Banquet 5
Hundreds of gazes stabbed into the center of the banquet hall, each laden with a riot of emotions. Shock, bewilderment, doubt, anger, disgust. Even without words, the silent pressure was overwhelming.
But Licht remained utterly impassive. All of them were beneath notice. His eyes stayed fixed on the platform. Leaving the crown prince's gaze—now shifted to keen interest—behind, he glanced sideways. Abel's stare was peculiar, emotions impossible to read.
Thinking about it, it had always been that way. He could have crushed Licht at any moment. Licht's maternal family wasn't some powerful house. He had no support base. No need to dirty his own hands—just exile him far away, ensure he never set foot in the family again. The family elders, including the lady of the house Amella, would have welcomed it. No opposition there. They'd have celebrated it.
Yet he hadn't.
Why?
Licht didn't know. Until the spring of his seventeenth year, he'd lived like a ghost in the main house. The place he'd been chased to under the pretext of "rest" wasn't even outside the estate—it was the remote annex in its corner. The one built for his mother, Lily.
He'd left the family of his own will. Walked out on his own two feet.
Once, he'd bitterly resented Abel for it. But facing death, not a shred of that emotion remained. And then the thought struck: had Abel truly hated him? Or had Licht himself slammed the door on his heart?
Only now, lifting his head, did he see it. Abel's eyes, gazing at him intently.
"Insolent!"
The silence shattered from a man near the platform. White hair streaked his scalp, his face sharp and severe. Licht didn't know him, of course. From his bearing and appearance, a high noble—but no family crest worth committing to memory. Just a loudmouth, Licht concluded, already dismissing him.
But then the man bellowed, appealing to the crowd.
"How dare you stand so brazenly tall in this place? You should be prostrating yourself even now! Does Barbalte's second son truly know nothing of manners?"
His voice was louder than expected.
"He's right. That's a grave offense. Who enters after His Highness the crown prince...?"
"Duke Reber has a point."
"Look at that shameless bastard. What gives him the confidence?"
Murmurs erupted the moment the white-haired man's words ended, as if on cue. Nobles sympathetic to this "Duke Reber," or perhaps his paid agitators. But the agreement spread faster than Licht anticipated. The nobles, mouths sealed moments ago, now buzzed with criticism of him.
To them, Licht's behavior was prime gossip fodder, ripe for tearing apart.
It was the first prince, Carlson, who reluctantly stepped in.
"Enough."
The hall fell silent again at his single word.
"Your Highness! This is no trifling matter!"
Duke Reber spoke up once more.
"Indeed. Punish him at once."
"We're concerned for His Highness the crown prince's dignity. These things demand a firm precedent."
"Marquis Evroe speaks truly. Please heed our wishes."
Other high nobles nearby backed Reber. But the crown prince didn't budge.
"I hear you, Duke Reber, and the rest. Normally, I'd punish him on the spot. But today being what it is... I have no desire for such mess. He didn't flee—just a few minutes late."
"But, Your Highness!"
"Duke Reber!"
The prince's sharp rebuke silenced him.
"Enough now. Speak further, and I'll take it as defiance of my will."
"......"
The first prince turned, sighing at Carlson.
"What a mess from the start. Duke Abel."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"We're about to begin."
"As you wish."
After a brief exchange with Abel, the crown prince addressed the hall.
"I say again: it's over and done. No more chatter from you lot."
He added, "The banquet commences now."
The nobles, glancing warily about, soon resumed their conversations as before. The hall grew lively again, factions clustering. But none approached Licht.
He paid it no mind. As the mood ripened, he moved to a nearby table. An array of foods dangled above—light bites suited to wine. This wasn't a feast for eating, but for socializing, after all.
If I'd had half a day more, I could've woven another one.
He picked up a finely made canapé, pondering. After linking the third ring, his circles felt unnaturally stable—even to him. No regret for pulling an all-nighter on it. He wasn't tired. His mind was sharper than ever.
Just a pity there wasn't a bit more time. Half a day. Exactly half a day more, and he'd have stabilized the fourth ring.
Fine. Not much left.
With luck, he could do it midway. Licht savored the exquisite dishes slowly. The head chef had poured real effort in. Shame they mostly went untouched.
Wine dominated. Servants bustled with bottles. Everyone clutched a glass. And the stares...
"......"
They weren't chatting idly. Well, not entirely wrong—they were. Snippets about him mixed in.
From above, it looked like amiable catch-up. In truth, they kept stealing glances at Licht. Not one or two—the entire hall of nobles.
Licht stood alone in the center, surrounded by their babble. No intimidation, no tension.
The opposite.
Irritating.
His mood soured. Nobles catching his eye flinched away, faces flustered—even the renowned ones. With the Ascension Sword at his waist, ignoring the crowd's attention, he exuded an aura of dignity that bordered on the bizarre. Comparable to First Prince Carlson.
The atmosphere shifted.
Did he really awaken aura? Then the rumor of beating that second son's exclusive knight...?
His hypersensitive senses caught such whispers sporadically.
Idiots, Licht spat inwardly, then whipped his head toward an intense stare.
Amella Pavria.
Her. And beside her, Evan Barbalte. And one more.
What's Aila doing?
Licht furrowed his brow. Aila stared blatantly. Gauging him? Fair enough. Getting tangled with her would be a hassle.
He wasn't offended. Just figured she had her reasons.
But no. She was staring behind him.
"Licht. Long time."
Three young men now stood nearby, each reeking of elite noble stock. The leader spoke.
"Don't you remember? Cesar Reber. If you've forgotten already, that's a bit hurtful."
"Jean Evroe."
"Louis Erkus here. You really forgot?"
The blond one at the end feigned familiarity. The surrounding murmurs halted. They'd been eyeing each other; someone finally stepped up. And if those someones were scions of the kingdom's top noble houses, it drew even more eyes.
Licht rolled his eyes briefly, then spotted two men not far off.
Those bastards.
Definitely the pair who'd picked a fight in Arthal. Staring stiffly—high nobles, as he'd guessed.
Cesar, scanning about with a satisfied smirk, spoke.
"Too long since last time, so came to say hi. How've you been?"
"Why the death glare? We interrupting Barbalte's second son's meal or something?"
"Don't take it to heart. It's not about you—Jean's just got that mouth."
Friendly-faced Louis extended a hand. Licht didn't take it. Just stared down.
"...Making us look bad. A handshake's the least, right?"
"Guess the noble Barbalte second son thinks we're beneath him."
"Enough joking."
Cesar waved off Jean and Louis, summoning a servant.
"Y-yes? What can I do?"
"Got any spare wine?"
"Wine...?"
"Fresh bottle, please. Vintage's not my thing."
"Ah, right away."
The servant dashed off, returning with a new bottle. Cesar grabbed a nearby glass, offering it. Cork popped. Wine poured.
"We've... been too neglectful. Must've been rough for you. So, let's forget all past grudges and wipe the slate clean."
The servant trembled under noble stares. The stream wobbled, sloshing the glass. Half-full, he set the bottle down with shaking hands.
Cesar proffered the brimming glass.
"Have a drink."
The dark red liquid splashed out.
Splash!
"......!"
"Gasp!"
Gasps echoed. Drip, drip. Wine cascaded down Licht's black hair.
"Haha! Looks refreshing. Suits you. Perfectly."
"Red's even better. Whoever cut your hair's blind. No top stylist, that's for sure."
"Got money? Cut him slack."
"Oops, my bad."
Louis and Jean cackled. No one intervened. Cesar spoke.
"Licht."
A venomous smile curled his lips.
"You won't hold a grudge over this, right? You looked so tense, so I cooled you off."
He twirled his glass.
"Feel sharper now?"
"He's underage. Allowed booze?"
"Seventeen's a man. Time to handle his own."
"Not pleased? At least react..."
Cesar trailed off.
"Uh, what?"
"Magic! Magic!"
"The second son knows magic?"
Commotion erupted. The wine soaking Licht's body gathered in midair, sucked toward one spot.
"You...?"
"A gift received."
Licht raised a hand slightly.
"Time to return it."
Whoosh!
Unlike before, the orb of wine exploded forward.
"Aaaagh!"
"Eyes! My eyes!"
"Gah! Hot, so hot!"
The three, splattered face-first, collapsed. Steam rose around their faces.
Licht grabbed the dropped bottle.
"Agh, eyes!"
"No worries."
He blew downward.
"You'll cool off soon."
Crack!
The spilled wine froze on the floor. Frost coated their faces; they hacked and coughed, choking.
"Kyaa!"
"What happened?"
"Is that really the second son? Such heavy hands..."
"Freezing magic! For sure!"
"Heard he trained aura..."
Nobles raised voices at the sudden scene. The crown prince looked baffled, struggling to follow.
"You scum!"
"Louis! Louis!"
"You bastard!"
Duke Reber and two presumed fathers stormed forward. Licht tossed the bottle aside, facing them.
As furious Reber raised a hand—
Whoosh! Scrape!
"......!"
"Come no closer."
A grazing wind blade. Eyes down: deep gouge at their feet.
The raging men clenched jaws. Reber, biting his lip, bellowed.
"First Prince, Your Highness!"
"......"
"This scum just... my son!"
The prince, eyes closed against a headache, spoke.
"...Duke Abel."
"Take them away."
"Yes."
Nearby knights replied curtly. Servants, arrived unnoticed, hoisted the collapsed trio and exited.
"Where they going?"
"Treatment, right?"
"Still, aftereffects..."
"Duke Barbalte...!"
Reber again.
"Such... lack of decorum...!"
"Duke Barbalte! This crossed the line. Think we'll stand idle?"
Abel ignored the fury from three great house heads.
"Your Highness, if you please."
"......"
Eyes open, nobles stared. All awaited his word.
The first prince forced it out.
"Clear the floor."
That sufficed. Creak! Furniture shoved aside. Nobles parted left and right as if rehearsed.
The vast hall emptied in an instant. Licht stood alone at center.
Reber and others protested vehemently, but it fell on deaf ears. Those three started it—not Licht. His response was harsh, but overshadowed by what followed. The prince's lukewarm reaction sealed it. Other nobles agreed: trivial compared to the main event.
Thud, thud.
One man strode out.
Evan Barbalte.
"Wondered what trick you'd pull... Just some pathetic circle magic?"
Rough words, unlike his usual polish. Cheers erupted anyway—mostly from young noble ladies. This investiture differed from typical banquets; such provocation thrilled. Evan's built reputation helped.
"Don't think you'll fare like Bail."
Evan gripped his hilt.
"No matter your tricks."
He drew.
"You'll never set foot in this family again."
Shing!
"E-Expert!"
A well-honed blade emerged, cloaked in vivid blue aura. Density incomparable to before. Onlookers gasped.
"Expert? The heir broke the Expert wall?"
"For sure! He's..."
"Twenty! Twenty and Expert... True Barbalte heir!"
"Evan!"
"Over here!"
Roooar—!
Mood flipped. The three great nobles, sons half-unconscious and carted off, stewed with crumpled faces. Amella smirked from the side, utterly confident in her son's victory.
Amid the din.
"Cat got your tongue?"
Evan said.
"Run now, I won't chase."
He sneered mockingly.
"Even your dead whore of a mother... would understand. Plenty."
Words crossing lines. But the crowd, swept in fervor, didn't care.
Evan lowered his blade slowly. The unwavering bright blue aura proved his realm.
"......"
Licht stayed silent. Gazed at the floor a while, then slowly raised his head.
"No intent to draw? Then kneel. Even fleeing demands proper manners..."
"Enough."
Licht cut Evan off. A beat late, Evan's face twisted.
"Enough? What the hell are you—"
"All who insulted my mother, hear this!"
His voice rang crystal clear. All eyes snapped to him.
"My name is Licht Sientia."
Preparation complete. Grasping the Ascension Sword, another ring formed around his heart.
"I'll cut you down."
He drew.
"And sever all ties to this family."
4th Circle.
Riiing!
The golden holy sword gleamed under chandelier light. The fresh four rings spat pure white radiance from his grip.
Kiiiiing—!
With the spine-chilling cry of the Ascension Sword, the world turned white.