Phaethon raised an eyebrow at her words, a glint of slyness flashing in his eyes.
He deliberately narrowed his eyes, speaking in a tone laced with playful amusement. "Oh? The Lady Aglaea herself, taking charge? Well then... I hope my aesthetic sense is something you can... *appreciate*."
Aglaea visibly paused! This pause was a fraction of a second longer than any before. Her perfect face showed no change in expression, but...
*Aesthetic Preference Analysis... Target: Phaethon... Associative Target: Phainon... Memory Recall: Phainon's Attire Color Scheme – Upper Garment: Bright Yellow, Lower Garment: Vivid Purple...*
*Probability of Phaethon's Aesthetic Convergence: High Probability.... Warning: Should the finished product become a 'Yellow-Purple Clashing Abomination,' it would severely damage the reputation of 'Goldweaver' and my own aesthetic authority...*
"...Very well." Aglaea finally managed her response, her voice still steady, but a careful listener might detect a hint of... caution? "Lord Phaethon, I shall await you as 'Goldweaver.'"
Phaethon looked at Aglaea's nearly perfect face and couldn't help a soft chuckle, almost able to imagine the storm of yellow-and-purple calculations raging in her mind.
"Alright," he turned to Phainon, who had been stifling his laughter beside him, and clapped him on the shoulder, "Phainon, you've been in this golden-shiny Sanctuary a few days longer than me. Time to play the host, right? How about you take this chance to give me a proper tour?"
"Haha! Absolutely, brother!" Phainon immediately perked up, letting out a hearty laugh and habitually slinging an arm around Phaethon's neck, "Let's go! First, I'll take you to try the Sanctuary's specialty foods! Guaranteed stuff you've never eaten before! The taste is incredible!"
"Yummy food!" The moment she heard the keyword, Trianne's eyes instantly shone brighter than Okhema's eternal skyglow. She bounced over to Tribbie, tiny hands tugging at Tribbie's sleeve, her big eyes blinking, full of longing.
"Tribbie! Trianne... Trianne wants to go too! Trianne can lead Little Snowy and Little Little Whitey! Trianne knows the way!"
Tribbie looked at Trianne's eager expression and smiled wryly, giving a gentle nod. "Go on then. Little Snowy, Little Little Whitey, look after Trianne. Don't let her eat too much."
"Yay! Thank you, Tribbie!" Trianne cheered, immediately darting forward like a little cannonball, one hand grabbing Phainon's large hand, the other accurately seizing Phaethon's index finger.
"Let's go! Trianne leads the way! Little Snowy, Little Little Whitey, follow Trianne closely!"
In the instant he was turned around by Trianne's pull, the smile on Phaethon's face faded slightly. The corner of his eye cast one last, razor-sharp glance towards the depths of the colonnade where Caenis had disappeared.
The Council of Elder... a bunch of buzzing flies. He sneered inwardly. But the real trouble was never these clowns.
His thoughts pierced through the Sanctuary's radiant architecture, landing on that distant place named "Dawncloud Precipice."
That mastermind behind countless cycles, the true puppet master playing the world of Amphoreus like a fiddle, that demon disguised as an ordinary scholar—*Lycurgus*.
'Theoros'? Hah... Phaethon's knuckles cracked softly where no one could notice. Just wait. Sooner or later, I'll turn you from 'Lycurgus' into 'Incarcerated-gus'.
With this cold resolve and a sliver of anticipation for the food, Phaethon, surrounded by the enthusiastic Trianne and the eager Phainon, melted into the bustling street scene of Okhema.
*...However...*
Okhema · Central Arena
A deafening roar, like tangible waves, crashed against the massive circular stands.
The air was thick with the smell of sweat, dust, and fervent excitement.
Phaethon stood on the vast, ancient stone arena, his expression somewhat wooden as he scanned his surroundings.
The stands were packed with a dense, waving, screaming crowd of frenzied spectators, shouting betting outcomes.
And not far across from him, Phainon was limbering up his wrists and ankles, grinning at him with a smile full of fighting spirit and "brotherly affection"... that was also clearly provocative.
Most conspicuous was the front-row VIP seat, where Trianne stood on her chair, her little face flushed with excitement, waving a small flag she'd procured from somewhere, shouting with all her might:
"Little Snowy! Go! Little Little Whitey! Go! Fight! Fight!"
Phaethon slowly raised a hand and rubbed his throbbing temple. In a tone saturated with absurdity and resignation, he yelled towards the eager Phainon opposite him:
"Hey! Phainon—!"
"You promised to take me to eat 'delicious things I've never had before'!"
"I barely got a taste of that 'delicious thing'!"
"And you bring me here—"
Phaethon pointed at the dusty arena beneath his feet, then at the roaring, tsunami-like crowd around them, finally leveling a finger at Phainon, enunciating each word with accusation:
"—to eat a '*knuckle sandwich*'?!!!"
The deafening sound waves threatened to lift the ancient some.
Phainon stood on the opposite side of the arena, stretching, his face sporting that trademark mix of sunny vigor and battle intent, utterly ignoring Phaethon's accusation.
"Brother!" Phainon's voice cut through the din, brimming with unconcealed excitement, "The food? You can stuff your face with that anytime!"
"But this fight—this chance won't come again! How long has it been since we last sparred properly?"
He seemed to remember something, deliberately raising his voice, "If Cyrene were here, she'd definitely nag me about 'bullying' you again."
"So come on... Phaethon! Let me see just how much you've improved this past year! Don't you dare disappoint me!"
"But Trianne's little tummy is still hungry!" Phaethon tried to pull the little foodie in as an ally.
"Trianne isn't hungry! Trianne wants to watch the fight!" Trianne, in the front row, her face flushed crimson with excitement, bounced on her seat, the small flag in her hand whipping through the air vigorously.
"Little Snowy, go! Knock Little Little Whitey down! Trianne will buy you the biggest 'Lava Molten Cake'!"
She was clearly completely ignited by the arena's atmosphere, even starting to "bride the enemy"!
She was utterly immersed in the joy of watching a spectacle, having long forgotten her original purpose of "leading the way to yummy food."
*A Corner of the Stands*
A few older spectators huddled together, discussing animatedly:
"Hey, old timer! Something's off about today's setup, huh? Why was the central arena cleared out early?" a burly man with a thick beard asked, taking a swig of ale.
The man next to him pointed mysteriously towards the two figures confronting each other in the arena, particularly at the faint, strange golden glow that clung to Phainon even when subdued.
"See that? The one in the martial attire below, the one already holding a sword! That's a bona fide Golden Descendant! A distinguished guest personally welcomed by Lady Aglaea at the Sanctuary gates a few days ago! They say his background is huge!"
"As for the one opposite him... I don't know either. Probably no simple character. But... who cares! Getting to see a battle between powerhouses like this is worth the price of admission even if I die!"