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.
