The carpeted hallway of Floor Eighty-Six was entirely silent, save for the low rhythmic hum of the hotel’s mana-stabilizers embedded within the gilded baseboards.
For several suffocating seconds, neither woman spoke.
Kara White stood framed within the entrance of the Presidential Suite, her single, silk-gloved right hand resting casually against the heavy brass doorframe.
The brim of her designer sunhat cast a dark, elegant shadow over her eyes, but beneath that velvet rim, her luminous purple irises were locked in a razor-sharp stare.
Opposite her, Elora Verinda maintained her immaculate posture.
The Campus Belle of Valoria Academy was clad in a sharp, tailored navy blazer bearing the silver sun-crest of House Verinda, her cascading pale-blonde hair catching the warm illumination of the crystal wall sconces.
Her sharp features were arranged in a mask of effortless composure, her icy-blue eyes analyzing every square millimeter of the woman standing before her.
Internally, however, Elora’s brilliant mind was working at frantic speed.
’It’s just as I felt down in the lobby...’ Elora thought, her analytical gaze tracing the graceful unhurried posture of Kara’s silhouette.
When she saw that someone had effortlessly shattered the Newbie Leaderboards, Elora’s instincts had pointed toward the impossible.
For a brief, fleeting moment back in the Academy armory, she had entertained the absurd theory that Silas Grave might have somehow been the Lord of Blessed Land.
But standing here now, mere inches from the person before her, that theory completely dissolved.
The spiritual pressure radiating from Kara White was fundamentally distinct.
It was vast and chillingly powerful, carrying the undeniable weight of an apex entity who moved through the mortal world like a predator indulging a stroll.
Silas possessed a sharp aura but this woman felt like an mountain of authority.
’There is no connection,’ Elora concluded, a flicker of cold certainty settling in her chest. ’Silas Graves is just a talented anomaly who pulled a decent Blue Core in the slums. This woman... this is the true Lord of Blessed Land.’
Elora’s objective was clear.
To secure House Verinda’s supremacy in the upcoming inter-realm territorial redistribution, she needed the undisputed Number One of the Newbie bracket under her family’s banner.
The global consensus had already pinned the Lord of Blessed Land as the bearer of a legendary Gold Core.
In the political hierarchy of Earth, one did not pry too deeply into the origins of a Gold Core sovereign without courting immediate annihilation.
Elora knew her limits.
She had calculated the raw mana power of the woman standing in the doorway; if Kara chose to unleash a full-power offensive spell right here, she wouldn’t just breach the room... she could collapse the entire eighty-six-story superstructure of the Skybli Hotel into rubble before the city’s defense arrays could even activate.
Elora could not hope to match that destructive output.
Worse still, intelligence reports from the registry confirmed that Kara White possessed zero living relatives, zero institutional debts, and zero corporate attachments.
Elora had no leverage, no pressure points, and no familial vulnerabilities to exploit. She was standing at a total diplomatic dead end, relying solely on charm and high-society prestige.
Elora smiled, her tone dripping with polished diplomatic warmth.
"I took the liberty of having the executive chef prepare a private banquet. We could discuss the parameters of a mutual protection treaty over din—"
"I’m not interested."
The refusal was instantaneous and entirely devoid of hesitation.
Elora’s aristocratic smile completely froze. A subtle twitch rippled across her porcelain brow, genuine surprise cracking her practiced facade.
"Miss White... surely you must understand the practical necessity of regional integration," Elora pressed, stepping forward slightly, her icy eyes narrowing. "Valoria City is governed by established treaties... The Verinda family controls seventy percent of the spatial transport nodes in this hemisphere. An independent territory, no matter how powerful its initial deployment, cannot survive long-term supply embargoes from the global trade hubs. An alliance guarantees you immediate access to our refining syndicates, diplomatic immunity from corporate inquiries, and—"
"I only came here to enjoy myself," Kara interrupted.
Kara adjusted the brim of her hat with her single right hand, looking down at the City Lord’s daughter with a bored curve of her lips.
"I have zero time to deal with political theater. I am not allying myself with your family, I have no intention of signing with any guild, and I am certainly not interested in handing over operational control of my territory or negotiating resource quotas. Furthermore, I have no desire to sign a pact that provides me with zero tangible benefits at the end of the day."
Kara didn’t wait for a rebuttal.
She took a half-step back and swung the heavy, solid-oak suite door shut with effortless force.
SLAM!
The sheer concussive pressure of the door snapping shut generated a sudden gust of displaced air that whipped Elora’s pale-blonde hair wildly across her face.
Elora stood frozen in the empty corridor, her eyelashes fluttering as the breeze settled.
’Oh?’
A cold dangerous silence filled the hallway.
Elora took a slow, calculated step backward, smoothing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
She was not a brute so she was not going to pound on the wood or make an undignified scene in a five-star hotel.
Her icy blue eyes drifted toward the narrow seam beneath the door frame.
Through the brief gap before the door had closed, Elora’s sharp vision had caught a glimpse of the interior.
She had seen the living quarters and more specifically, she had spotted the dark-haired girl in the oversized gray hoodie currently fast asleep on the plush velvet sofa.
Elora had never seen that face in any official high-society register.
The girl looked like a low-tier commoner, yet she was resting comfortably inside the private sanctuary of a Gold Core Lord.
’A close companion...’ Elora reasoned, her jaw clenching tightly as a ruthless scheme formed in her mind. ’She dropped her guard around that girl. If I can catch that commoner off-guard on the surface, I can secure the leverage I need to force a proper audience with the Lord of Blessed Land.’
Elora turned on her designer heels, her blue coat swirling around her legs as her eyes hardened into frost.
’And if that girl proves useless as a bargaining chip...’ Elora thought with chilling finality, ’I will simply eliminate her to clear the board.’
With silent measured strides, the City Lord’s daughter marched toward the express elevators and vanished from the floor.
Inside the Suite, Kara let out a long groan, leaning her back against the solid oak door.
"Unbelievable," Silas muttered within the disguise, Kara’s purple eyes rolling toward the ceiling. "I put on a dress for thirty minutes and the local nobles are already trying to draft me into their political nonsense. Does that girl ever take a day off from being an arrogant pain in the ass?"
He pushed himself off the door and walked across the thick cream-colored rug toward the central lounge area.
Evelyn was still completely out cold on the sofa, her face buried into the soft velvet cushion, breathing in deep steady rhythms.
Kara walked over to the communications terminal embedded in the mahogany bar. He pressed the glowing gold service rune, bringing up the hotel’s internal audio-link.
PING!
"Grand Skybli Guest Concierge, how may we cater to your desires this afternoon, Miss White?" a polite deferential voice chimed through the speaker.
"I need room service," Kara answered smoothly. "Send up a selection of your premier pastries and cakes. In fact, bring up one of every single specialty dessert the patisserie has prepared today. And bring a bottle of your finest vintage red wine... something from the southern valley vineyards."
"An exceptional choice, Miss. Our pastry team will prepare the grand tasting carousel immediately. Is there anything else the suite requires?"
Kara paused, glancing over her shoulder at Evelyn’s defenseless, sleeping face.
A sudden, devious smirk curled across her lips.
"Yes, actually," Kara added, tapping her knuckles against the mahogany counter. "Could you have the delivery staff include a standard black permanent marker on the tray?"
A brief, confused pause echoed from the other end of the line.
"A... permanent marker, Ma’am?"
"Did I stutter?" Kara asked with lighthearted, aristocratic sharpness. "A fine-tip black marker. Put it on the cart."
"Right away, Miss White! The cart will arrive within ten minutes."
The terminal clicked off.
Kara walked back to the sectional sofa, sitting down quietly on the edge of the leather cushion opposite Evelyn.
She rested her elbow on her knee, leaning her chin against her single silk-gloved palm as she watched the former Lord of the Unmovable Wall sleep.
Without the permanent scowl, the sneer, and the constant cloud of gray tobacco smoke obscuring her features, Evelyn looked remarkably young.
’You really need to learn how to relax, Ev,’ Silas thought warmly with a soft smile touching his lips.
Ten minutes later, a discreet knock sounded at the double doors.
Kara stood up, stepped into the foyer, and unlocked the latch.
A team of two immaculate waitstaff pushed a multi-tiered, gold-plated rolling cart into the suite, bowing deeply with utter reverence.
The cart was a masterpiece.
Arranged across polished silver tiers were nearly a dozen distinct, exquisitely decorated cakes and pastries... a towering dark-chocolate mousse cake glazed with edible gold leaf, a delicate white-lotus sponge topped with crystalized berries, a multi-layered matcha opera cake, a plate of warm caramelized alchemical honey tarts, and a chilled crystal decanter filled with deep shimmering crimson wine alongside a pair of cut-glass goblets.
And resting neatly beside the wine goblets on a small silver saucer was a brand-new, fine-tip black permanent marker.
"Your tasting selection, Miss," the lead waiter murmured, bowing with his hand over his heart. "The cellar master selected the Age-320 Crimson Reserve for your vintage. Shall we serve the wine?"
"No, that will be all," Kara replied smoothly, picking up a generous gratuity chit from the console and handing it over. "Leave the cart. You may go."
"Thank you, Miss White. Enjoy your afternoon."
The staff bowed once more and backed out of the room, the heavy double doors locking securely behind them.
Kara walked over to the rolling cart, picking up a small silver fork and a plate holding a slice of the dark-chocolate mousse cake.
She brought a delicate piece to her lips, savoring the rich, velvety cocoa and the light crunch of the gold leaf.
"Damn..." Kara whispered in genuine delight with her purple eyes widening. "The people in the Upper Ward really know how to spend their credits... I might actually have to start coming here more often."
She poured herself a glass of the vintage red wine, taking a slow appreciative sip of the rich, oaky liquid to wash down the chocolate.
’This is all in Ev’s tab... I’m not paying shit.’
Setting the glass down on the cart, Kara picked up the black permanent marker.
She popped the plastic cap off with a soft click.
A wicked grin spread across Kara’s face as she crept silently across the plush rug toward the sofa.
’This,’ Silas thought with immense internal glee, ’is payback for you smoking in my Keep, calling me an idiot, and acting like an old hag.’
Moving with the precision of a swordsman, Kara leaned over the sleeping girl.
With light, practiced strokes of the fine-tip marker, she carefully drew a thick, magnificent, perfectly symmetrical handlebar mustache right across Evelyn’s upper lip, curling the tips upward toward her cheekbones in elaborate loops.
To complete the masterpiece, she added a tiny dashing French goatee right on the center of Evelyn’s chin.
Kara pulled back, admiring the handiwork.
Evelyn, with her messy dark hair, pale skin, and oversized gray hoodie, now looked like a nineteenth-century French duelist who had passed out in an alleyway.
Kara had to bite her own silk-gloved thumb to keep from bursting into a fit of hysterical laughter.
She recapped the marker, tossed it into her Lord Inventory, and sat down comfortably at the rolling cart to systematically demolish the remaining eleven slices of cake.
Nearly an hour passed in blissful sugary tranquility.
On the sofa, Evelyn’s eyelashes fluttered.
She let out a long, groggy groan, her brow furrowing as the bright afternoon light filtering through the panoramic windows stung her retinas.
Her throat felt dry, her limbs felt heavy, and a dull lingering ache pulsed behind her temples.
She slowly pushed herself upright on the leather cushions, rubbing her eyes with the sleeves of her hoodie as a jaw-cracking yawn tore from her throat.
"Ugh... my head..." Evelyn rasped..
She blinked rapidly, her vision clearing as she looked across the room.
Sitting at the empty rolling cart, Kara was just setting down an empty dessert plate.
The silver platters that had once held twelve intricate cakes were completely bare, wiped clean with terrifying efficiency.
"Ahhhh~"
A soft undignified feminine burp escaped Kara’s lips. She patted her flat stomach with her single right hand, letting out a contented sigh as she downed the final sip of her wine goblet.
"Well, well," Kara smiled, turning her head with an amused twinkle in her purple eyes. "Look who finally decided to rejoin the land of the living. It’s about time you woke up, Sleeping Beauty."
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