Chapter 289

Volume 2 Ch 29: Tedious Socializing

The ‍​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‍dark blue formalwear he wore was cut to follow the lines of his body perfectly. The fabric was crisp yet supple, making almost no sound as he walked. Only the silver-thread embroidery of thorn-and-star patterns occasionally flashed with a cold glimmer as the light shifted across it.

At ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍his collar was a simple silver tie pin, ancient in style. Cecilia had sent it over before his departure, together with the rest of the outfit. Its design was understated, but both its workmanship and materials proclaimed that it was anything but ordinary.

This ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍was not merely clothing. It was a silent declaration, a carefully arranged presentation, and also the princess’s definition of his role in tonight’s grand performance. He had to be dazzling. He had to be impeccable. He had to draw every eye in the room, and he had to be able to bear the pressure and challenges that would come with that attention.

In ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍that respect, Cecilia’s preparations were impossible to fault. They even gave him a faint sense of reassurance. At the very least, when it came to appearances, she would not allow him to make a mistake.

The ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍attendant stopped before an enormous pair of gilded doors. Their panels were carved with scenes from the founding epics of the Empire, solemn and majestic. From beyond them came faint strains of elegant music and the lively murmur of voices, like some splendid dream sealed away from the world.

“My ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍lord, the Golden Hall is here.”

The attendant bowed and stepped aside.

Ryan halted. He drew one last breath of the cooler air outside the doors, pressed down every restless thought in his chest, and let his eyes settle once more into a cold, still calm. He lifted a hand and brushed his fingers over the silver tie pin at his collar. It felt cool beneath his touch.

The next moment, he gave the attendant a signal.

The heavy doors were slowly pushed open to either side by two servants.

At once, a brilliance even brighter and more dazzling than before, almost enough to make the eyes ache, poured over him. Along with it came a richer wave of floral perfume, wine, and perfume oils, washing over him like a tide.

Before him stretched a hall so magnificent that it truly deserved the name Golden Hall.

Its vaulted ceiling soared so high it seemed almost impossible to see its top. Countless colossal crystal chandeliers hung from above, each prism refracting the magical flames within into rainbow halos, flooding the entire hall with a radiance as bright as day.

Underfoot, the polished marble floor shone like a mirror, reflecting the figures of the guests and the painted murals overhead.

Massive columns, so thick that several people would be needed to encircle one with joined arms, held up the hall. Their surfaces were wrapped in gold leaf and carved with intricate, exquisite patterns.

Yet even more eye-catching than the lavish architecture was the tide of people moving within it.

Everywhere he looked, there was glittering jewelry and richly dressed figures.

The men wore the most fashionable evening attire, varied in color, yet all chosen to proclaim status and taste. Medals, sashes, and family crests gleamed under the lights.

The women were like the rarest flowers in full bloom, their gowns trailing across the floor, their jewels sparkling, their fans rising and falling as they laughed softly.

They gathered in small groups, raising glasses in conversation, or drifted across the dance floor to the music of the orchestra. Servants carrying silver trays laden with wine and delicacies moved through the crowd like butterflies among flowers.

Here were gathered the Empire’s highest nobles, the wealthiest magnates, the most celebrated artists and scholars, and their carefully groomed heirs.

Behind every smiling face likely stood a powerful house, a faction not to be underestimated, or a network of carefully woven alliances.

Ryan’s appearance immediately drew notice.

The guests closest to the entrance were the first to spot him. Their conversations faltered, and their eyes turned toward him. Then, like ripples spreading across water, more and more gazes shifted from the dance floor, from the crowd, from every corner of the hall, and converged on him.

Curious gazes, measuring gazes, appraising gazes, jealous gazes, friendly gazes, hostile gazes.

Countless eyes instantly wrapped themselves around this young hero.

He stood at the doorway in his dark blue evening attire, like the deep night under the brilliant lights. His silver hair had been styled with flawless precision. His face was calm, and his bearing tall and straight.

Meeting those countless complicated gazes, Ryan Velt stepped into the splendid hunting ground known as the Golden Hall.

Behind him, the doors closed soundlessly, sealing off the comparatively quiet corridor.

The ball itself had not yet formally begun. The Emperor and the core members of the imperial family had not yet arrived. This was the so-called free social period.

The entire Golden Hall had become a vast and luxurious salon. The Empire’s nobles gathered in twos and threes, talking in low voices, exchanging information, and reinforcing old ties.

The scene faintly resembled the banquet Ryan remembered at Count Rockbay’s estate, though the scale, the rank of those present, and the violence of the undercurrents beneath it were on an entirely different level.

The moment his dark blue figure appeared at the entrance, it drew attention like a magnet.

After the first silence and the first round of measuring looks, people quickly began to move.

The first to approach were mostly younger faces, or nobles of lower rank themselves, or heirs from count and viscount families eager to broaden their connections.

They carried crystal goblets in hand, and each wore a flawless social smile.

“Lord Velt! I have long heard of your name. It is an honor to finally meet you today.”

“Congratulations, hero of the Empire. Your achievements are truly admirable.”

“A toast to you, Lord Velt, to your health, and to the glory of the Empire.”

“My father has spoken of your performance in the ruins with the highest praise...”

Congratulations and pleasantries poured toward him like waves. The contents were much the same, praise for his achievements, admiration for his courage, and attempts to close the distance through a toast.

Ryan’s expression remained calm. His gray-blue eyes were as undisturbed as still water. To each person who approached, he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, and his wineglass touched theirs with a soft, clear chime. He did not speak much. Usually, his replies were no more than, “Thank you,” “You flatter me,” or “I merely did what I could for the Empire.” Yet his manner was not arrogant. Everything about him reflected the polished courtesy of someone who had been raised well.

To those younger nobles, who had initially felt uneasy and wondered whether this newly risen hero might have grown overbearing or crude after receiving sudden honors, his demeanor was unexpectedly reassuring.

It seemed this Law-Sunderer was neither some unapproachable madman nor a fool blinded by his own status.

He was willing to raise a glass, willing to answer the basic courtesies. That gave many people the illusion that perhaps he might be someone worth befriending.

A few bolder daughters of count houses even approached with flushed cheeks under the urging of their companions, offering words of congratulations. Ryan answered each of them politely, his conduct beyond reproach, which caused still more observers to nod quietly to themselves.

But the moment anyone tried to push the conversation further—asking for the specific details of the ruins, probing his plans for the future, or hinting at greetings from one faction or another—Ryan’s strategy immediately became apparent.

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