Banquet 3
"I expected as much, but there are way more people than I thought."
"......"
"I figured we'd arrived a bit early... but it looks like most of the major houses are already here. See over there? That's the Reber Ducal House. The Venting Marquis House, Batenberg Count House... even the Ebroy family. Feels like every prominent noble house in the kingdom has shown up."
"Yeah."
"Miss, what's with the reaction? Your expression doesn't look good."
"Me?"
"Yes. You're not yourself... Is it because of that rumor?"
Aila, who had been gazing out the carriage window, furrowed her brow at Aren’s words. She wore a pure white dress unlike her usual robe, with no other adornments. The frills on the dress were minimized. It appeared plain at first glance, but an unparalleled elegance lay within—because it was worn by none other than Aila Pavria.
She shook her head as if it were nonsense. Aren gave a wry smile.
"It might just be idle gossip. Aren't there plenty of unverified rumors floating around? For someone like Sir Bail Crane, Sir Evan's exclusive knight, to be crippled? And they say he even used Queerix. Who could possibly beat him, if not Duke Barbalte himself?"
"I think so too, but..."
"Even Young Master Licht wouldn't act so recklessly."
Would he really not? Aila swallowed the words on the tip of her tongue.
After returning to her family from Artal, she'd heard one particular rumor. Licht Barbalte, the duke's second son, had crippled Evan Barbalte's exclusive knight, the first son's man. And this had happened even before visiting Artal.
At first, she'd dismissed it as baseless chatter. But at some point, she could no longer write it off so easily. It felt entirely plausible.
I wouldn't have believed it before.
She had seen it clearly in Artal. That overwhelming force. Even Aren, a high mage, had struggled to control his own mana amid the spectacle. That wasn't something two circles could achieve. And there had been multiple witnesses. By now, it was surely the hot topic among the nobles—the discarded second son of Barbalte had been hiding his power all along, perhaps even stronger than Evan.
She could picture it without looking.
Aren spoke hesitantly. "When you put it like that, it really does seem possible..."
"Maybe."
"Nah, no way."
"......"
"For real?"
Aren, who had been denying it outright, gradually hardened his expression in response to Aila's reaction.
The grand avenue of Barbalte Manor stretched out beyond the window. Crowds of people everywhere, especially carriages—enough to fill the wide boulevard completely.
Just like before, only Aila and Aren rode in this carriage. Duke Pavria hadn't come along. More precisely, he couldn't. Her resistance had been too fierce.
Aren gazed at Aila, who stared silently out the window, and murmured regretfully. "It would've been nice if the duke had come too."
"No. Too tiring."
"If he'd heard that just now, he might've locked himself in his room and sobbed all day. Seriously."
"He's not a kid. No reason to cry over something like that."
"Miss... you really don't understand the duke at all. Do you have any idea how much he wanted to come with you?"
It was infamous in the family that Duke Pavria, the head of House Pavria and a 7th Circle mage, was powerless against his daughter Aila.
Puberty, huh? Aren sighed inwardly.
Before long, the carriage came to a stop.
"We've got some time left."
"Everyone's probably already here."
"You're right. Let's go, Miss."
The banquet was set for 6 p.m. They'd arrived a little early, but it was still late by noble standards. The first prince and Duke Barbalte would enter precisely on the hour. The massive building, built solely for such banquets, made that clear. A long line of carriages stretched out.
Evan, the first son, would enter just before the prince.
Aila's face, which had looked bored moments before descending the carriage, shifted in an instant—to that of a great noble's daughter. Aren, watching the abrupt change, let out an admiring breath.
"Whoa... I say it every time, but it's amazing. Like swapping masks on the spot. How do you change your expression like that..."
"Aren, quiet."
"Y-yes."
"Lead the way. Hurry."
At her sharp words, Aren obediently took the lead without complaint.
His deep navy robe didn't suit the banquet, but no one pointed it out. It was Barte's robe, and the woman beside him was the second daughter of House Pavria. If anything, it drew eyes.
The young heirs who had stepped into the garden for a breather stared entranced. The young ladies, cheeks flushed blankly, were no different. When Aren gave a small wave, a scream-like cheer erupted.
Aila shot him a glare. "Having fun?"
"...Miss, that's not—"
"Looks like it. Your mouth's practically reaching for the sky."
"Haha..."
A retainer of House Pavria. Young. A 5th Circle high mage from the Barte school. With his affable looks, Aren was quite famous in high society. He accompanied Aila almost everywhere—a quasi-noble, in fact. He had no shortage of admiring ladies.
She couldn't comprehend it.
"C-come on, don't make that face. It's a rare banquet—let's head in."
Aren cleared his throat awkwardly and entered the building without looking back. Aila shook her head slightly and followed.
The long corridor led quickly to a grand door.
"The second daughter of House Pavria, Lady Aila Pavria!"
As the massive doors swung open, two knights beside them bellowed in resounding voices.
The vast banquet hall stretched out. Ornate chandeliers sparkled high on the endless ceiling. Below them, tables groaned under countless dishes—but few touched them, too busy clustering in groups to chat.
Lesser nobles huddled in corners with their own kind; prominent ones held court at the center.
But at that moment, everyone—regardless—fell silent and turned toward the door.
Aila scanned the room. Familiar faces. Nearly everyone was there, save a few.
"Shall we go, Miss?"
Aila didn't hesitate. Her graceful steps suited her perfectly, enough to make it seem like the hall's center had shifted. Nobles along her path bowed and stepped aside automatically.
Then, one by one, young heirs from powerful houses began blocking her path.
"Lady Aila. You're dazzling as ever. If I may have just a moment of your time..."
"It's been a while, Lady. Might I have the honor of the first dance with you?"
"I'm Veron Brienne of the Brienne Count House. If you'd join me briefly..."
"Engel Kraon of House Kraon..."
"Of House Pua..."
All sons of count houses or higher. Aila refused them each with a smile, never forgetting courtesy. Satisfied with even a word, they retreated with faint regret.
But the next group couldn't be dismissed.
"Oh, Lady Aila. Have you been well?"
"Still as beautiful as ever. A true lady."
"It's been since the last banquet. So glad to see you again."
High-society daughters, each a force in her own right. Refusing them here would look bad. Aila nodded silently, and they launched into exaggerated words and gestures.
"So, have you heard the rumor?"
"Rumor?"
"Yes. About Sir Bail Crane, Sir Evan's exclusive knight, getting badly hurt..."
"I heard too. They say he was a Sword Expert, a top knight..."
"More importantly, do you know who did it?"
"Who?"
"Not sure on that."
"It's that guy."
"That guy?"
"Barbalte's second son. Name's..."
"Licht. Licht, right?"
"Yes. Licht Barbalte. He beat Sir Evan’s knight without mercy..."
"Oh, how vulgar. Doesn't he know a knight's honor?"
"He's a bastard. Figures he'd do that. Because of it, Sir Evan's sparring partner changed for today."
"So the talk about Barbalte's second son awakening his aura is true?"
It never ended. They chattered endlessly, for some reason. Aila clenched her gut tightly. She usually held her composure, but today it slipped strangely. Should I dump water on their heads?
Just then, one girl leaned in close. "Lady, you're awfully quiet today. Feeling unwell? Your face looks pale."
Aila replied as calmly as possible. "No, I'm fine. Does it seem that way?"
"Yes. Very."
"Maybe she's embarrassed? After all, today is..."
"Right. Sir Evan's investiture day."
"He really is dashing. Ah, if only I had a fiancé like Sir Evan..."
"I get it. Just looking at that face..."
Giggle giggle.
They'd seemed concerned a second ago, now laughing among themselves. What was so funny? Then one spoke up as if remembering something.
"Speaking of, that second son isn't bad-looking either."
"Now that you mention it..."
"Is he your type?"
"Sir Evan's sharp features are great, but a pretty face like that isn't bad. Like a gigolo. We can't marry who we want anyway."
"Exactly. Enjoy it while we can."
"He'd be convenient that way. I hear even Duke Barbalte discarded him... Looks like no balls either. No complications, no mess."
"...A one-night fling?"
"Shall we try? Bet he'd topple with a nudge."
"He's gotta have experience with women. Looks so timid—he'd fold right away, face turning red."
"Saying it like that makes me kinda want to... How about I give it a shot?"
What the hell.
Listening to them, Aila was dumbfounded, incredulous. Timid? No guts? Had there ever been a man who'd cursed her outright to her face? Even Evan maintained decorum on the surface.
But oblivious to her thoughts, they prattled on, assuming Licht would fall for them already.
Any longer, and she'd snap. "Ah, leaving already?"
"Just to the terrace for a bit..."
"You do look unwell. Take a breather. Night hasn't even fallen yet."
"Yes. Then, if you'll excuse me..."
Aila bowed slightly and turned away. Aren, surrounded by giggling daughters from various houses, spotted her and hurried over.
"Finished chatting?"
"Yeah. A bit tired."
"Tired?"
Aren glanced at where Aila had been. Faint voices drifted amid the others' noise.
"Annoying bitch. Thinks a pretty face is everything?"
"Bet she's chased after Sir Evan too. Stuck-up. If not for House Pavria, I'd have broken her long ago."
"She's rolled in every bed. Plays the lady while doing it. Dumb men. What's so great about a slut like her."
Aren's face hardened. He looked ready to charge. "Miss. Let me—"
"Forget it. Leave them."
"But...!"
"Not worth responding to. Just wastes time."
She glanced briefly toward the hall's entrance, then turned away. Aren sighed deeply and followed.
***
"Heading out? To the terrace, looks like."
"Probably getting some air."
"Her face is glowing. You'd think she had a halo. See those guys? Can't even approach, just stealing glances. Pathetic males... Tsk tsk."
"Here he comes."
One man pointed at a youth approaching from the banquet hall's center.
Someone called out. "Hey! Your Grace Reber. How'd the greetings go?"
"Watch your mouth. Someone might hear."
"Not wrong, though. How much time left?"
"True enough."
The approaching youth was Cesar Reber, heir to the Reber Ducal House. He feigned seriousness half-jokingly, and the other men chuckled.
"Fine, say it again. Is the real Duke Reber well?"
"Yes. Healthy enough to embarrass your worries."
"Good. I'll pay my respects later."
Lauren Batenberg. Liam Venting. Jean Ebroy. Louis Erkus. And Cesar Reber. All heirs to powerhouse houses.
They chatted like any other group—except two.
"Lauren, Liam."
"Y-yeah."
"Something wrong? You've been quiet."
Those two had barely spoken. Jean said, "Ah, I know. This guy's lovesick. Bad case."
"Lovesick?"
Cesar asked. Jean grinned. "Yeah. For that lovely 'Snow White.' She's fated to marry his best friend, after all. No wonder he's suffering."
"Lauren's no slouch. He wouldn't kneel anywhere."
"I know. Perfectly. The marriage proposals lining up for him. But tough luck—it's Evan. Even for Lauren..."
"Give up, man. You'll just hurt more."
"......"
The blond, handsome Louis spoke. Lauren clamped his mouth shut.
"This guy's seriously bad. What the hell is love anyway... Tsk."
"How many flowers have you plucked and tossed? You calling him out?"
"Leave him. Time heals. Anyway, something fun."
Cesar cut in, drawing all eyes with interest.
"Fun?"
"Didn't they say Evan's sparring partner today is that guy?"
Jean nodded slightly. "Licht, right?"
"Licht Barbalte. Yeah, him."
Cesar smirked slyly. "As his brother's friend, I'm worried. Needs a little 'encouragement,' no?"
"Encouragement...?"
"This."
Cesar picked up a nearby wine glass, red liquid sloshing.
"No way...!"
"He'll probably be too scared to draw his sword... Let's splash him good. Snap him right out of it."
"Pouring wine wakes someone up how?"
"Then he gets drunk? Not bad either. Better than trembling and collapsing—drunk, at least he'll draw his blade."
"Ah."
"No!"
A trembling shout. All heads snapped around. Liam was shaking as he yelled.
"Liam? Eat something bad? Why the sudden outburst..."
"No. Insane idea. Pour wine on that guy's head?"
"Your face..."
Liam's was pale with terror—more than the others could grasp. Except one. Lauren couldn't lift his head either.
Louis asked, "Hey, seriously, what's up?"
"Lauren. You saw it too, right? In Artal, that guy definitely...!"
"......"
"Artal? Oh yeah, you two went to the Artal auction recently. Something happen?"
Lauren and Liam stayed silent. Jean and Louis frowned. Did they eat something weird?
Then—
"Tsk."
A tongue-click. "Lauren, Liam. You backing out now?"
It was Cesar, eyeing them coldly.
"......"
"Not even gonna answer. Fine. I'll do it myself."
"W-wait!"
Cesar barked at Liam. "Coward! Scared of one bastard and running? You call yourself Venting Marquis heir? Disappointing. Misjudged you."
Lauren still said nothing. Cesar clicked his tongue again and turned.
"You two stay and watch. I'll make it entertaining."
"Sorry, I'm in."
"Me too."
Jean and Louis backed Cesar. Lauren finally spoke. "You guys."
"......?"
"You'll regret it."
"Regret?"
Cesar scoffed. "Unlike whoever's scared of a bastard-born nobody."
"What if he doesn't show?"
"Yeah. Might run scared."
"Doubt it. He's nobility. Knows honor—won't flee a set stage. If he does..."
Cesar added, "Then he's just that much of a nothing."
They turned. The firmly shut doors began opening once more.
"Here he comes. Star of the night."
Behind the doors emerged a tall, refreshingly handsome man.
"Barbalte's heir and future sword of Arhen! First Young Master Evan Barbalte!"
No sooner had the knight finished than the young man strode in slowly, a smile on his face.