Chapter 39
Chapter 39
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: Royal Banquet Shadows
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“Hum-dee-dum~!”
Humming a cheerful tune, Lilite took in the sights of the Klauzen earl family's capital villa.
It wasn't quite on the level of the main estate, but the meticulous care put into its upkeep was unmistakable.
Even a margrave who rarely set foot in the royal city clearly wouldn't stand for his house being seen as anything less than respectable.
“Not bad at all.
Hmm... Sion's taking the family head's quarters, so... next room over for me?”
“Lilite-nim.”
Lilite glanced over at the voice calling her name.
There stood Reshika, waiting with impeccable poise.
“Everything's ready.
You can head out whenever you're set.”
“Got it?
Hmm...
Guess it's time to handle that errand from Sion, then?”
Lilite pulled up her hood and stepped out of the villa.
Reshika followed close behind, dressed light for the task.
“So, what do you think?”
“Pardon?”
“The woman right beside you isn't human—she's from the demon tribe. A top-tier one, even.”
Sion had filled Reshika in on Lilite's true nature.
If the knight meant to guard him didn't know about that sort of thing, it could lead to headaches down the line.
“...I'm not sure.”
“Not sure?”
“I simply follow my master's orders.
That is, the Young Lord's will.
Whoever stands at such a person's side isn't my place to meddle in.”
“Hmm...
You're a boring one.”
Lilite eyed Reshika for a beat, then flashed a playful grin and sidled right up against her.
“You like him, right?”
“E-excuse me?”
“Sion.
The way your eyes soften when you look at him? It's so tender, even I'm getting all misty-eyed.”
“What are you talking about!
I'm nothing more than a vassal serving my lord!
I couldn't possibly harbor such feelings!”
“Suit yourself.
Why get so worked up, then?”
Reshika finally clocked the teasing, her face turning beet red as she quickened her pace, feigning nonchalance.
Not that she could fool a succubus, who sensed desire sharper than anyone.
*Phew.
They say capable men draw women like flies.
And here we are already.
Does she not realize it yet? Or know but won't admit?
That Reshika knight was putting on a cool front while pulling away.
Lilite scratched her cheek, thinking, *Damn! Why am I even fretting over this?* before catching up.
Women troubles were a man's problem to sweat over, plain and simple.
Her chiming in wouldn't fix a thing.
*More importantly, 'scout around the palace walls for loiterers.'
Come on, Sion—isn't this a bit much?*
Sure, she'd volunteered, but passing off the grunt work? Hard pass.
The capital alone held nigh on a hundred thousand souls.
The palace sat smack in the middle, walls neatly splitting commoner quarters from royal ones—but that still left crowds orbiting it day and night.
Spotting folks hanging near the walls? Like hunting for swimsuit models on a beach.
*No clue what this guy's scheming.*
He'd struck her as off from the jump, and nothing since had changed that.
One minute a callow twenty-year-old, the next exuding old-hand savvy; then spouting lines like he knew the universe's secrets.
Just what was the real Sion Klauzen? Lilite shook it off.
Contract signed—they were in it till the bitter end, like it or not.
“Hey, Reshi!
Wait up!”
“It's Reshika.
'Reshi' is a pet name reserved solely for my master—that is, the Young Lord.”
“Aw, you're killing me.
Let me use it, and I might spill some dirt on Sion.”
“...I'll consider it.”
—
The royal family's long-awaited gala.
Nobles from across Hispania flooded the capital, none willing to miss a night like this.
No mere mingle-and-munch.
Here, power players hashed out continental politics, forged alliances, and heirs—noble and royal alike—vied to flaunt their prowess.
Less party, more bloodless battlefield.
“The Guzen Marquis family...!”
“The Ishik count family...!”
Each major house's entrance boomed their name through the hall.
With Hispania's three marquees and five counts all in attendance, the extravaganza teetered on the brink of full splendor.
“The rightful ruler of Hispania, head of the royal house, and host of tonight's gala—His Majesty King Edgar Astarius Hispania makes his entrance!”
The herald's cry froze every noble mid-word, mid-gesture.
In strode Edgar IV, flanked by Prince Erader and Princess Vanessa.
“Hm?”
But there was one more trailing them.
Edgar IV had just two heirs: Erader and Vanessa.
So who was this fresh-faced youth bringing up the rear?
“It's been ages since we gathered like this.
As you know, Hispania and Nudia clash every other season—back-and-forth bloodbaths, heavy losses both ways.
But this war? Different story.
Hispania's resounding triumph!
The Klauzen Margrave Territory proved our spear and shield in full!”
Nobles already privy to the victory roared applause at Edgar IV's words.
The king let the cheers crest, then pressed on.
“Tonight honors you loyal pillars upholding the throne—and celebrates Hispania's newest hero.
Sion Klauzen, Young Lord!
Step forward!”
From the crowd's edge advanced the mystery youth.
Murmurs rippled through the throng.
Some cooed over his looks; others shot skeptical glances at his checkered history; a few simply sized up the transformed Klauzen scion.
“Shame Lichten Margrave couldn't join us, but your pivotal feats? Endorsed by your father and me alike.
You're coconspirator and star of the night—revel accordingly.”
“An honor, Your Majesty.”
“A joyous occasion.
Partake freely, so long as you mind duty and decorum.”
Edgar IV claimed his seat with a wave; music swelled, and the gala ignited.
*...Way too many.*
Sion felt his nerves fraying to the breaking point.
He'd known royal bashes ran grand—from the novel, from gossip—but this? Easily over a hundred nobles milling a colossal hall in carefree revelry.
“Sion Klauzen, Young Lord.”
First approach: Volko, the marquis from that morning.
Easygoing at his keep, decorous here.
“First off, cheers to the Klauzen Margrave Territory's victory.”
“My thanks once more, Marquis.”
Sion flicked a glance around.
No rushers yet—but plenty of odd stares.
Mostly from the younger crowd.
“Watch yourself.”
Volko leaned in, voice low.
“I've weathered plenty; still rattles me.
War-blind fools always try chipping at heroes here. Makes my skin crawl—want to wring necks.”
“Par for the course, no?
Politics gonna politic.”
“Beats me.
Give me enemies over this any day.”
Volko snagged two goblets from a passing footman, offered one, clinked crisp—down the hatch.
“Anyway, shine bright.
Word to wise: no Lichten Margrave tonight. Stay sharp.”
*No repeats of last fiasco,* went unspoken.
Sion took it for generic advice, nodded.
Volko peeled off; nobles swarmed like opportunists scenting blood.
“Young Lord Sion.
Keeping well?
I'm...”
“Haha!
Meril, ages!
How've you been?”
“Doing fine, so mind scooting?
Got words for Young Lord Sion.”
“Oh dear, apologies.
But seems Young Lord Sion has zero interest in chatting you up. Thoughts?”
Cue razor-sharp debutante duels, all hooked on his face.
Stray cats scrapping over prime kibble.
Sion braced for flying claws—escape hatch, stat.
“Sion Klauzen.”
No honorific.
Peer status or better, then.
Sion whipped toward the voice.
“Long time.”
*Sure, long time—who dis?*
He waited.
The ladies'd out him quick.
“B-Berekrik Young Lord!”
“Bit of space?
Words with my pal here.”
Berekrik. Right.
Guzen marquis's second son.
Eldest mentally unfit since childhood—house sidelined him from public eye.
Berekrik? Shoo-in heir.
*'Commerce riches and diplomacy hoisted 'em to marquis rank—not like Redenen or Klauzen Margrave Territory. Novel says they sneer at sword-swingers.'*
Cold comfort for Sion.
Klauzen Margrave Territory: Hispania's vaunted shield, martial mainstay.
Bolster to some; eyesore to others.
Politically? Him and this Berekrik screamed rivals.
“Berekrik Young Lord.”
“Since that last royal gala?”
“Reckon... yeah.”
*Reckon my ass—clueless.*
Novel skipped it.
Berekrik barely registered early: sniped Kim Yuhyun at a bash like this, ate dirt publicly.
Midbook nod; then dead.
End of tape.
*'Irrelevant extra. No sweat.'*
Guzen weren't pals with Klauzen Margrave Territory either.
Mind made up, Sion streamlined.
“Heard you racked merits in the Nudia scrap.”
“That's right.”
“Doesn't track with old you... but King's word's law.”
*Came off like: 'Don't buy your bullshit, but can't buck the crown.'*
Sion swallowed a mental *bullshit*, held for more.
“Care to regale us with your heroics sometime?”
“Heroics?”
“War, through your eyes.
Straight from the horse's mouth.”
Transparent ploy.
Bait slips? Force-feed flaws?
Classic politick from gate-up.
Dodge? *“Acting like you sat it out?”*
Slip once? *“Hold up— that don't add up.”*
*No wonder Kim Yuhyun clown-shoed him in the book.*
Kim smirked mockingly, unseen tripwire—splat. Berekrik beet-faced fury? Kim's mutter of *clumsy much?* nuked him.
“What's this huddle?”
Enter Ludwig Redenen—acquaintance.
Sourpuss glare ping-ponged betwixt them.
*Both suck; which worse?* pondered the future knight.
“Just chatting, Ludwig.
No battles under my belt, so...
Craved direct scoop from the guy who fought and clinched it firsthand.”
Prick hammering *direct*.
Full-on bait, but Sion zipped it.
No sucker for cheap tricks—and zero intent to gift openings.
“You're all here.
Itching to cozy up to tonight's star?”
A girl—not quite woman yet—sauntered up.
Looks alone? Mystery.
Sion's brain raced.
*'Berekrik, Ludwig: marquis heirs. Her barging bold? Matching stock—marquis miss.'*
“Lady Estia.” Slight bow.
Oner Marquis's Estia curved a smile, scanned the trio, spoke.
“Me too, curious.”
“Come again?”
“Burning for Young Lord Sion's tales.
Got any dashing firsthand war yarns for us?”
*War stories their booze chum? Why the thirst?*
Or weakness-hunt.
*Really stoop this low?*
Sion griped inwardly, face stone.
Truth? He'd spill anyway—sans prompt.
Time for the 'act' rehearsed with Edgar IV.