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Asterion—formerly named Jeffrey—might have been born into nobility, but privilege was something he had never been allowed to enjoy. From the moment he took his first breath, his life had been shaped by oppression, sneers, and cruel whispers from those who believed blood determined worth. His fellow peers treated him with contempt because of his birth origin. To them, he was a concubine's child, a stain on the Middleton household. A boy born with noble blood yet denied its shelter even before he could speak.
Despite that, Asterion never let the bitterness of his upbringing turn him into someone cruel. Even if he wasn't close to his other half‑siblings—most raised separately, most carrying the same injuries and scars of neglect—he never turned them away when they needed help. Scarlette knew that much. She wasn't fond of gossip, but she heard enough from the very man walking beside her, who seemed determined to fill every silence with his loud rambling.
From what she could gather, Asterion had intervened quietly, subtly, in matters concerning his half‑siblings. When some wanted to leave the Middleton household because of the Viscountess's harsh treatment, Asterion had stepped in. Not with intimidation, not with threats, but with the calm authority of someone who finally possessed the power to protect others.
He confronted the Viscount directly, meeting his father's fury with unwavering resolve. The Viscount, enraged and humiliated, tried to forbid the children and their mothers from leaving. But once Asterion's name—Marquis Valehart—entered the discussion, the Viscount had no choice but to swallow his anger and let them go. He couldn't publicly oppose a Marquis tied to the Emperor's own family line.
Scarlette wasn't the type to admire people easily, but she had to admit—even she found that action respectable.
But admiration didn't mean she wasn't annoyed by him.
Especially when he acted like… this.
"My dear Scarlette. Would you do me a favor and look at me? Your poor best friend is aching for you! It's been years since we last saw each other!"
Scarlette snapped out of her thoughts so fast she nearly twisted her neck.
What the hell did he just say?
If anyone heard him, the rumors would explode like wildfire. Him, the Empire's golden Marquis, calling her—an SSS‑Rank adventurer with a cold personality—his "best friend"?
And who is your fcking best friend?! Also, please stop using that ridiculous endearment!
Her eye twitched.
Scarlette inhaled slowly… then exhaled sharply. If anyone recognized him and heard that line, she would be tormented by rumors for years. And she had long grown tired of being associated with him in noble gossip circles.
Asterion's public persona was far different from the man walking beside her. In front of nobles and soldiers, he was composed, dignified, strategic—the epitome of a well‑mannered Marquis and fearsome Commander. But with her?
He became… this.
A dramatic, clingy, overly emotional annoyance.
Well, he is the revered Marquis. He has to be cautious around others to protect himself and the people he cares about.
But does he really have to act like a lunatic around me?
Scarlette sighed.
She remembered, unfortunately, the one time he asked her to accompany him to a Royal banquet. She, a commoner by birth—an adventurer who belonged nowhere near opulent ballrooms—was dragged into noble society by his insistence and the Emperor's approval.
The memory still haunted her.
She never wanted to experience that again.
Nor the gossip that followed.
"Three weeks ago, Varyn. Dramatic," she muttered flatly.
Asterion only laughed softly, clearly pleased she responded at all.
"You know how much I care about you, my dear Scarlette!" he declared loudly. Too loudly. "Also—I've been practicing! My sword skills have gotten even better. What do you say about a rematch?"
A rematch…?
Scarlette almost choked on her own breath.
This bastard… seriously?
She glared at him. "You? Rematch? Tsk. You're a Swordmaster, for Nexus' sake."
"What about it?" Asterion countered with a grin. "You're a Swordmaster too! Well… a hidden one. Ever since you disappeared after that incident three years ago. You should thank His Majesty and the Crown Prince—they covered everything up for you."
Scarlette froze.
That incident.
She wouldn't think about it.
Not right now.
Not ever, if she could help it.
Her hand twitched—the urge to smack him was strong—but she refrained. This man was the Commander of the Imperial Army. A Marquis. A noble with a high-ranking title.
If I hit him in broad daylight, I'll be thrown into a dungeon. Tsk!
Scarlette clenched her jaw as Asterion rambled on, her irritation growing with every word that escaped his lips.
'Why… did I ever meet this man?'
Her thoughts drifted.
Well, that all started from three years ago…
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[FLASHBACK – THREE YEARS AGO]
The Silveria Empire held a grand martial event every five years—one that drew crowds from every corner of the capital. An event hosted by the Royal Family themselves, meant to test skill, discipline, and the rising strength of their nation.
The Silveria Martial Tournament Festival.
Warriors from all walks of life—nobles, commoners, experienced knights, fresh trainees, and even wanderers—were permitted to join as long as they were between the ages of ten to fifty. The festival was well-loved and deeply respected; a blend of honor, ambition, and spectacle that filled the capital with anticipation.
Scarlette had not planned to attend.
She had just completed a mission that took several days. She was tired, craving rest, and wanted nothing more than to wander the city aimlessly to unwind. But fate, as always, enjoyed disrupting her plans.
Within the bustling crowd, she overheard chatter about the Martial Proving Festival. Curiosity tugged at her—mild curiosity, nothing more—and since she had nothing else to do, she drifted toward the arena with the rest of the curious residents.
The air was electric.
Vendors shouted, banners fluttered, various knights boasted about their upcoming matches, and spectators cheered loudly as the event approached its next round. The Empire loved this festival; the energy was intoxicating, lively in a way even Scarlette couldn't entirely dislike.
Still, she had no intention of joining.
As the youngest SSS‑Rank adventurer, Scarlette was known across continents. Tales of her battles had been recited in taverns, guild halls, and training camps alike. Though she wore a veil covering half her face, her distinctive crimson‑lilac eyes made her unmistakable.
She didn't need more attention.
She wanted peace.
But the universe had other plans.
"Hey," a voice whispered beside her. "Why don't you join the competition? I heard whoever wins gets one request granted by His Majesty—within reason of course. You could definitely win."
Scarlette slowly turned her head.
She stared.
Hard.
The man who had spoken shrank back, suddenly regretting opening his mouth.
"Not interested. I had enough," Scarlette said coolly.
A few nearby adventurers overheard her and burst into laughter. They knew her well—her bluntness, her cold tongue, the way she dismissed everything that didn't align with her interests.
Even through her veil, her annoyance was palpable.
And as if summoned, more adventurers—friends, acquaintances, and even distant admirers—began crowding around her.
"Scarlette! You should join!"
"It'll be fun!"
"You'll crush everyone!"
"You're bored anyway!"
She groaned internally.
Geez! These bastards are getting so chummy just because I didn't kick them away. Tsk. Troublesome.
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