The golden-cloak noble was facing away from her, speaking in a bored, dismissive tone.
"I swear, if the academy accepts any more commoners, the ranking exams will become a circus. Standards used to mean something."
The sandy-haired girl rolled her eyes. "Brann, not everyone needs to be wealthy to be talented."
Brann scoffed, still not turning. "Talent without refinement is just noise."
The girl noticed Lilith behind him first—and her eyes widened.
"Um… Brann," she whispered, nudging him sharply. "You should turn around."
"If this is about another 'promising newcomer,' I really do not care," he sighed dramatically, pivoting lazily. "I'm not here to—"
He stopped.
His breath actually hitched.
Brann's expression, which had been sculpted for maximum superiority, shattered like thin glass. His eyes widened, his posture straightened, and for a moment he forgot how words worked.
Lilith stood before him, composed and impossibly calm. The fitted charcoal shirt outlined her silhouette; the dark, enchanted riding pants hugged her long legs; her crimson eyes glowed subtly, catching the sunlight like rare gemstones.
Brann's jaw tightened—trying and failing to hide his sudden fascination.
Lilith offered a polite smile.
"Good afternoon. I'm new here. Could one of you tell me where the registration hall is?"
Brann blinked, once, twice. Then—recovering his noble composure—he quickly brushed a hand over his hair and smoothed his cloak, trying to appear effortlessly dignified.
"A-ah. Yes. Of course." His tone shifted completely—suddenly smooth, warm, almost reverent. "The registration hall is just past the central courtyard. I can show you, if you'd like."
The sandy-haired girl coughed into her hand, barely containing laughter.
The swordsman smirked openly.
Lilith held Brann's gaze for a second longer than necessary—amused by the transformation she had just witnessed.
"That's very kind," she said. "But directions are enough."
Brann swallowed hard, nodding too quickly.
"Right. Yes. Directions. Of course."
He pointed toward a gleaming building in the distance, its grand stained-glass windows shaped like spiraling runes.
"Head straight through those gardens and you'll find the Hall of Registrars. You can't miss it."
Lilith offered a graceful nod.
"Thank you."
She turned to leave, and Brann's eyes followed her with a mix of awe and disbelief, as if a divine entity had just spoken to him.
Only when she was out of earshot did he exhale sharply.
"…I think I need to rethink my standards," he muttered.
His friends burst into laughter.
Lilith followed Brann's directions until the gardens opened into a vast plaza paved with soft cream marble. Ahead rose a grand building—tall stained-glass windows framed with silver runes, banners fluttering from the balcony, and students constantly passing in and out.
The Hall of Registrars.
She adjusted her new clothes, lifted her chin, and walked forward.
But before she reached the entrance, she noticed a group gathered near the large double doors—four students, dusty and still carrying the lingering scent of dungeon moss.
Familiar faces.
The group from the dungeon.
The same four who had watched her defeat the yellow-ranked boss alone.
They stood in a semi-circle around a tall man with sharp features, silver spectacles, and robes lined with enchanted filigree—a professor, unmistakably. His posture radiated discipline and authority.
The students were talking all at once, animated and breathless.
"I swear, Professor!" the archer of the group insisted, waving his hands. "Someone wearing a hooded cloak showed up out of nowhere—we couldn't even see their face!"
"Yeah," the tank said, still pale. "One moment the boss was charging us, the next—BAM!—the thing was finished."
The professor raised an eyebrow, his voice calm but stern.
"A yellow-ranked dungeon boss does not simply 'fall over.' Be precise, please."
The mage stepped forward, eyes wide with something between fear and awe.
"We're being precise. Whoever that person was… the magic they used wasn't anything from our libraries. It was… celestial. Like pure starlight. I've never felt anything like it."
Lilith slowed her pace only slightly, pretending to admire the architecture as she passed within earshot.
Another student—the rogue—nodded vigorously.
"Yeah! It wasn't holy magic, it wasn't light magic—this was something else entirely. Not from this world."
The professor's expression shifted, interest sharpening.
"Celestial magic does not appear in any known branch of spellcraft. If what you claim is true, then this figure is far more dangerous than you understand."
Lilith kept walking, posture calm, her presence subtle.
None of them looked her way.
None of them sensed her.
None of them recognized her without the cloak, the aura, the battlefield intensity.
"Show me the recording crystal," the professor ordered.
The group exchanged awkward glances.
"We… didn't activate it in time," the archer admitted.
The professor sighed—not in disbelief, but in disappointment.
"Convenient."
"No, seriously!" the tank insisted. "That magic—whatever it was—hit the boss like a divine hammer. One strike. One celestial blast."
The professor crossed his arms.
"Well, unless this mysterious figure steps forward to report their actions, the guild will have no record of such an event. And an unregistered wielder of high-class celestial magic wandering the lower dungeons… that is highly concerning."
Lilith's jaw tightened subtly at that.
Unsanctioned.
Celestial.
Concerning.
None of that attention was useful.
She stepped forward toward the doors, still unnoticed. The mage glanced briefly in her direction but dismissed her immediately—nothing in her expression, posture, or aura resembled the cloaked being of the dungeon.
Lilith passed the group without a single eye lingering on her.
The professor didn't spare her even a moment.
She walked through the tall doors, composed and quiet.
Inside, her heart remained steady—but her mind sharpened.
So… they're already discussing my presence. Whispering about celestial power.
This world will not leave me in peace, will it?