’s my first time catching her performance…”

“They say her music teacher back then was quite remarkable…”

“No wonder…”

(End of chapter)