26. Entering the Banquet Hall in High Spirits
We entered the banquet hall in high spirits. The venue in Roan Earl's territory was incomparably grand and lavish compared to our home's drawing room. Dozens of mana stone chandeliers blazed brilliantly from the ceiling, and a plush red carpet covered the floor. Faint strains of music drifted from somewhere.
"Whoa..."
Seria, standing beside me, adorably gaped. Even in her navy escort knight uniform, she held her own among the noble ladies in their flashy dresses.
"Oh! Baron Martel! Welcome!"
At that moment, the host approached with a deep, resonant voice. A middle-aged man with slicked-back hair and a kind, composed face—Roan Earl.
"It's an honor to be invited, Earl."
Father bowed at the waist in greeting, and the Earl extended a hand with a warm, affable smile.
"You must be tired from the long journey. And I've heard the stories..."
The Earl's gaze shifted to me.
"This is the child who invented that shampoo, right?"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Father's mouth ran like a motor.
"Hahaha! Yes, indeed! Our Kalian here—he awakened to magic at five, a genius among geniuses! It's not just the shampoo. He discovered the hot spring, and he made this weird wheeled plank thing too... Anyway, he's my pride and joy, stuffed full of wisdom in that head of his!"
"D-Dad, please..."
I wanted to die of embarrassment. Thanks to Father blabbing my praises all over the neighborhood, every noble around was staring at me.
Roan Earl chuckled heartily as he looked down at me with keen interest.
"Indeed, well worth boasting about. Those eyes are sharp as can be. But tell me, little one."
The Earl leaned down slightly to meet my eyes.
"You've come into a fortune that could enrich a territory at such a young age. What do you plan to do with all that money? Holding it is one thing—spending it wisely is the real challenge."
His tone was gentle, but it was a pointed question. A test to see if a kid like me had gotten arrogant from tasting wealth.
I smirked inwardly and answered confidently.
"Money's just a means to an end, not the goal itself, Earl."
"Ho ho, a means, you say."
"Yes. If our territory's people can stay warm through winter without shivering and eat their fill, and if my escort knight can chow down on delicious meat to her heart's content—that's plenty. Stagnant water goes stale, so any extra should be reinvested to grow the pie bigger. That way, everyone's happy."
The Earl's eyes widened at my response. He stared blankly for a moment before slapping his knee and bursting into booming laughter.
"Hahaha! Excellent! Better than a hundred scholars! Baron, you've got yourself a real treasure!"
"Right? Hahaha! That's my boy!"
Roan Earl patted my shoulder with a deeply satisfied expression. Ho, this guy's good. Kind and affable, and no old-man lectures— I like him.
"Well, greetings are done. Tonight's banquet is split—adults in one hall enjoying wine, kids over by the greenhouse with their own buffet."
"Oh, perfect! Son, go with Seria and stuff yourselves silly! Sir Mason, let's head that way!"
Father happily strode off to the adults' area with Guard Captain Mason. Suddenly, Seria and I were stuck in the kids' zone.
"Let's go, Seria. We'll hole up in a corner and eat."
"Yes, Young Master. I hope there's roasted lamb ribs on the menu."
We headed for the extravagantly laid-out buffet tables. Our sole mission: snag a quiet corner seat, fill up without drawing eyes.
"Seria, grab and dash."
"Excellent plan."
I loaded my plate with salmon salad and steak, claiming a secluded table. Seria sat beside me, gearing up to carve into her meat.
"Alright, invisible mode till the banquet ends."
But life never goes as planned.
"Hey, you're that hick from Martel Barony or whatever, right?"
A grating voice came from behind. The pre-pubescent squeak made it even more annoying. I turned to see five or six noble kids my age, decked in frilly shirts and silk, arms crossed and glaring down at me.
Ah, here we go. Bullies are everywhere.
I hadn't expected praise like "You made the shampoo? Amazing!" Kids like these reeked of envy, jealousy, and bravado—the unholy trinity of noble brats.
"Look at that getup. Total northern hick vibe—no capital trends at all."
"Hey, did he really make that shampoo? Or just boil some lucky weeds from the woods?"
"My dad said the Martel Baron bought the recipe from a wandering merchant and slapped his kid's name on it. Obvious, right?"
Predictable script. They snickered among themselves, openly trashing me. Honestly, it didn't faze me. Like watching elementary kids spam hate comments in real life.
But the problem was right beside me.
Snap.
Seria's fork bent like taffy. Murderous intent flashed in her red eyes.
"Young Master."
She growled low. Her hand was already inching toward her wooden sword.
"Shall I rip out their tongues? Or smash their jaws so they eat mush forever?"
"Eek?!"
We're all dead at this rate. I urgently grabbed Seria's hand.
"Whoa, calm down, Seria. Blood here would get Dad in trouble."
"But they insulted you. Trash like that doesn't deserve to live..."
"It's fine. I'll handle it. You just slice the meat."
I soothed her into her seat, elegantly dabbed my mouth with a napkin, and stood. Flashing a grin at the sneering kids.
"Lucky weeds, huh?"
I approached the chubby one leading the pack.
"Then why can't your territory pick those lucky weeds yourselves? Why ship us cartloads of gold instead? Your gardeners all slacking off?"
"Wh-What?!"
"And Dad bought the recipe?"
Now I eyed the skinny kid next to him.
"Your dad's still lining up for tickets at our merchant guild—couldn't even buy it outright. Yesterday he sent Dad a teary letter begging for more stock. Imagine if he saw his kid acting up here—back of the neck seized, straight to the floor."
"You little...!"
Their faces flushed beet red. I drove the wedge home, strolling past and sniffing the air.
"And before calling me a hick, how about ditching that lavender scent on you?"
"...!"
"That's my shampoo. Washing your hair with my invention just to lecture me? Kinda shameless, no? If you've got any conscience, scrub with soap first."
They went dead silent, honey-glued mouths. Trembling with rage, but no comeback for my facts—just flapping jaws.
"Go tattle to your parents. 'Martel heir bullied me.'"
I sat back down, waving them off.
"Oh, but careful—might cut your territory's next shipment in half. Busy filling imperial orders."
"Y-You...! Just wait!"
They fled red-faced, classic third-rate villain exit line. Every novel trope's based on real life, huh?
"Phew, what a racket during dinner."
I nonchalantly speared my steak again. Glancing aside, Seria stared at me, eyes sparkling.
"Why the stare?"
"As expected of Young Master."
She giggled.
"Slicing their souls without drawing a blade. Your verbal beatdown's reached artistic heights."
"That's a compliment?"
"Of course. It was cool, Young Master."
Seria smirked, plopping a lamb rib on my plate.
"Ahem, no biggie. Eat up before it cools."
Feeling awkwardly bashful, I chomped away.
—
"Haa, my belly's gonna burst."
I patted my bulging gut, leaning back in the chair. From beef steak to salmon salad to sweet pudding—this trip was worth the hassle.
"Young Master, slumping like that after stuffing yourself will make it stick out. Get up and walk it off."
Seria, ramrod straight beside me, started nagging. She'd demolished three plates of lamb ribs herself, yet her uniform was pristine—impressive.
"Ugh, too lazy. Gotta kill time till Dad's back. What now?"
"Well, for digestion, maybe stroll the garden..."
Before Seria finished—
"Hey, you're that Kalian kid from Martel Barony, right?"