My queen is rebelling!

In a distant, undetectable valley, an ancient castle shrouded in the moss of time and an air of mystery stood silently.

Like a reef in the river of time, it had remained unmoved for ten thousand years.

The castle's architectural style blended classical and modern elements, with the main structure built of solid stone and covered in lush green ivy.

The magnificent gate shimmered with an unusual light, the flickering glow of magic.

Above the main entrance, a massive plaque engraved with "Cobalt Soul Academy" was faintly visible in the valley mist.

As night fell, darkness enveloped the ancient academy.

A mottled owl spread its broad wings, silently gliding across the night sky, its eyes gleaming with a mysterious and sharp light in the darkness, clutching a letter rolled up in parchment.

Its wings trembled slightly in the wind, but did not slow its flight. Finally, it flew into the castle, circled a few times, and accurately located a narrow window, deftly flying inside.

Inside the room, candlelight flickered softly. The owl landed on a table piled high with books and parchment scrolls, releasing its claws, and the letter landed steadily on the desk.

The owl turned its head, its yellow eyes watching the recipient with an almost human-like gaze, as if waiting for something.

The recipient had a head of silver-white and thick long hair, casually draped over his shoulders, like moonlight cascading down.

His long, slender beard was equally snow-white, neatly and solemnly falling in front of his chest. His eyes were deep and azure, like an endless ocean, with a gentle gaze that revealed sharpness and all-discerning insight.

His face was full of wrinkles, each seemingly representing an untold story. Seeing the owl, he gently waved the magic wand in his hand.

A ball of blue mist flew into the owl's body, causing it to show an extremely human-like expression of comfort:

"Alright, next time you're greedy, I won't let you out!"

The owl chirped softly.

Dumbledore gently stroked the owl's feathers, opened the letter, and read it carefully.

After a moment, his body trembled slightly, and a look of surprise flashed in his eyes.

The "God Summoning Art" lost for ten thousand years?

A suspected ancient secret class, [Dragon Seal · Weapon Grandmaster]?

It seems that an interesting little fellow has appeared in the Northwest Continent!

After considering it for a long time, Dumbledore took out paper and pen and began to write a reply—

"Your letter has been received. My opinion is that we should first observe this person secretly, and after determining their true identity and alignment, we can consider issuing an invitation. In addition, it is recommended that this matter be handled at a higher level and supervised by the Dean of the Northwest Continent Branch."

After writing the letter, he patted the owl's head.

The owl grabbed the reply with its claws, flapped its wings and flew high, disappearing into the night.

……

Today's Florentia Extraordinary Arena, although still crowded, was much quieter than usual.

Throughout the arena, not a single ordinary citizen could be seen.

The Extraordinary Arena had been under martial law since last night, and the area within five kilometers was taken over by the Imperial Guard.

Everyone speculated whether His Majesty the King or Her Majesty the Queen would be present to watch the game.

Wearing a mask, Cohen felt the complex gazes from the stands, his expression calm, and strode firmly into the arena.

Today, Cohen changed his usual low-key attire. He was wearing a deep purple velvet robe, with a glittering brooch on the collar, and a snow-white silk shirt underneath, with a golden belt around his waist.

The proper and exquisite clothing instantly and perfectly displayed his upright figure. The straight shoulders supported the outline of the shirt, and the belt highlighted the golden ratio of the upper and lower body.

A gorgeous cloak was draped over him, made of heavy brocade and edged with golden tassels, swaying gently with his steps, revealing nobility and majesty.

At this time, he did not look like a contestant about to enter the arena, but more like a young monarch who had returned victoriously from an expedition.

Looking at Cohen's elegant demeanor and graceful temperament, the nobles in the stands were sure of one thing—they were the same kind of people!

This kind of decency and nobility, which permeated from the bones, was something that ordinary people could not learn in several lifetimes.

In a box on the first floor, Isabella frowned slightly and snorted:

"Is he dressing up so flamboyantly to seduce noble ladies?"

Nefthys glanced at Isabella lightly, silently complaining in her heart, are you talking about yourself?

Looking at the way your eyes are shining, you can't wait to pounce on him. Can't you have a little bit of the restraint of the Golden Winged Daughter?

Mr. Modo obviously noticed his young lady's expression, and coughed lightly:

"Exactly, anyone who doesn't know would think it's some noble young master going out to have fun!

Miss, the master often says that we should stay away from this kind of man. This kind of person is the best at playing with women's feelings."

Isabella raised her eyebrows slightly:

"Uncle Modo, the person who is good at playing with women's feelings in your mouth is thinking of ways to save your nephew."

Modo's expression was slightly embarrassed. No matter how much he disliked this kid, he had to accept this favor.

Andre was sitting with Sandro, the second son of the Duke of the South, who said jealously:

"Dressed up like a peacock in heat."

Andre said with a smile but not a smile:

"Why should the second son be angry? With 'Black Tomb' taking action, he won't be able to jump around for a few days anyway."

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Sandro's eyebrows twitched fiercely, and he mumbled and didn't speak loudly anymore.

In a box on the second floor, Bogus, who was arrogant yesterday, didn't dare to breathe loudly at this time, and carefully served a middle-aged man.

The middle-aged man had a resolute face, hard lines, and his hair neatly combed to the side, without a trace of mess.

The black hair was mixed with a few strands of silver, adding a bit of experience and stability, exuding the style of a high-ranking official between gestures.

This was Bogus's uncle, Theodore DuPont, the current Vice President of the Effie High Court, and Assistant to the National Chief Justice.

He was a confidant and capable assistant of the new National Chief Justice, Baron Gore Phillip, a red-hot political star in Florentia's political arena.

He held a high position and great power.

Theodore observed for a while and said:

"This kind of person is not the young man with some talent in your mouth. Just this composure and calmness is better than you."

Bogus concealed the jealousy on his face very well and said with a smile:

"Uncle is right, it was my blindness yesterday, otherwise I wouldn't have had such a big conflict with him."

Theodore's tone was still cold and stern, and he asked:

"Are you sure he has reached an agreement with Nefthys? Your engagement with her cannot continue?"

Bogus said angrily:

"Yes, that bitch said it herself."

Theodore's gaze towards Cohen became more sharp, like a blade:

"Then it seems we are destined not to be friends.

Nefthys is very important, she must be one of us."

Excitement welled up on Bogus's face. He didn't know why his uncle valued Nefthys so much.

But the thought that he might still have a chance with Nefthys filled him with joy.

Theodore's voice continued to sound in his ears:

"Watch carefully today, learn carefully, use wisdom, use conspiracy, use power to deal with enemies.

Never show your face, stab them in the back!

If you're all as stupid as you are and have head-on conflicts, that's called a reckless man, that's called stupidity."

Bogus's eyes lit up and he said eagerly:

"Does Uncle have arrangements today?"

A trace of gloom flashed between Theodore's eyebrows:

"I will make him suffer painful trampling and taste desperate failure under the eyes of everyone!"