Chapter 86
Chapter 86
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: Snatching What Others Covet (1)
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The grandest and most spacious venue in the imperial palace, the banquet hall.
Ornate chandeliers illuminated the ceiling, and curtains embroidered with the imperial family's crest draped everywhere, adding a touch of antique elegance.
Right now, the emperor, having concluded the Noble Conference, and all the lords were gathered here.
"Ah, I'm stuffed."
I was one of them, patting my bloated belly.
Up until now, it had been an unspoken rule that the Noble Conference included a banquet after the main session, followed by this reception.
That's why we'd finished eating in the adjoining banquet dining hall and moved here.
"As expected, the imperial cuisine is on another level."
A satisfied smile welled up from the fullness.
I'd been looking forward to it since the refreshments earlier, and it hadn't let me down.
It was true that ever since I took hold of Requiem, I hadn't enjoyed food as much as before. But the palace fare was so exceptional it revived my jaded palate.
"It was famous in the original story for its rave reviews too."
Even Cain, accustomed to all the delicacies from his territory, couldn't hide his admiration upon trying the palace food.
The original story had put so much effort into describing the food that even while bedridden, he'd salivated over it, craving a taste.
Since I planned to stay in the capital a bit longer, it wouldn't hurt to indulge in this high-class cuisine for a while.
To do that, though...
"I need to grind Elice into the mix."
She was probably already working hard at it. I looked forward to seeing her after the conference ended.
"It definitely helped a lot."
Thanks to the Vendetta Guild's solid cooperation, I'd successfully wrapped up today's meeting.
My own information was one thing, but without what Elice had investigated, pressuring the lords wouldn't have gone so smoothly.
"I should meet the Saintess soon."
To push forward my plans, I needed the Saintess. More precisely, the power of Serenade she possessed.
"Young Lord Abel."
A soft, gentle voice called out to me.
"...Lord Mikel."
Snapping out of my thoughts, I bowed my head toward him.
Mikel approached with several lords in tow. A warm smile graced his face as he looked at me.
"The other lords were dying to have a chat with you, Young Lord Abel."
Unlike the perfunctory smile he usually wore, this was genuine delight.
"He must really like how the conference turned out."
No wonder—he'd solved the tax issues plaguing him without lifting a finger, and I'd even crushed Carlo, that constant thorn in his side.
The lords standing behind Mikel wore expressions brimming with goodwill toward me, sharing the sentiment.
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Abel Ovest Kindriel."
After my polite greeting first, their faces brightened considerably.
"We saw your bold performance earlier."
"It felt like a massive weight lifted off my chest."
"Hard to believe it was your first conference—you were so composed, not a hint of nerves."
Amid the barrage of compliments, I flashed a grin.
"What was there to be nervous about? It's just saying what needs to be said and sitting down."
They flinched at my confident reply, then burst into hearty laughter.
"Haha! No wonder you spoke so smoothly—with guts like that."
"It's been ages since I saw a young man overflowing with such spirit."
There was no unease on their faces about knowing my rumors. They whispered among themselves.
"Rumors are just that—rumors that circulate."
"They get distorted passing through so many mouths."
"So don't mind what happened earlier. We don't get swayed by the words of those slanderers."
In saying so, they were elevating themselves as broad-minded folk who ignored gossip.
"Thank you. As expected, you all have discerning eyes."
I smiled faintly and joined in the flattery, drawing even bigger laughs from them.
"Come on, now—no standing around like this."
Mikel called their attention.
"The palace kitchens would feel slighted if we just talked without eating."
Everyone looked where he pointed.
The tables scattered throughout the banquet hall overflowed with lavish dishes: oysters with sauce, fresh sashimi with firm, succulent flesh, and more.
"Perfect pairings for drinks, huh?"
Mikel murmured, echoing my thoughts.
He turned to me, explaining.
"Conferences can get heated—raised voices, flushed faces. That's why this reception is for airing things out."
Mikel beckoned a distant servant.
"Of course, it's also for relieving the fatigue from a long meeting."
"If that were the case, heading home early would help more."
Mikel roared with laughter at my retort.
"You've got it spot on. Sounds like you've attended a bunch already."
The servant, spotting the gesture, approached and bowed.
"You called?"
The lords grimaced at the sight.
"Here we go again."
"Someone stop him."
Ignoring their groans, Mikel steadfastly ordered from the servant.
"Whiskey—and four glasses."
Finished, he turned to me.
"Join us?"
"Sure."
The lords sighed at my answer, looking at me like a pitiful lamb.
"Make that five glasses."
"Yes, sir."
The servant bowed deeply and withdrew. Mikel asked me once the order was placed.
"Do you enjoy your drinks?"
"Never been drunk yet."
Interest flickered in Mikel's eyes at my bold claim.
"Impressive tolerance, then?"
The Nord Territory in the north had a highly developed drinking culture. Not like the capital's appreciation for aroma and flavor, though.
"Colteste, was it?"
A contest plunging into a frozen lake to see who could drink more and longer.
A surefire way to freeze to death. Yet it drew massive crowds every year.
[Get drunk enough, and you beat the cold!]
...or so the northerners believed.
Their spirit, competitive drive, and love for booze were truly something else.
Thus, the Nord Territory shared the Ovest Territory's taste for strong liquor.
"We drink to forget harsh realities, though."
Either way, the territories had much in common, drawing Mikel and me closer.
"Your requested whiskey. Enjoy."
The servant soon returned with the bottle and glasses on a tray. Mikel took it, uncorking the bottle himself.
"Let me see."
He sniffed the whiskey and smiled faintly.
"Thirty-year-old. Excellent quality."
"No need to trouble yourself..."
"I'll handle it."
Brushing off the surrounding lords' protests, he poured into the empty glasses himself. Picking one up, he offered it with, "Here, have a glass."
'-!'
I tried not to widen my eyes.
"This friendly already?"
Mikel offering me a drink first meant pulling me into their tight-knit circle.
Getting this close after the first conference was a huge win. But him handing me the first glass ahead of the others? Unexpected.
"A bit premature, no?"
Surprisingly, the other lords didn't seem offended. They just watched with relaxed smiles.
"...Ah, I get it."
I'd apparently scored high points with them. Who else had scratched their itch so satisfyingly in the meeting?
"Or maybe..."
Mikel had other ideas.
I accepted the glass without relaxing my guard.
"Thank you."
Mikel's smile deepened at my calm demeanor.
"Come on, glasses up."
He distributed the rest to the lords.
"They say aged liquor grows deeper and richer in aroma."
"And the best drinks are shared with good company."
They weren't thrilled, but no complaints about the whiskey itself.
"Who picked it? Of course it's top-notch."
Mikel smirked, raising his glass to me and the lords.
"Cheers. First round's a shot, naturally."
"Hahaha..."
The lords offered awkward smiles and raised theirs. I brought mine up without a word.
Clink!
The clear chime of glasses rang out, and everyone tilted back in unison. Whiskey slid down throats with steady gulps.
"Fine stuff."
Mikel, glass empty, smiled faintly—face unchanged.
Anyone would mistake it for water.
The other lords' faces were already flushing. Some hadn't finished theirs.
"Why always pick the harsh ones?"
"Anything low-proof isn't liquor to him."
"Forcing this on Young Lord Abel right away..."
One lord trailed off, glancing worriedly at me.
"Forcing it?"
I smiled faintly back at him.
My glass gleamed empty. My pale face remained smooth.
"Ho ho, you really hold your liquor, Young Lord Abel."
"Said you'd never been drunk—makes sense now."
The lords laughed heartily, conceding. Mikel's lip quirked up at my unaltered composure.
"So, how's the taste?"
"Satisfying. True to Vestique whiskey."
The surrounding lords' eyes widened in surprise.
"How'd you know it's that one?"
"We never said the name."
"I know it's fermented from northern grains."
I licked my lips slowly before answering.
"Felt that distinctive aroma going down."
"Ho ho, sharp palate you have."
Mikel offered the next glass, adding,
"Or did you research it beforehand?"
His eyes narrowed shrewdly.
"Not oblivious, huh."
He'd probably gauged it from my attacks on the other lords earlier. That I'd come thoroughly prepared.
"Know your enemy and yourself—victory in every battle."
I took the glass with a grin.
"Same for the reverse, no?"
"Hahaha, indeed."
Mikel laughed heartily, unoffended by the subtle agreement.
"Preparing ahead is a fine habit."
"Thanks for the praise. In that case..."
I downed the held glass in one swift gulp and set it down.
"Have you formed an opinion of me?"
I threw back the question he'd asked before entering the conference hall.
"Whether I'm foe or ally."
It was a roundabout way to ask if Mikel—and by extension, the Nord Territory—would side with me.
More precisely, his daughter, Lea Nod Conchellare, would be a staunch ally against Cain.
"Who knows? Yesterday's ally can be today's enemy."
Mikel's voice held mirth, but his sharp, pale blue eyes gleamed without a trace of it.