Banquet 4
Evan Barbalte. The eldest son and heir of Barbalte, the kingdom's greatest martial noble house. His prominent nose and sharp eyes, framed by thick brows and striking features, had won the hearts of countless noble daughters. Indeed, as he made his entrance, gazes poured in from every direction—jealousy and awe from the men, admiration and longing from the women.
The long famed sword at his waist gleamed with exceptional brilliance. In this banquet hall, only three men were permitted to wear a blade: the duelists and Abel Barbalte, head of the Barbalte family. Evan had appeared first. To the others, he was the true star of the evening.
Every time his eyes met theirs, the young ladies flushed and stirred in a frenzy. The ones who had just been gossiping behind Aila's back were practically fainting.
As he scanned the room, exchanging nods, he approached Cesar.
"Long time no see, Evan. You look good."
"I'm always good. But..."
"That guy's not here?"
"......"
No matter how he looked again, there was no sign. Not even among those stealing glances their way.
Cesar asked, "Your half-brother ran away?"
"The First Prince will arrive any moment now."
"No way. He's planning to show up after the hour?"
"...No."
Even as he replied, Evan's eyes darted around, and he realized someone else was missing too. Louis caught on.
"If you're looking for your fiancée, she just stepped out to the terrace. Why don't you go check?"
The sun was setting, casting a red glow across the sky. Evan turned.
"She'll come in soon anyway. Let's talk more."
"What a clueless guy. Just leave her. She wants some alone time with her fiancé before the banquet starts."
"Poor Loren."
"He deserves it. Looks like a coward anyway."
Evan shot Loren a glance. Loren stared back silently.
"Loren. Something to say?"
"No."
"...Fine."
The odd feeling passed quickly. Evan headed for the terrace.
"Look at that. Honey dripping from their eyes. The girls who act like fortresses to low nobles."
"How about it—tonight too?"
"Guys like us just pick up the scraps."
"True enough."
Jean and Louis snickered at Evan's retreating back. Loren's expression remained sour. Outwardly, he seemed a man burning with jealousy over his beloved, but his true thoughts were far different.
'Licht...'
He murmured the name under his breath. Liam wore a similarly grim face.
***
"Miss, the banquet's about to start. Time to head in."
"......"
"Less than ten minutes left. Look, you can see it from here. You have to go now..."
"Just a bit longer."
Aila leaned on the terrace railing, gazing at the garden. The cool spring breeze felt refreshing. The garden was empty; everyone had already entered ahead of the banquet.
Aren was the one fretting.
"Come on, I'm dying here. Just show your face for a second. You do it fine any other day—what's with today?"
"......"
"Haa, this is driving me crazy... Should I drag you in? Don't complain to the family head later. I'll tell him myself: it was unavoidable to avoid offending the First Prince."
"No need for that."
The voice came from behind. Aren, who had just grabbed Aila's arm, turned.
"Evan... Young Master Evan?"
"Long time no see, Aren."
Evan smiled brightly—a smile to lift anyone's spirits. Aren lit up in response, like reuniting with an old friend.
The scion of the kingdom's premier noble house, yet refreshingly unpretentious. On the surface, he was every bit the outstanding heir Barbalte deserved. He knew how to handle people, and no one hated him for it.
But Aila felt the opposite. Her blank expression twisted for a moment. She knew his dark heart all too well.
Aren said, "Young Master, when did you arrive?"
"Just now. How have you been?"
"Well enough. Always am. If you've come here..."
"Presumptuous as it is, I wanted a moment alone with her. Could you give us the room?"
"Ah, me and my thick head. Miss, I'll head in first—take your time chatting. Excuse me."
Aren gave Aila a pointed look before bowing slightly and leaving. Evan nodded casually, then fixed Aila with a glare. Alone on the terrace, silence descended—suffocating.
Evan broke it first. "You've been playing around with that guy again."
"That guy?"
"Don't play dumb. I already know you went to Licht and Alpen. It's put me in a tough spot."
"......"
Aila clamped her mouth shut. Evan continued.
"I've been thinking... Is that really your type? That scrawny wimp who looks like a girl. Seems the rumors about you whoring around aren't baseless. Or did he spike your drink that night?"
"If that's all you have to say, get out. I can't stand the sight of you."
"Can't do that. Still have more to say."
Evan approached slowly. As the distance closed, her gaze lifted—thanks to their height difference. He leaned to her ear at the railing.
A whisper. "Don't get cocky just because Bail lost to him."
"......"
"Whatever tricks that bastard pulls, they won't work on me. You still think I'm just a Sword User?"
"What?"
"I was just going to humiliate him... but I've changed my mind."
Evan pulled back. Aila stared, stunned.
She managed, "Not a Sword User... ? Lies. No one breaks the Expert wall that easily..."
"Think what you want. Point is, I'll win."
Evan turned. "And... he might end up dead. Some tragic accident."
With a casual wave, he vanished into the banquet hall. Aila stared blankly, then shook her head faintly.
'Even if he really crossed into Expert.'
Early Expert at best—no match. "...Time to go in."
She stepped back from the railing. Her face had changed—no boredom now, just a faint spark of anticipation.
***
"...So, know what I said there?"
"Hold on. It's the hour."
"Already?"
"Shh. He's here."
The rowdy banquet hall fell silent in an instant, like ice water poured over flames. The sharp-eared caught it first: clicking footsteps beyond the doors. Not one pair—two.
As if on cue, all eyes turned. The doors slowly opened.
"The rightful heir of Arhen Kingdom, the most noble presence here, the future glory of the kingdom and eldest son of the royal house—His Highness, First Prince Carlson Arhen!"
"The master of the kingdom's greatest martial house Barbalte, Arhen's sword, Swordmaster Duke Abel Barbalte!"
As the doors parted and the two appeared, nobles bowed. Some prostrated, others knelt deeply, while earls and above offered subtle nods.
First Prince Carlson and Abel at his side proceeded to the high seat. No one spoke. Only footsteps echoed.
Carlson took his place on the dais, Abel standing beside. The prince spoke.
"This gathering is for enjoyment and celebration—not this heavy air."
He scanned the room. "Raise your heads."
Only then did the nobles relax and stand. Golden hair, deep green eyes. Slender and unhardened, yet his words carried the dignity of a crown prince.
Meeting all gazes without flinching, Carlson continued smoothly. "I'm grateful you're all here for this momentous occasion."
"Not at all, Your Highness. It's only natural."
"Indeed."
The great nobles had approached the dais unnoticed: Count Battenberg, Marquis Evroe, Marquis Bentink, and Duke Reber. Reber said nothing, as if waiting.
The prince nodded slightly. "Kind words. Abel."
"Yes, Your Highness. What is your command?"
"Seems the mood's soured because of me. No one can enjoy like this."
"......"
The prince turned to the crowd. "The banquet begins now. Cast aside worries and savor this moment. The time has not yet come."
The time has not yet come. Meaningful words, given the banquet's purpose. Yet none dared contradict.
As chatter began to bloom again—
"Your Highness, First Prince!"
Duke Reber, who had been silent. He addressed the prince at the high seat.
"May this humble one speak?"
"Duke Reber?"
"What's this..."
The hall hushed again. Nobles high and low perked up at Reber's sudden outburst.
The prince asked, "Duke Reber. What is it?"
"It seems the key figure of this gathering is missing. How can the banquet have meaning like this?"
"Key figure?"
"Barbalte's second son."
"Second son?"
Murmurs rippled. Some caught on late. "Come to think, where's that second son?"
"Anyone seen him?"
"Not me."
"Did he run? Hasn't shown up yet..."
"No way. Even so."
"He ran. Look at the time."
The hall buzzed. Reber's calculated words had massive impact.
"Enough!"
Abel. The crowd shut up abruptly.
"This is before the crown prince. Restrain yourselves. Duke Reber—you too."
"Restrain?"
Reber smirked. "I merely stated facts."
"The banquet hasn't started."
"That's the problem. Who dares enter after the rightful heir of Arhen Kingdom, First Prince? Time's passed, and the second son—the supposed star—hasn't arrived. If fear drove him off, that's one issue; entering late after the prince is worse. You know this."
He sneered. "Or are you worried as his father?"
"...Duke Reber. You're crossing the line."
"Hear me, all!"
Reber's voice boomed. Eyes that had glanced at Abel now fixed on him.
"Barbalte's second son, Licht Barbalte, fled this gathering's pressure! He crowned himself the star then tucked tail—can we even call him noble?!"
"Certainly..."
"What about the banquet?"
"Banquet? It's over because of one man."
Reber pressed. "From this moment, Barbalte's name hits the dirt! Am I wrong? It's deception of the First Prince. Abel Barbalte, as his father, must bear responsibility!"
He stared Abel down. Silence, then nods of agreement.
"He's right."
"Even Abel will feel this blow."
"Bastard after all."
"No surprise. Pity Evan."
"Lowborn trash."
Agreement spread like waves. The hall grew rowdy again. Reber, the instigator, fell silent after his final words. His upturned lips screamed satisfaction. Mission accomplished.
"...Duke Abel."
First Prince Carlson from the high seat, watching worriedly. "All right?"
"Don't concern yourself, Your Highness."
"If you say so, I have nothing more..."
Barbalte's second son had "fled"—conclusion drawn. The mood sealed it. Irreversible.
Evan smirked from the sidelines. Coward, as expected.
Aila's face soured. She scowled faintly, eyes on the entrance.
It was over. As Abel slowly closed his eyes—
"B-Barbalte's second son!"
The doors creaked open.
All who had openly trashed the second son whipped toward the entrance. First in view: two flustered knights, mouths agape in confusion.
And between them, a black-haired youth.
"Second son Licht Barbalte has arrived!"
Thud.
He stepped forward steadily. The knight's strained shout was already forgotten.
Black hair, black eyes. The jet-black uniform felt stark yet noble.
"S-Second son?"
"It's him! Barbalte's second son is here!"
Lower nobles by the door parted. In that moment, his presence dominated the hall.
"My apologies."
He wove through the nobles to the center.
"I'm a bit late."
His hand casually adjusted the golden holy sword at his waist.
"I ask your broad understanding."
Licht bowed briefly, then raised his head. Surprise flickered in First Prince Carlson's eyes at the high seat. Reber and Evan's faces twisted like demons.
The hall plunged into thick silence, time frozen. Licht's gaze, fixed ahead, deepened darkly.