"Guest etiquette?" A smile bordering on mockery touched Alonso’s pale face.

"Fernandez, you and I both know that the boundaries of truth are not drawn by stone tablets and prayers. As for trespassing... isn’t this door open to all who seek knowledge?"

His voice carried a peculiar cadence, each syllable crystal clear.

But as he spoke, the intangible pressure, far from weakening, swelled like a rising tide, weighing ever more heavily on everyone present. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

Several of the more delicate noblewomen had turned deathly pale and were on the verge of fainting, kept upright only by the servants at their sides.

Even the battle-hardened Knights found it hard to breathe, their palms sweating as they gripped their sword hilts. It was a primal fear, stemming from the chasm between their levels of existence, that made it nearly impossible to summon the courage to even draw their blades.

Archbishop Fernandez’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his Scepter. The Moonlight Stone at its tip pulsed with a soft, steady glow, forming a gossamer-thin silver halo around him. It barely managed to ward off the pressure surging toward the high platform, carving out a small sanctuary to shield Margaret and Eleanor behind him.

The wrinkles on his aged face were deep, his gaze sharp as a knife. "The boundaries of truth are guarded by divine will and mortal law, Marquis Torre. Today, Taymer Palace hosts a sacred family celebration, not a salon for a gathering of Wizards. Your arrival constitutes a blatant offense against both the Vilt Kingdom and the Temeris Clan."

"An offense?" Alonso slowly shook his head, the movement elegant yet chilling. "In the eyes of the Tower of Secret Silver, the only true offense in this world is to imprison knowledge behind high walls and confine truth within scriptures. That is the greatest blasphemy against the Master of All Wisdom."

In the Vilt Kingdom and the surrounding realms that worshipped the God of Truth, the name "Tower of Secret Silver" was virtually synonymous with words like "forbidden," "secretive," "powerful," and "dangerous."

The history of this Wizard Organization could be traced back hundreds of years, its origins inextricably linked to the unique geographical, historical, and political climate of the Castile Kingdom.

Unlike the Vilt Kingdom and other western nations, while Castile also nominally revered the God of Truth, power was far more decentralized among its Royal Family and local nobles. As a result, the Church Court’s influence was more heavily constrained and balanced by secular authority.

Furthermore, its mountainous, complex terrain and its long history of close trade with the Desert Countries of the East and the overseas city-states to the southwest allowed various schools of thought, crafts, and even secret traditions to survive and intermingle in the gaps.

The Tower of Secret Silver was born from this relatively tolerant environment. It was not a purely clandestine group; instead, it existed in a semi-public fashion, deeply intertwined with Castile’s high nobility.

The powerful Wizards within the Tower often held illustrious noble titles and fiefdoms of their own; Alonso himself, for instance, was a high-ranking and influential Marquis.

This made it difficult for the Truth Church Court to hunt them down with the same ruthless abandon it displayed elsewhere, even while viewing them as heretics. Restrained by the fear of collateral damage, a delicate and dangerous state of coexistence and confrontation had formed.

"There is nothing here for the Tower of Secret Silver!"

Margaret’s icy voice suddenly cut through the tension.

She took half a step forward to stand nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with Archbishop Fernandez, completely shielding Eleanor behind her.

At that moment, the full authority of her station as a Duke was on display. Deep within her jet-black eyes, an emerald starlight swirled with fierce, ever-increasing speed, looking as if it might burst from her pupils at any second.

"Marquis Alonso de la Torre," Margaret’s voice was clear, firm, and frosty. "Whether you represent the Castile Kingdom or the Tower of Secret Silver, you have no right to act with such impunity in the Vilt Kingdom, on the lands of the Temeris Clan. I demand that you leave at once. Otherwise, your presence will be deemed a grave provocation to the relations between our two kingdoms and an invasion of the Temeris Territory!"

As the host, she had to establish the firmest possible stance from the very beginning.

Eleanor clutched a corner of her mother’s robes, her small face cautiously peeking out from behind Margaret.

She wasn’t crying or making a fuss; she didn’t even seem particularly afraid. Her jet-black eyes were simply wide open, fixed on the man in black who radiated such an oppressive aura. Her small face held a focus that was well beyond her years.

And...

A hint of curiosity.

It was as if she was trying to "listen" or "see," struggling to understand something.

Princess Elizabeth, securely encircled by the Royal Knights, was as pale as a sheet.

She was clearly shaken by the sudden turn of events and the terrifying pressure of an Official Wizard. Her body trembled, but her royal upbringing made her bite down hard on her lower lip, forcing herself to stay on her feet. Her frightened gaze darted between Alonso, Margaret, and Fernandez, but in the end, it involuntarily drifted to the deep blue figure in the front row of the viewing gallery.

Across the entire hall, the only person seemingly unaffected by the terrifying pressure was the Great Knight, Murphy.

He had already risen to his feet, his calm gaze fixed on the intruder. His face was devoid of expression, one hand gripping his scabbard tightly.

The deep blue of his Knight’s Armor seemed to darken in the flickering candlelight.

Only then did Alonso seem to finally spare a glance for the silent Great Knight below the platform.

A thought flickered through his mind. ’This War Slave has progressed far along the path of a Great Knight, nearly touching the physical limits of a mortal.’

But he dismissed the thought just as quickly, his gaze refocusing on the high platform.