Chapter 291

Volume 2 Ch 31: Pressure

He ‍​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‍had to announce his existence in a high-profile way, display his value and uniqueness, and draw the attention of every side—yet without making any explicit promises, while maintaining an elusive posture of independence.

That ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍would undoubtedly provoke resentment. The Second Prince’s faction, already dissatisfied with him because of the Marquis Wilier affair, would now see him all the more as a potential nuisance.

But ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍that resentment and wariness were, in themselves, proof of his independent standing. They were also part of the pressure test Cecilia’s plan both anticipated and required.

“Lord ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍Velt! Truly, a hero in his youth!” A portly middle-aged man wearing a marquis’s crest pushed his way forward with a beaming smile, a young lady at his side who kept sneaking shy glances at Ryan. “My daughter also studies at Saint Roland Magic Academy. She has admired your outstanding performance at the academy, as well as your great feat in the ruins, for some time now, and has been insisting on meeting the legendary upperclassman herself. If you have the leisure, might you be willing to give her a little guidance another day? The child is forever hopeless when it comes to practical magic...”

Here ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍we go again.

Ryan ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍inwardly smiled, though his face remained calm.

How many invitations like this had he already received tonight—framed as requests for advice, yet clearly carrying the scent of matchmaking or social climbing?

His gray-blue eyes swept politely over the young lady, whose cheeks had gone pink, and he raised his glass slightly toward the marquis. “You flatter me. There are many excellent students in the academy. Your daughter must surely be among the best of them. I would hardly dare speak of giving guidance—we can only learn from one another. Unfortunately, I’ve only just returned from the ruins, and both body and mind still require rest. I fear I cannot spare my attention in the near future. Please forgive me.”

Hearing the gentleness in his tone, yet also the unmistakable refusal, the marquis’s face showed a flicker of disappointment. But he quickly piled the smile back on. “Of course, of course! Your health comes first, my lord. Then I shall not take up more of your time. I wish you a pleasant evening!”

After dealing with that round, Ryan shifted position once more without a trace.

He could feel that the truly heavyweight figures—the great nobles, the power-holders, the core supporters of the two princes—were still standing at the edges, watching coldly from afar or speaking in low voices within their own circles. None of them had personally entered the field yet.

They were observing, assessing this sudden variable who had stepped into the highest sphere of society.

Ryan had no intention of approaching them first. He was waiting—waiting for the right moment, waiting for certain people to lose patience and escalate their probing on their own.

He knew the real test was likely hidden in the wineglasses that had not yet been raised, and in the smiles that concealed the true gaze behind them.

And he was ready.

...

After dealing with yet another viscount attempting to introduce his daughter, the polite smile on Ryan’s face was beginning to stiffen.

After enduring wave after wave of these same insinuating conversations, he felt as though his nerves were being tugged again and again by countless threads. Outwardly he remained composed, but the mental strain was enormous.

To be honest, he was starting to feel a little desperate. Was he really attending a royal gathering, or had he wandered into some gigantic matchmaking corner?

It honestly felt as if all these old men had come here carrying daughters for blind dates.

At that thought, Ryan could not help sighing inwardly.

He had already made brief contact with nearly every prominent noble and noble family present who had taken the initiative to approach him. In his mind, he had rapidly categorized and marked who was merely extending goodwill, who was offering hollow courtesies, and who likely stood behind which prince or which grand duke.

This was not simply gathering intelligence for Cecilia’s plan. It was also a necessary lesson for his own survival in the Empire’s power structure.

At last, just as yet another person seemed about to begin a second round of deeper conversation while glancing around to locate him, Ryan keenly seized a moment when no one was paying attention. His figure slipped behind a magnificently decorated giant pillar, then he quietly pushed open a side door leading into a less conspicuous corridor and stepped through.

The door closed behind him, shutting out the suffocating golden clamor inside. A cool night breeze carrying the scent of grass and leaves brushed against his face. Leaning back against the cold stone wall, Ryan let out a silent breath.

The sudden release of tension in his nerves almost brought on a faint dizziness.

He was not a born political creature. Back at the academy, dealing with those still-green young nobles had been comparatively simple—he could wear coldness as a mask and overawe them with strength.

But inside that hall just now were the true core of Imperial power: old foxes steeped in court intrigue for decades, and the sharpest young minds among the younger generation.

Every seemingly casual exchange with them was a silent clash. Every sentence required him to interpret, weigh, and answer with total concentration.

To fulfill his agreement with Cecilia, and to carry out the plan of becoming an independent fulcrum, he had to be conspicuous, had to attract attention, yet also had to be as slippery as the most elusive fish, never allowing any side to take hold of him too easily.

This balancing act on the edge of a blade was far more mentally draining than facing monsters in the ruins.

“Hah... at least I can breathe for a moment now.”

He murmured to himself, rubbing lightly at his throbbing temples.

The plan had succeeded. He had successfully drawn the hall’s attention and become, for the moment, one of its focal points. He had also successfully maintained a delicate distance through the various probes made from every side.

But only he knew the pressure involved. He truly did need a few moments alone, just to let his overworked mind cool down.

This was the royal rear garden adjoining the Golden Hall. Vast in scale and exquisitely arranged, it was often used for open-air banquets on summer nights.

It was not the first time he had known of this place.

In the original world of Holy Light and the Seven Sins, both the Golden Hall and Triumph Square were among the stages upon which countless major events of the Empire had unfolded. They were settings every player had seen again and again.

Triumph Square was where the Empire displayed its military might and glory. Every great victory parade, every major proclamation, even the final award ceremony of the Empire’s grand tournament for the finest young elites, took place there.

The ultimate victor of that gathering—where the Empire’s most exceptional young mages, swordsmen, and magic-martial dual cultivators all competed—alone earned the right to stand upon Triumph Square’s ceremonial platform and receive the gaze of the Emperor and the people.

The legendary senior Iruya, the Witch of Pride, who had already become renowned throughout the Empire once the original plot began, was precisely such a figure. She had received awards there three separate times, and to this day her portrait and deeds were still looked up to by countless young people across the Empire.

Compared with that, the Golden Hall bore far more of the Empire’s currents of power and social maneuvering.

State banquets, celebrations, dances held to receive foreign envoys... countless discussions, transactions, and alliances that shaped the course of the Empire could be quietly concluded beneath its dazzling gilded vaults.

It was a stage for glory, yes—but also a battlefield without sound.

And this connected rear garden was one of the rare places to catch one’s breath behind that clamor.

It was not a forbidden place. It was simply that at this moment everyone was gathered inside, waiting for the Emperor’s arrival, and so the garden had naturally fallen silent.

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