Chapter 68
Chapter 68
The sea of people visible through the city gates.
A sprawling avenue so vast that one couldn't take it all in at a glance, teeming with an organic flow of movement.
"Finest wheat sacks at the lowest prices!"
"Rice sold cheap by the bowlful!"
"Silk from the Empire, available now!"
Bustling.
The crowds rivaled the trade city of Kyle, and the merchants were as numerous as those in the central district of Harun. The lively streets stretching right from the city gates seemed to proclaim this place as the true heart of the southwest.
But what drew Logan and the Pereta delegation's attention more than anything else was the lone figure standing at the forefront, watching their approach.
Ten knights, their armor emblazoned with the Bifrost family's sigil—a rose blooming amidst flames—and at their head, a man whose very presence commanded attention.
Silver hair gleaming like polished metal, eyes so pale they seemed forged from the same material, and a complexion so fair it bordered on alabaster—all accentuating the cold, detached aura he exuded.
"The Moonlight Knight, Flanz?"
"A High Knight personally coming to greet us...?"
"That Swordmaster himself?"
As one of Bifrost's two High Knights and a figure renowned for his striking appearance, Flanz was instantly recognizable to any knight worth their salt. His presence alone signaled how seriously Bifrost regarded the heirs' arrival.
Of course.
"You've had a long journey. Follow me."
Flanz's tone was stiff, as though the task was beneath him, but no one dared question it. If anything, the knights looked almost reverent at the thought of one of the southwest's strongest warriors acting as their guide.
Even Flon, who had been red-faced with indignation moments earlier, was no exception.
"It's an honor to meet you, Sir Flanz."
"Likewise."
Despite the icy reception, Flon seemed thrilled—far more so than when he had met Logan. He practically vibrated with suppressed excitement, as though restraining himself from groveling.
Logan, however, paid Flon no mind. Instead, he frowned slightly.
'A High Knight and two senior knights just to greet a couple of backwater heirs...?'
At this point, it felt less like hospitality and more like intimidation.
Lost in thought, he suddenly locked eyes with Flanz, who had been staring at him intently.
Ignoring the golden-haired youth bowing repeatedly before him, Flanz's silver gaze bore into Logan with unmistakable curiosity.
Logan, sensing something of interest, met that gaze unflinchingly—prompting the silver-eyed knight to approach him directly.
"If that one's Pereta's heir, then you must be the MacLaine scion?"
"Logan MacLaine, Sir Flanz."
"...Hah. So it's true. Astonishing. A mid-tier knight at your age?"
Flanz's blunt remark sent ripples through the crowd.
"What?"
"That young lord?"
"I thought it was just his sword..."
Whispers erupted on all sides, even from the Pereta delegation. Logan clenched his fists—though for a different reason than they might have assumed.
'It worked!'
Typically, from the level of a senior knight onward, knights emitted a sharp, unmistakable aura perceptible only to those of equal or greater skill.
But Logan had achieved something unusual.
Upon reaching the realm of a senior knight—Force Core 3 Stars—he had gained control over even that subtle presence. If he willed it, he could suppress his aura entirely, appearing no different from an ordinary man. Even his father had been astonished by this ability.
And that was one of the primary reasons he had decided to make this journey alone.
'I can conceal my strength.'
Now, confirming that even a High Knight like Flanz couldn't see through it? That alone made the trip worthwhile.
"Thank you. Though I've a long way to go, I'll strive to one day match your renown."
"Tch. Aim higher than me. With your talent, you should be shooting for Transcendent at the very least. Regardless—pleasure to meet you."
The stark contrast between how he treated Logan and Flon was impossible to miss.
Naturally, Flon's expression soured, and his entourage sighed in exasperation.
The procession moved slowly through the bustling streets, and after a couple of hours, they finally entered the Inner City.
At the head of the group, Flanz halted before an opulent five-story building.
Along the way, Bifrost's men had been baffled to learn that Logan had brought no attendants—but thankfully, no further trouble arose.
"This is the Bifrost Guest Hall. The heirs of Percival and Lufman have already arrived. Rest well until tomorrow evening's banquet."
"Your castle is quite impressive. I'd like to explore the city—would that be possible?"
"...Certain areas of the Inner City are restricted, but with one of our knights accompanying you, it shouldn't be an issue. Speak to the hall's steward if you wish to go out."
"Understood."
Unlike when they had first arrived, Logan responded with a smile, while Flon merely gave a stiff nod.
Flanz turned to leave without another word—
"Hmph. I doubt a country bumpkin who came alone even owns party attire."
—only for Flon to immediately sneer at Logan the moment his back was turned.
Of course.
"Where's my room?"
Logan ignored him entirely, already seeking out a servant.
Flon gritted his teeth, and the knights around him seethed with indignation—
'Fools who can't read the situation. They're not even worth keeping an eye on.'
If these were the kind of heirs and knights Pereta had, seizing their territory during the civil war wouldn't be difficult at all.
Smirking, Logan turned his back on the Pereta delegation.
'I wonder what the Count will say.'
He had deliberately not brought party attire.
No matter the occasion, he had no intention of removing his armor here.
This was a land where anything could happen—the lost ancestral territory of his forebears.
For him, no amount of vigilance would ever be enough.
The following evening.
Knock knock.
"The banquet is about to begin. Please follow me to the hall."
The servant rapping politely at the door looked slightly taken aback when Logan emerged still clad in full armor.
"I'm just a country bumpkin with no experience at parties."
But when a noble openly called himself a rustic, there was little anyone could say in response.
In the end—
"Presenting Lord Logan of House MacLaine!"
—the moment Logan stepped into the banquet hall at the servant's announcement, every eye in the room turned toward him.
"My, what's with the armor?"
"Does the countryside not teach manners?"
"This is a bit..."
The spacious hall, easily spanning hundreds of square meters, was lavishly adorned with paintings and decorations on every wall. Crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling bathed the opulence in dazzling light—
And there, amidst it all, stood Logan, the sole attendee clad in armor.
Even as the crowd tittered and frowned, he strode forward unflinchingly, arriving at the heart of the hall without hesitation.
At the elevated head table, atop crimson-draped steps, a middle-aged man in resplendent robes embroidered with red roses gazed down at him.
"Logan of MacLaine greets the ruler of these lands, His Excellency Count Roger Bifrost. Happy birthday, my lord."
A courteous but otherwise ordinary greeting—yet perhaps because it came from a MacLaine, the Count's initially stiff expression softened slightly, his blue eyes glinting with amusement.
"Well met. Though I hear MacLaine has been thriving lately—could you not afford proper attire?"
The Count's tone was jarringly informal for a regional lord, devoid of noble decorum, blunt to the point of rudeness.
But Logan remained unfazed.
"I'm unaccustomed to parties and thought familiar garb more appropriate. If it's discourteous, I beg your pardon."
"Yet I've heard you attended quite a few in the capital?"
Logan stiffened imperceptibly.
'He knows about that?'
Suppressing his surprise, he reached into his cloak and produced an ornately wrapped box.
"Which is why I've brought a birthday gift—one of the fruits of those endeavors. Imporic. A fine health supplement for men."
No matter how elaborate the packaging, anyone who mattered knew Imporic was made from Karok meat.
Especially Bifrost, who had personally invested in its trade.
In short, it was an intentionally unfitting gift for a Count's birthday.
Yet the Count barely glanced at it.
"Your presence here suggests MacLaine is willing to heed my will, no?"
"If Your Excellency's will aligns with peace, MacLaine will always stand at the forefront."
"Oh? Hmm. As expected of a rising hero—clear-headed. I thought you'd resist."
Peace, my ass.
Logan smirked inwardly at the Count's pointed look.
"Good. Enjoy the banquet for now. I'll introduce you properly shortly."
'No need for that.'
With that, the Count turned to receive greetings from the other assembled nobles.
'Percival. Lufman.'
The heirs of other houses, all appearing to be in their thirties.
They seemed familiar enough with the Count to bow without hesitation, and he reciprocated with casual pats on the shoulder.
Yet among the sea of attendees, the Count spoke only to territorial heirs—further proof this gathering wasn't merely for socializing.
'All within expectations so far...'
Even in this brief exchange, Logan had gleaned another crucial piece of information—one of his secondary objectives for coming here.
Though the revelation wasn't exactly welcome.
'He really is a 5th-Circle mage. Damn it.'
Despite his heightened senses—sharpened to near-supernatural acuity—Logan had initially doubted what he felt.
The mana circle embedded in the Count's heart was obscured, as though concealed by some means.
And that confirmed the rumors he'd heard in his past life were true.
Namely, that Count Bifrost had displayed extraordinary prowess during the civil war.
Back then, Logan had dismissed it as mere propaganda from the defeated Second Prince faction—
'But a 5th-Circle mage could certainly pull it off.'
A 5th-Circle mage was considered equal in strategic value to a High Knight.
In large-scale conflicts like wars, their utility often surpassed even that.
This hidden strength of Bifrost's was enough to negate MacLaine's sole advantage.
Though he'd uncovered it easily enough, the implications were far from comforting.
'The disparity in power is still vast. The Count himself, plus two High Knights... Tch. What now?'
As Logan frowned, lost in thought—
"His Excellency the Count will now address us all! Please direct your attention!"
The music ceased abruptly, and every gaze in the hall snapped toward the head table.
"First, I extend my deepest gratitude to the esteemed guests who have gathered to celebrate this humble occasion. And—"
'Esteemed guests' was a stretch—few attendees hailed from outside the southwest.
"—though he could not attend in person, I offer endless thanks and reverence to His Highness the Second Prince for bestowing upon me the Tears of the Sun."
Gasps erupted throughout the hall.
Pleased with the reaction, the Count continued with a leisurely smile.
"For too long, we nobles of the southwest have remained scattered, unlike our counterparts in other regions."
The speech was unfolding exactly as Logan had anticipated.
"The complicated history behind this is known to all present, so I'll spare you the details. But now, it's time to cast aside meaningless traditions and hollow promises—time for us to unite! His Highness the Second Prince, a leading candidate for the throne, seeks our support!"
Logan masked his displeasure by raising a wine glass to his lips—
Just as the Count suddenly pointed directly at him.
"Incidentally, the heir of House MacLaine—the family that both began and ended the southwest's strife two centuries ago—stands among us tonight."
The already sparse crowd around Logan thinned further.
And then—
"Lord Logan is an exceptional young man. The driving force behind MacLaine's recent resurgence, having led them to victory in two wars. A prodigy who reached mid-tier knighthood at just twenty-one—an achievement even my High Knights couldn't match at his age."
The sudden praise shifted the room's atmosphere instantly.
"A talent comparable to the kingdom's pillars—the Aura Users and Transcendents. His armor tonight proves his dedication to training. Why, I'd wager even his recent broken engagement stemmed from overzealous practice!"
Laughter, awkward and sycophantic, filled the hall.
"I've no intention of coercing such talent. Merely a proposal. Lord Logan!"
"...Yes?"
"His Grace Duke Waltermein, grandfather to His Highness the Second Prince, seeks promising individuals. If you're amenable, I'd gladly recommend you as his disciple. What say you?"
The moment Count Bifrost finished speaking, the hall erupted into uproar.