Her red dress unfurled with her movements, then trembled like a battle flag in the wind.

The music and the crowd’s gazes soared with her, watching her flourish like a vibrant red maple.

If ballroom dancing was a clean and proper line drawing, then the girl’s fluid, ethereal movements were a free-flowing ink-wash flower.

She extended a hand to Baron, her gaze cold, sharp, and proud, like a Queen showing Mercy to her subject, offering a dance as a reward for his valor.

After an initial moment of distraction, Baron did not refuse. He strode forward, took the girl’s hand, and wrapped his arm around her perfectly proportioned waist.

The woman shot the band a look, and the pianist immediately struck the keys.

The music changed again, becoming passionate yet elegant. Baron recognized it: the classic tango, "Por Una Cabeza."

His only impression of the piece was the scene of Al Pacino dancing with a young woman on the dance floor, under the watchful eyes of all the guests.

But this was 1987. *Scent of a Woman* hadn’t even started filming, let alone been released, and Al Pacino’s first Oscar was still a distant dream.

And judging by her dance steps, the woman was a much better fit for the Al Pacino role than he was.

"Do you know how to tango?" the woman whispered in his ear as she leaned in with the music.

"If I say no, will you push me away?" Baron asked.

"Not necessarily."

"Why are you helping me?"

"I don’t like the look of them. Is that reason enough?"

She used the momentum of the dance to fall into Baron’s arms. Her gauze skirt rose and fell, revealing long, slender legs. Under the lights, the woman’s red eyes were as hazy as mist.

She said, "I’ll help you beat them. You’ll owe me a favor."

Before Baron could answer, the woman led him, dancing in Gold’s direction.

Kesha, having just finished a spin, also saw this sudden opponent. Her brows furrowed slightly, but then she just let out a cold snort.

She refused to believe anyone could beat her at the tango.

The surrounding guests seemed to sense something and silently cleared a space, moving away in circles like waves receding to the outermost edge.

And so, only red and black remained in the center.

Red and black intertwined, spinning. The dancing was flawless, perfect. To the onlookers, the dance floor had become a war between the Queen and her Knights.

The only direct clash was between Baron and Gold. It started when Gold used a dance step to kick in Baron’s direction, but Baron didn’t indulge him. He very naturally covered his shin with Dragon Scale.

This was a new Authority he’d gained after returning from Prole. The Dragon Scale was extremely faint and could only cover a small area.

But Baron had tested it; even the sharpest blade could do little more than strike sparks off it.

Their shins brushed past each other. Gold let out a muffled grunt but retreated naturally.

Kesha took his place. She shot Baron a surprised glance but maintained her proud dancer’s posture.

Baron remained expressionless. Beneath his mask, his pupils were emerald green, and he was suppressing the gold that threatened to burst forth.

The music reached its midpoint and changed key. The "waves" of people stirred, and the crowd began to whisper.

The partners were switching!

Red and black separated.

Baron took Kesha by the waist. Gold, who had already been eager, moved to take the red-skirted girl’s waist as well, but she suddenly untied the skirt she had previously gathered up and reached out in another direction.

A man caught her hand and smoothly supported the girl’s waist.

It was a tall, blond-haired man—Jack!

He had entered the dance floor at some point, and he still seemed to have a piece of steak in his mouth that he hadn’t had time to swallow!

Gold’s eyes widened. He never would have expected another unexpected foe to emerge!

His eyes darted about, but Kesha’s hands were already held firmly by Baron. Aside from viciously stomping on his foot with her high heel, there was nothing she could do.

The change in music ended. Gold had lost his partner. On the dance floor, anyone without a partner was a loser.

So he could only shoot Baron a resentful glare and slink off the dance floor in defeat.

The winner and loser were decided.

"Didn’t I tell you to finish eating before you came over?" the red-skirted girl said.

Jack swallowed the steak and said, "The Attendant was about to clear the plates. Couldn’t let such good meat go to waste."

Kesha watched Gold fuming at the edge of the floor, her eyes glinting.

As she danced, she did a high kick, leaning half her body against Baron. "He lost, not me," she said.

Baron replied, "Regardless of who won or lost, Miss, you should probably get off me. You’re heavy."

As he spoke, he gave her leg a very gentlemanly lift.

Kesha’s beautiful eyes flashed. In the end, she just stomped hard on Baron’s foot before making a smooth exit from the floor.

The woman also pushed Jack away. He spun away, moving against the crowd. The "waves" parted, and he drifted off like a golden chrysanthemum.

Only Baron and the red-skirted girl remained in the center circle. No, not a girl. She should be called the victorious Queen.

Thousands of lights and gazes were focused on her. If she wasn’t the Queen, who was?

The Queen extended her hand to Baron. He understood and took it.

"How did I do?" the Queen suddenly asked, like a child.

"Very well," Baron said. "very good!"

The Queen smiled.

"Leave the rest to me," she said.

Baron felt like he had become a marionette, led by the woman through an unparalleled dance.

When the music entered its final movement, Baron released her. The red dress fanned out like a painting. The sound of her high heels on the black and gold marble floor followed the graceful fall of her skirt until it slowly enveloped her bare legs.

The dance ended, the music ceased. The red dress was a painting, the woman a flower, and what remained was a loneliness vast enough to outlast time itself.

"My brother’s got some luck with the ladies," Jack said, stunned.

He still had two duck legs stuffed in his mouth, which made him look like a golden retriever with a chick in its jaws.

"Mr. L..."

Windsor watched the two figures on the dance floor, wringing her hands, at a loss.

Her older brother, Newman, came up behind her and said grimly, "You shouldn’t have gotten involved. He’s a high-ranking Westminster Commissioner. Father is very disappointed in you."

Her brother left. Windsor stood there, helpless. Just then, Miss Freya, the center of everyone’s attention, approached and said to her:

"Miss Windsor, later at the ball, could you help me get an introduction to that Westminster Commissioner?"

Before Windsor could agree, applause rang out from the upper floor. It began as a rustle, grew to a clamor, and then thundered through the hall!

The applause was as dense as rainfall, clearly intended for the man and woman in the center of the dance floor.

The lights were dazzling, the applause was thunderous, and the hall was in an uproar.

"Good, very good. I haven’t seen such a beautiful dance in a very long time."

Footsteps echoed from the high platform. A figure appeared on the long marble staircase. It was a young man with long, pale gold hair. He was the one who had started the applause.

He wore a snow-white suit with peaked lapels, and on his chest was a medal made of pure gold, engraved with a Griffin soaring with wings outstretched.

This was the emblem of the Griffin Knight Order, and this man was the host of tonight’s banquet.

The Vice-Commander of the Griffin Knight Order, Young Master of the Hestia Family, and Bronze Knight, Jill Hestia.