27. Stubborn Pot
"Hey, you're that Kalian kid from the Martel Barony, right?"
Ah, more punks here to pick a fight? I turned to look and saw three noble ladies in flashy dresses heading toward my table. But the vibe was a little different this time. They were all fluttering their fans, eyeing me up and down like I was some intriguing specimen.
Oh.
I'd been planning to brush them off casually out of annoyance, but then I noticed the hairstyle of the one in front. Blonde roll buns—the kind I'd only heard about! Whoa, it really exists. A noble lady with roll bun hair and a fan. Wonder if it'd stretch out like a spring with a boing if I yanked it? Should I try? Nah, I'd get treated like a total psycho for sure, so I held back.
"Ahem, ahem. Yes, I'm Kalian von Martel. What can I do for you ladies?"
"We heard you were this famous inventor, figured you'd be some stuffy bookworm. But you're pretty handsome, huh?"
The roll-bun lady snapped her fan shut and said it with a smirk.
"Totally. That silver hair looks pretty cool too. Wanna grab some dessert with us?"
The ladies giggled among themselves, glancing at me coyly.
Ah, so they weren't here to mess with me this time. Well, I am pretty good-looking, if I do say so myself. I'd always praised myself in the mirror like, Damn, I grew up hot, but getting straight-up compliments like this didn't feel half bad.
"Haha, you're too kind. You ladies look stunning in your dresses tonight too."
I tossed out a smooth, social line, trying to steer things into normal chit-chat.
"……"
Suddenly, the air around us turned ice-cold. And the faces of the girls who'd been giggling in front of me went pale, like they'd spotted a ghost in a horror flick.
"Uh… um… over there…"
The roll-bun lady was trembling, staring behind me. Her fan shook in her prim grip, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Eek! W-We should get going! Time to… to dance!"
"Y-Yeah! Let's go!"
The ladies grabbed their dress skirts and bolted to the other side of the ballroom.
"Huh? What was that?"
I scratched the back of my head. Did I mess up somehow? Or was there something on my face? Tilting my head, I turned around to see Seria standing there with a sweet smile.
"Seria, what got into them all of a sudden?"
"No idea."
"Weirdos."
I muttered and chugged my drink. But then I felt someone approaching from the other side.
"Excuse me. Are you the escort knight for that young lord over there?"
Two noble boys with slicked-back oily hair and expensive formalwear came up. I figured they were here to start trouble for real this time. But their eyes weren't on me—they were glued to Seria standing by my side.
"We've been watching you. That navy uniform suits you more beautifully than any dress in this hall."
"If it's not too forward, may I have your name? I'm…"
Heh, total love-at-first-sight stares. Well, Seria is drop-dead gorgeous. If a pubescent boy says she's not hot, he's gotta be gay. Objectively speaking, gotta give credit where it's due. But man, it rubbed me the wrong way. Seeing them drool like idiots in front of her was seriously annoying.
I was about to step in and say something when—
"Thank you for the kind words. I am Seria, the exclusive escort knight of Young Master Kalian von Martel. I'm currently on duty protecting my lord, so I must politely decline any private conversation."
Iron wall. Even I could tell that meant 'Not interested, buzz off.'
"Ah… y-yes, of course. On duty. Sorry for the interruption."
The boys backed away slowly. That's my Seria. Even guys who'd normally scoff 'An escort knight dares reject us?!' treat her as an equal. Untouchable.
"Whoa, our knight's got fans. Why not dance a song with them?"
"What was that, Young Master?"
Shiiiing.
"…S-Sorry. Just kidding."
Of course, even I can't touch her.
"I-I mean, it just proves you're the only one for me."
"Is that so?"
Anyway, I felt inexplicably good. I grinned and sipped my drink. Seria's lips curved up just a bit as she stood guard by my side.
Meanwhile, from behind a dark pillar in the ballroom, watchful eyes were fixed on us.
"Target confirmed. Martel family heir."
A man in waiter attire holding a silver tray. But his grip showed thick calluses, and his eyes were far too sharp for a server.
Another "waiter" passing by whispered softly.
"They said we'd get enough gold from the shampoo recipe to live easy forever. Take out the knight kid first, then kidnap the boy alive."
"Got it. Wait for the right moment."
The Martel Barony, now a golden goose laying riches. Mercenaries from a shadowy guild, hired by rival merchants eyeing those massive profits, had already infiltrated deep into the ballroom.
—
The flower of the buffet is dessert. After greasing up with steak, nothing washes it down like a sweet strawberry tart, right? National rule.
I speared a hearty slice with my fork and popped it in my mouth. Mmm, sweet. As expected from a noble party—the dessert quality was no joke.
"Young Master."
Then Seria's voice dropped low beside me.
"Yeah, I know."
I answered while chewing, fork still in hand.
"But lemme finish this. Hate getting interrupted mid-flow."
At the edge of my vision, "waiters" with silver trays were approaching. Way too bulky for hall staff, and their gait was all wrong. Stealthy steps, muffled footfalls. Suspicious as hell.
Guys after the shampoo recipe, huh.
I'd figured some flies would buzz in smelling money. Didn't expect them to crawl into someone else's barony banquet, though. Ballsy.
"I'll clear your empty plate, young master."
The lead one, face full of scars, grinned slyly and reached out. A glint of a blue dagger blade flashed from under his tray.
I chewed my tart and casually snapped my fingers.
Snap.
'Freeze.'
"Huh?"
The moment the waiter stepped forward, the marble floor beneath him turned to a thin sheet of ice.
Sliiiiide!
"Whoa?!"
His legs split front and back in a clean 180-degree straddle. Olympic gymnast, eat your heart out.
"Gaaah!"
The tray and dagger flew through the air, clattering loudly on the floor.
I calmly took a sip of milk.
"Aigoo, mister. Your legs are outta shape. Shoulda stretched more."
"You little shit!"
The split-legged guy rolled his eyes back and spat curses. The fake waiters behind him shook off their surprise, drawing weapons from their clothes.
"We're made! Just grab him!"
"Alive—that's all that matters for the brat!"
The ballroom corner turned tense in an instant. But whatever. No need for me to lift a finger anyway.
Shing.
Seria drew her wooden sword. Real blades banned in the hall. The guards had waved through what looked like a toy or self-defense trinket. But that draw sounded just like a real sword. Every time, but… it's a wooden sword, right?
"How dare you."
Seria's red eyes blazed blue.
"Interrupt my lord's mealtime?"
Whoosh.
She vanished in a flash, charging them. But these guys weren't total amateurs if they'd come to kidnap me—they quickly steadied themselves.
"Don't make me laugh, girlie with a toy knife!"
One mercenary sneered and swung his dagger arm.
But Seria tilted her head effortlessly to dodge, then whipped her wooden sword upward.
Crack!
"Guhk!"
Nice impact. The mercenary's jaw snapped back into the air. I saw a few teeth scatter.
Oof.
He flipped backward, eyes rolling, and thudded to the floor.
"W-What the—?! That's a wooden sword?!"
The rest freaked out and backed away.
I popped the last of my tart in my mouth and wagged a finger.
'Wind Pierce.'
Whoosh!
A compressed air needle nailed the fleeing guy's calf perfectly.
"Aaaagh! My leg!"
"Seria, handle it."
"Leave it to me."
At my word, she spun around. Her wooden sword slammed dead-center into the gut of a guy sneaking into my blind spot.
Thud!
"Gack…!"
The air-choked mercenary flopped like a frog.
Seria lightly stomped his back and turned to the next target. Her uniform flapping as she mercilessly battered the mercenaries—straight out of a Yeo Po novel.
"Eek! Monster bitch…!"
As the tide turned, the rearmost guy ditched his weapon and bolted for the ballroom exit.
"Hey, Seria. That one's running."
I propped my chin, dabbing my mouth with a napkin, and called out.
"Hey, you stubborn pot!"
"What's a stubborn pot?"
"A chopping technique that smashes the opponent's skull."
"Ah."
Seria nodded and stomped the floor hard. She closed the gap to the fleeing mercenary in a blink, leaped lightly into the air, and brought her two-handed wooden sword crashing down.
Crack!
"Stubborn Pot!"
"Gaaaaah!"