The Insane Regressor: Throne of Pride

And just as Ravian was about to turn in shock to look at the person, he stopped halfway through the motion.

’Don’t confirm it for them, idiot,’ Ravian thought, knowing that if he turned around now, he would be confirming his identity to whoever had called him.

He was simply clinging to any hope that he might still slip away.

But unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be that easy.

And without Ravian turning at all, while he was still staring at the wall in front of him with a face devoid of expression, someone appeared before him.

She had beautiful crimson hair, a stature that now left her roughly ten centimeters shorter than him, and rare amber eyes.

She also had small, lovely red lips, with a tiny beauty mark just beneath them that only made her more beautiful.

And when Ravian saw her—

’Ah... I fucked up already,’ Ravian thought.

If it had been anyone else, he could have evaded them or invented something on the spot, but the person standing in front of him was the last person he wanted to run into in the capital, because she simply wouldn’t fall for any cheap trick he tried.

The Crimson Valkyrie of the battlefield and the Deadly Beauty of the City of Light camp.

Lysandra Veyla.

Lysandra stood before him with an expression as cold as ice, her amber eyes fixed on his crimson ones.

In her eyes, Ravian caught several emotions at once—shock, disbelief, anger, and... confusion?

And that was when Larette, who had been escorting Lysandra to meet the Earl from the very start, arrived and stopped beside them, her eyes moving from Ravian to Lysandra.

She didn’t appear to have heard the name Lysandra had called him by—or at least, that was what Ravian concluded from the absence of any reaction on her face.

And that was the only good thing that had happened to him since he’d heard that voice.

As for Lysandra, she continued staring at him as though she were trying to peel his new face away with her eyes alone.

His face had changed, his height had increased, his body had grown broader and far more balanced, and even his presence no longer matched what it had been back at the City of Light camp.

But his eyes hadn’t changed.

Neither had the way he stood.

Nor had that provoking coolness that settled over his face whenever he found himself in trouble and tried to convince everyone that he had the situation under control.

Ravian opened his mouth before he could give Lysandra another chance to speak his real name.

"Lady Lysandra Veyla," he said, inclining his head in a slight bow. Then he placed his hand over his chest as though introducing himself to her for the very first time.

"I am Rayan Veyr," Ravian said.

As he spoke the name, his eyes flicked toward Larette for a single instant before returning to Lysandra.

The signal lasted no longer than a heartbeat.

But it was enough.

The name wasn’t an introduction—it was a clear request for her to pretend to believe him until the two of them were alone.

Lysandra’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"Rayan..." she repeated slowly.

She held his gaze for one extra second, then nodded.

"Of course."

Her voice was calm, but Ravian couldn’t find anything reassuring in her tone.

’She caught the signal,’ Ravian thought.

Then he looked at the coldness that had only deepened in her eyes.

’And she didn’t like it one bit.’

Larette watched the brief exchange between them for a few moments before asking,

"Do the two of you know each other?"

"Something of the sort—" Ravian began, but Lysandra cut him off.

"Yes," Lysandra said before Ravian could answer.

Then she returned to staring at him.

"I saw him at the Eastern Grain Warehouse," Lysandra said, and the sharpness in her eyes hadn’t eased in the slightest since she’d laid eyes on him.

Ravian’s expression didn’t change.

He knew exactly what she was talking about.

That man wrapped in a gray cloak whom she had followed with her eyes among the refugees, before Void Shadow erased every trace of his presence and he reappeared in an entirely different form.

"The warehouse was filled with hundreds of people, my lady," Ravian said calmly.

"Very few of them moved the way you do," Lysandra replied.

"Is the way I walk that eye-catching?" Ravian asked, calmly trying to lighten the atmosphere in front of Larette.

"Not to ordinary people," Lysandra replied. "But distinctive enough for me to remember."

Larette stopped looking at Lysandra and focused solely on Ravian.

She didn’t know exactly what the two of them were talking about, but she understood that the conversation hadn’t begun in this corridor and that both of them were hiding more than they were saying.

"So you were at the Eastern Grain Warehouse?" Larette asked him, stepping closer.

"I’ve passed through a great many places since I woke up," Ravian answered without giving her a direct answer. "My memory hasn’t been at its best."

Larette scowled.

"There you go again."

"Doing what?" Ravian asked, puzzled.

"Answering without answering," Larette said, though she hadn’t expected the reaction from the third person standing there with them.

The corner of Lysandra’s mouth curved slightly.

It wasn’t a full smile, but it came close enough to one for Larette to notice.

"So at least that habit hasn’t changed," Lysandra said.

Ravian looked at her and was caught off guard by what he saw.

The slight curve vanished from Lysandra’s lips in an instant, and the coldness returned to her face.

"I wonder what else has changed," Lysandra said.

Ravian didn’t need to ask what she meant.

The anger he saw in her eyes was enough.

Even so, he couldn’t stop his tone from growing more serious when he said,

"In any case, I’m glad you’re well, Lady Lysandra."

Lysandra raised one eyebrow slightly, as though that sentence had been the last thing she expected to hear from him.

"You’re glad I’m well?" she asked.

"Yes," Ravian answered.

The answer came without hesitation or sarcasm.

"The capital has been in a bad state these past few days, and many people were fortunate to have you there during the relief operations," Ravian continued in a courteous tone.

Lysandra remained silent for a moment.

"I didn’t expect to hear praise from you, especially not now," Lysandra said.

"I don’t withhold the truth when it deserves to be spoken," Ravian replied.

Ravian’s tone wasn’t warm, and his face bore no smile, but the respect with which he treated Lysandra was clear enough for Larette to notice at once.

Ravian, who only a short while ago had sat before her father as though haggling with an ordinary merchant, now stood perfectly straight before Lysandra, addressed her by her title without a trace of mockery, and neither interrupted her nor tried to turn every word she said into another argument.

But Ravian didn’t respect her because she was the granddaughter of Grand Duke Alexander Veyla.

Bloodlines and titles had never once been enough in his eyes.

He respected her because he had seen her on the battlefield.

He knew that she had watched his back at a time when every last person there could have left him to his fate, that she had used his own sword to kill an orc that had slipped in behind him, and that she had then handed it back to him as though what she’d done wasn’t worth mentioning.

He had also seen her stand up to her own brother when he tried to block Ravian’s path, even though she owed him nothing at all.

Ravian didn’t forget deeds like those, even if he never told the people responsible how much he valued what they had done.

Larette noticed the way he looked at Lysandra and the way he spoke to her, and she felt a small, irritating tightness in her chest.

She wasn’t jealous of Lysandra’s beauty or House Veyla’s standing.

Larette had grown up among beautiful noblewomen from families of higher standing than her own, and that had never bothered her for a single day.

What bothered her was that Ravian’s respect for Lysandra didn’t seem like something imposed on him by a title or a bloodline.

It looked earned—earned by Lysandra within a part of his life that Larette knew absolutely nothing about.

"Annoying," Larette said suddenly.

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