Banquet 2
He waited. Though he had returned to the annex, there were no major changes in his daily routine. The only difference was that the sword he swung was no longer a crude training blade but the Ascension Sword.
Sebrik and Lena eyed him curiously, wondering what he had been up to, but they didn't pry.
Should I make a move? The thought crossed his mind briefly, but he dismissed it. An investiture ceremony attended by the crown prince himself. It was more banquet than ceremony, really, but fooling Abel's eyes seemed unlikely. Even that woman wouldn't dare act unless the odds were overwhelmingly in her favor—her head would roll the moment they weren't.
It doesn't matter anyway. Even setting aside such trivial concerns, he didn't think he'd lose.
Licht waited endlessly. One day, two days, three, four. From the look of things, he'd probably need to weave the third circle the night before the investiture—for maximum stability.
Get used to it. Waiting was familiar. It always had been. Except for the first time weaving the eighth circle, it had never been a lack of insight but a lack of time.
There had been that one time he'd tried forcing the fifth circle despite the disconnect between his insights and his body, nearly dying in the process before giving up. Those were the days of rising at dawn for runs and sword swings, practicing magic late into the night.
"Young master, I've brought the tailor to fit your uniform."
"Uniform?"
"Pleased to meet you, young master. I'm Olf, a tailor from Britten."
A mild-mannered man with a friendly face removed his hat and bowed. Licht glanced quizzically at Sebrik.
"Young master, the investiture for the eldest young master is just around the corner, and you don't have a proper outfit to your name. So I brought him. They say he's quite well-known in Britten."
"Haha, don't overhype me. My hands are just a bit quick. Who would've thought I'd ever set foot in the Barbalte gardens?" He flashed another affable smile as he finished speaking.
Licht said, "I have a few outfits already..."
"When did you last wear those? They won't even fit anymore."
Licht shut his mouth, about to retort. Come to think of it, he didn't have a single proper set of clothes. He had to meet a minimum dress code at least—no rummaging through castoffs like last time.
When was the last formal banquet I attended? He couldn't recall. There had been a few after the royal one, but nothing major. He'd holed up in the family estate since, so he hadn't needed fine attire. It was more surprising that he had any at all.
As Licht frowned without a word, Sebrik nodded in satisfaction.
"We look forward to your work."
"Don't worry. I'll make you shine brighter than anyone at the banquet. It's not just my speed—my skill's no joke either. Those so-called top tailors are all hot air... tsk tsk."
The man sure could talk. Hauling in bags of gear, Olf quickly set up and began taking measurements. Licht half-surrendered his body to the process.
Where'd the money come from? Leftover from what the head butler had given? It probably wasn't a top-tier tailor because of the budget. Time was tight too. A full month would have been ideal, but only a week and a few days remained.
Evan's uniform was surely already finished by his mother's personal tailor. Rumors among the maids said he had hundreds stashed away in his dressing room after single wears.
Licht didn't care. Top tailor or not, as long as it met the bare minimum, it was fine.
"As expected... clothes are one thing, but the man has to fill them out. Someone like you could wear a sackcloth and still dazzle. So many people blame the clothes without thinking about their own bodies..."
"Is that so?"
"Exactly. Like putting a pearl necklace on a pig's neck. If the coat hangers are rotten, what's the point of silk? That's why you're a blessing—no, a stroke of luck! With your fine figure, I'm already inspired..."
"Heh."
What a motormouth. Sebrik's lips curved up at Olf's flattery. Licht swallowed a rising sigh. Once wasn't enough; the man twisted and turned him this way and that, testing his patience.
"Shall I make it fitted, or a bit loose? You seem to be in a growth spurt... Most boys get extra length in the hems for later."
"Make it fitted."
"Understood. True Barbalte style—money's no object. Fitted it is."
He thought it was over, but now came the lower measurements. Licht realized he was gritting his teeth.
Sebrik said, "Young master, endure it. Can't have Barbalte's second son faltering at this?"
"......"
"Any specific requests? If not, I'll do my best..."
"Plain."
"Pardon?"
"As plain as possible. Black base. No need to stick to formal styles—make it easy to move in."
"Ah, but white would suit you so well... No, got it. Black base, comfortable, maximally plain..."
Olf trailed off under Licht's downward gaze.
White? No thanks. Licht wasn't one for clothes or primping. Flashy outfits were a hard pass.
After diligently measuring, Olf—disliking the subdued mood—opened his mouth again.
"Looking at you, young master..."
"......?"
"You remind me of my son. He's been gone from home a while now."
"Married?"
"Yes. He's turning eighteen this year. You're seventeen, right? Just a year apart. I planned for him to take over the trade, but then he suddenly wanted to learn magic. Scraped together every coin and sent him to El Sion."
Sebrik's question drew a deep sigh from Olf. The follow-up was predictable.
"Which faction?" It was Licht.
Thinking he'd sparked interest, Olf beamed. "Vishark faction. My boy rattled off how they specialize in wind magic. Not as big as Barte's, Brave, or Burneck, but decent-sized, he bragged. I'm clueless about magic. Is Vishark a famous one?"
Licht averted his eyes from Olf's hopeful gaze. He'd never heard of it. No talent, most likely. Shady factions took money from mediocres like that, but none of the renowned ones did. Not just Barte's—Brave and Burneck selected rigorously too. Either stellar backing and skill, or excellence in one.
"...I've heard of it. Good with wind magic."
"Really? Whew, that's a relief. I worried he was wasting time. Thought he was talking nonsense when he passed the exam."
Sebrik glanced at Licht. Licht shook his head slightly.
A lie. Licht had lied. He couldn't bring himself to say the truth. And he wasn't even sure if lying was right. Was brutal honesty better? Who knew.
"All done, young master."
Olf stood, measurements complete. Sebrik asked, "How long?"
"About a week."
"Tight."
"No worries. When's the banquet?"
"Exactly nine days."
"Plenty. Even if the sky falls! I'll have it done the day before."
"We count on you."
"Yes. It'll be stunning. I'm excited too."
Olf bowed politely as he left, just as he'd arrived.
Soon after the door shut, Lena burst in.
"How'd it go?"
"Fine. Says it'll be stunning."
"Whoa, can't wait!"
"Lena, let's go. Young master, rest well."
Sebrik and Lena bowed briefly and left. Alone, Licht grasped the Ascension Sword on the side table.
***
"Wow, wow."
"It suits you perfectly. Clothes make the man, indeed."
Unlike Olf's bold claims, the uniform arrived the very eve of the investiture.
—Hah... hah... Young master, sorry for the delay. Got carried away perfecting it...
Sebrik, who'd waited anxiously, started to speak, but Licht stopped him. It wasn't intentional; done by deadline was fine. And it had turned out better than expected.
"Lady Lily would have been thrilled. Truly."
His reflection looked objectively sharp. He finally understood why Sebrik had always said he resembled his mother as a child. His face was the spitting image of Lily Sientia. Unlike Evan, who took after Abel.
"The reactions at the banquet will be wild!"
"Indeed. You've grown up, young master."
"The young ladies won't know what hit 'em. Time to think about a fiancée for you too."
"Hmm... true."
Sebrik and Lena chatted freely. Licht shook his head inwardly.
Time to head out soon.
Fiancée? He couldn't cling to the family forever. Volunteering as Evan’s sparring partner was just for Lily. To show it under Sientia, not Barbalte. To prove his mother right. And to sever any lingering ties—for the future. Unbound by the past.
"Tomorrow's the day, young master. Manage your condition carefully..."
"Don't worry. I got it."
"Then... ahem. Lena, let's give him space."
"Tomorrow's huge, right?"
"Yes. Shame we can't see it..."
Servants allowed at the banquet were fixed. Sebrik and Lena weren't on the list—head butler's call, her influence.
"Rest well, young master."
"You got this, young master!"
Once they left, Licht perched on the bed. Late night. In the dark, the Ascension Sword on his lap gleamed faintly in the moonlight.
Third circle.
He kept waiting. He could have woven it sooner. But no need.
Am I tense? Sleep wouldn't come. Laughable, he chuckled. Tense? Indifferent fit better. Or expectant?
His mind was sharper than ever. Maybe from sleeping his fill these past days.
Licht closed his eyes, still seated.
Time to weave.
Putting thoughts aside, he sank slowly into his inner world. Same as always. Just leisurely. No rush. Mana stirred gently; the rings around his heart spun lazily. Senses faded. When silence reigned, he began layering the third ring atop the two.
Again, again, again. Until time blurred.
He opened his eyes to faint dawn light outside. Gazing at his chest, the third ring pulsed vividly. Perfectly stable. His mind crystalline, as if refreshed. No trace of an all-nighter.
Licht rose slowly, Ascension Sword in hand.
"Let's go."
The words slipped out like a self-directed murmur. His steps held no hesitation. Morning sun poured down behind him.