In this era, survival for commoners was anything but easy. The average lifespan of an ordinary person rarely exceeded forty years.
Girls were typically married off by the age of fifteen, and by their thirties, sometimes they were already grandmothers.
Unlike men, who had a variety of professions to choose from—mages, swordsmen, alchemists, priests—many occupations, such as swordsmanship, seldom recruited women.
As for beautiful young ladies, the vast majority came from noble families. It was rare for common folk to ever lay eyes on them. Even if they did, the innate arrogance of nobility made it difficult to even meet their gaze.
There were, however, a few rare women who became mages. But without exception, they were born into mage families, blessed with extraordinary talent.
For most people, a lifetime might pass without ever encountering one charming young lady.
No one could have imagined that beneath that dull, dust-colored mage's robe was a young lady of such breathtaking beauty.
Lorne Duvall had been leaning lazily against the trunk of a tree, idly toying with a gold coin between his fingers. But the moment Ava's hood slipped back, the coin tumbled from his grasp, vanishing soundlessly into the grass.
He had once had a lover—Éléonore de Léon, a noble lady of the Arcane Empire, lauded as the "Jewel of the Empire." She was stunning, her crimson lips as rich as spilled wine, her gown embroidered with magical runes worth more than a castle.
And yet—compared to the lady before him, with her delicate lashes quivering and those light gray eyes, misty like a lake at dawn, gazing at him in faint confusion—
Oh!
By the stars above!
Éléonore was nothing but a rough-hewn stone, while this lady... this lady was a star kissed by the gods themselves.
In an instant, Lorne straightened.
His left hand hovered over the hilt of his sword as he executed an exaggerated bow, sweeping his right arm across his chest in a gesture reserved for knights before their queen.
"By the gods, a vision brighter than dawn! "
"I'm Lorne Duvall. Swordsman. At your service, if need be."
His head lifted, voice dipping into a hushed murmur of an ancient tongue, the words rolling off his tongue with his signature languid drawl.
Kyle, standing right beside Ava, was entirely ignored by him.
Ava turned toward the voice, only to be momentarily dazzled by the sight of two strikingly handsome men standing not far away.
Too… too handsome!
So this strange game she had been dragged into did come with a reward after all.
And that reward was right in front of her—two breathtakingly gorgeous men.
The one standing at the front was a radiant, sunlit heartthrob. He wore a dark red linen shirt beneath a high-collared, asymmetrical black leather cuirass, its tailored fit emphasizing his broad shoulders and strong frame. His deep iron-gray trousers were high-waisted and snug, highlighting his long, powerful legs.
At that moment, the sunlit heartthrob beamed at her, his smile warm and mischievous.
Straightening up after introducing himself, he tilted his head slightly and flashed a grin so dazzling that Ava momentarily lost herself in the memory of a line she had once read in high school literature class:
"His handsome face was like a sword gleaming under the sun—beautiful, yet deadly."
Not knowing how else to respond, she hesitantly lifted her right hand and gave him a small wave. "Hi…"
Before Lorne could lower his smile, a soft, disdainful scoff sounded from behind him.
"Hmph..."
Ava followed the sound and saw a tall, dark figure stepping forward to stand beside the heartthrob. The moment she got a clear look at his face, her breath caught.
My God.
In this world, was it even possible for someone to be this flawless?
The man before her was breathtakingly beautiful—almost unnaturally so. He appeared to be in his early twenties, with strikingly delicate yet undeniably masculine features. His high-bridged nose and sculpted lips carried a hint of an enigmatic smile, but the most captivating thing about him was his eyes.
Deep as ink, their slightly upturned corners held an unreadable allure. When he glanced at her, something in their dark depths seemed to stir, exuding a mesmerizing, almost hypnotic quality. He was the perfect fusion of elegance and danger, a seamless blend of soft and sharp.
Ava had seen her fair share of celebrities in the modern world, yet standing before this man, every face she had ever admired on screen seemed dull in comparison.
He was like a fallen angel stepping out of a classical oil painting—breathtakingly beautiful, yet carrying an air of quiet peril.
"This is—" Lorne started to introduce him, but the dark-clad man raised a hand with effortless grace, cutting him off.
"Lucien," he said smoothly.
His voice was as captivating as his appearance—rich and velvety, like the deep resonance of a cello, laced with a lazy aristocratic lilt.
That was all he said to Ava.
After the brief introduction, his gaze drifted toward Lorne, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary.
His expression remained composed, but something in his eyes darkened ever so slightly when he noticed how intently Lorne was looking at Ava.
His smile vanished.