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Chapter 233

Of course, by now I knew that The Archmage's Youngest Daughter was no longer just a story born from the author's imagination—it was merely a textual record of a fragment of Ishtar's life.

Still, I couldn't help but mentally throw a comment that would never reach anyone.

'Back then, even when I only thought something, an answer used to come right back…'

But with the realization that I would never hear that voice again, a fresh wave of bitterness washed over me.

As I felt the immense void left by Ereshkigal, a voice jolted me from my deep thoughts.

"Are you still getting ready?"

It was Shamashuut, already fully dressed.

When I came to my senses, a stranger—a young lady who could easily pass for the daughter of a high noble family—stood reflected in the mirror.

"It suits you."

Even knowing it was merely a polite compliment, I felt awkward and quickly changed the subject.

"Is Nergal not attending?"

"He despises these events. In truth, I feel the same—but as acting Duke, I can't afford to miss it."

What I'd intended as a light topic to shift the conversation unexpectedly carried weight.

Feeling sheepish for having asked so casually, I was relieved when Shamashuut, unbothered, calmly offered his arm.

Realizing it was for escort, I lightly placed my hand on his arm.

'How awkward!'

Throughout our walk, I kept a poker face with a practiced smile—but inside, I was boiling with nervousness.

Unlike the childish tea parties I'd attended a few times shortly after possession, tonight was a genuine high-society ball.

'Honestly, I want to go back to the Tower right now.'

So when the grand doors opened and the dazzling chandelier light flooded the ballroom, I felt as though my breath caught in my throat.

The relentless gazes of the nobles seemed to pierce me like needles from all directions.

Curiosity, wariness, and eyes probing an unknown outsider.

The overt, fervent attention made me unconsciously tighten my grip on Shamashuut's arm.

'I didn't even tremble this much when facing dark mages.'

This place, filled with the rustle of fans and hushed whispers, was terrifying in a way entirely different from a battlefield.

As I hesitated and slowed my steps, Shamashuut, who had been walking silently beside me, stepped slightly forward as if to shield me. His broad shoulders blocked the attention that had been focused on me.

"Is something wrong?"

"……No. It's just my first time experiencing this—I was a little overwhelmed."

"You can stay behind me."

His indifferent yet solid consideration helped ease my tension a little.

I silently marveled that high society was indeed frightening, and kept myself half-hidden in his shadow.

"We'll greet the Marquess of Cilicia briefly, then endure about an hour. I've arranged for us to leave right after, so hang in there a little longer."

"Understood."

Thankfully, though people whispered, no one dared approach us.

It seemed the combination of the Tower Master's hidden daughter and the eldest son of House Archalade was enough to make anyone think twice.

Just as I was pondering that, a man approached us.

"Oh, Sir Shamashuut!"

He wore a tailcoat embroidered with glittering gold thread, and each of his ten fingers bore a different jeweled ring.

Despite the lavish display, he gave off an ostentatious and somewhat gaudy impression rather than an elegant one.

"Thank you for attending my daughter's birthday party today."

The man, clearly the Marquess of Cilicia, beamed as he greeted us.

"I heard you haven't yet inherited your title. When you have time, how about a cup of tea at our mansion to continue our conversation? As an elder, I have many social secrets I could teach you."

Even to me—unfamiliar with high society—his intent was painfully transparent.

Behind his feigned hospitality, he was subtly invoking the hierarchy of an untitled heir versus an elder, trying to push an invitation.

Shamashuut, however, showed no reaction to the Marquess's rudeness and replied flatly.

"Marquess, I'm here today as the acting Duke."

A single sentence, but it carried the weight of a warning not to overstep.

The Marquess's face turned ashen, and he quickly changed his tune.

"Haha, my apologies. I was so delighted that I committed a discourtesy."

Then, as if to smooth over his blunder, he abruptly turned the conversation toward me.

"Speaking of which, this must be the renowned mage lady from the rumors. As I've heard, you possess extraordinary grace."

The Marquess appraised me with a scrutinizing gaze.

Like a hyena searching for its prey's weakness.

"Speaking of mages, it brings to mind the House of Serentia, which fell a decade ago."

He swirled his wine glass and casually hinted.

"There were widespread rumors that the unprecedented attack on the Babylonian Imperial Palace by dark mages was also linked to the Serentia family…"

At once, the ballroom's atmosphere turned ice-cold.

This was likely the very topic every guest had been itching to ask about.

"As the first disciple of Tower Master Osiris, what is your view on the matter?"

On the surface, I was Osiris's hidden child—or his favored commoner mage.

Yet he deliberately brought up this matter with me, probably intending to dredge up the disgrace of Ansharie—Osiris's second disciple and former lady of House Serentia—to belittle me as well.

'Still, this is far too transparent.'

From the start, the Marquess had been blatantly inciting the atmosphere with an obvious agenda.

As if he were desperate to make me a laughingstock among the nobles.

'Well, not that I had any intention of taking it lying down.'

I was contemplating how to counter his transparent ploy when—

"Marquess of Cilicia."

To my surprise, Shamashuut spoke first.

"I fail to see your purpose in raising unconfirmed, private rumors in front of my partner."

"Ah, I, I simply—out of curiosity—"

"As the old saying goes, excessive curiosity invites misfortune. You would do well to be cautious."

"……"

"Even mentioning such unsavory matters in an official setting could invite suspicion of involvement with dark magic."

His resolute, sharp reprimand drained all color from the Marquess's face.

He pulled out a handkerchief with trembling hands and busily wiped his brow.

"Ahem—I, I spoke out of turn, carried away by the wine! I sincerely hope you will understand that I never intended to offend the young acting Duke or the Lady."

Realizing that dragging it out would only hurt him, the Marquess quickly ended the conversation and vanished among the other guests.

Shamashuut watched his retreating back with cold eyes, then turned to me.

"I apologize for making you listen to such unpleasant talk."

"It's fine."

But the quiet that followed the Marquess's hasty retreat was short-lived.

From across the ballroom, a woman approached, her ornate feather fan fluttering like a splendid peacock.

"I thank you for gracing this party with your presence, Lord Shamashuut."

It wasn't hard to deduce that she was the host's daughter—the very young lady who had been aggressively pursuing Shamashuut.

Her large diamond necklace and vivid ultramarine dress were clearly coordinated with Shamashuut's hair and eye color.

'Huh? Now that I think of it, the dress I'm wearing is a similar color, isn't it?'

I hadn't noticed when I was being dressed, but I realized with a delay that my outfit matched hers.

She must have thought the same—I felt her chilly gaze sweeping me from head to toe.

'Well, it's only natural since I'm Shamashuut's partner.'

I met her sharp, wary glare without flinching.

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