Chapter 97: Two Sides of the Banquet

The curtain of near-humiliation from the daytime had cast an invisible shadow over the night’s extravagant feast.

Inside the magnificent ballroom, beneath the brilliant crystal chandeliers, figures flickered like drifting light and passing shadows.

To Kritiya’s eyes, those dignitaries and elites, clad in fine silks and moving incessantly, seemed to have transformed into clusters of blurred and distorted phantoms.

Beneath their meticulously crafted smiles lay hidden agendas that were difficult to discern.

The clamor of flattery and the hypocrisy of idle chatter, mixed with the melodious music, all became distant and surreal—like meaningless murmurs drifting through a thick fog.

Kritiya merely stood silently in a corner, her deep green eyes scanning this gaudy performance with indifference, not uttering a single word.

As the city’s highest administrator, Governor Marcus naturally served as the host of the banquet.

He led Kritiya from behind the curtain into the bright, glamorous foyer, then faced the guests, using a smooth, high-pitched tone to deliver a long string of routine praise—words that didn’t need to be listened to, let alone understood.

He spoke of the “Noble Pearl from the Northern Border” and other such exaggerations that felt untruthful, introducing Kritiya to the crowd.

As his voice finally faded, the grand feast officially began.

In the end, Kritiya did not attend with any formal male companion.

Instead, she was flanked by her maid Sally and Viscount Arendel, one on each side, attending her like silent shadow guards.

Come to think of it, this was the first time Kritiya had formally met with Arendel since their hasty parting at the field hospital.

However, even in such a setting, there was no extra pleasantry between them.

Not a trace of emotion could be seen on Arendel’s handsome face; he simply wore a clean, well-fitted suit of linen clothes with an elegantly shaped rapier hanging at his waist, standing silently behind her.

This famous young nobleman of the North had actually fully committed himself to the role of a bodyguard.

Courses of delicacies served in exquisite silverware were brought out by neatly dressed servants in a steady stream, only to be quietly removed having barely been touched.

Facing the long table covered in a snow-white cloth, Kritiya never once lifted the silver fork in her hand.

She tilted her head slightly, and Sally seemed to understand.

Standing behind her, the maid Sally was staring at the fragrant food, her throat moving involuntarily as she swallowed.

According to etiquette, when a master attends a banquet, the accompanying attendants and servants are not allowed to dine with them.

Sally had already eaten a simple meal before dinner, but her current lapse in composure was due to the irresistible temptation of the gourmet feast filling the hall.

“Here, you eat it.”

Kritiya picked up the untouched black bread and soup from her plate and handed it to Sally.

Standing on the other side, Arendel merely crossed his arms, a nearly inaudible cold snort escaping his nose, filled with obvious disdain.

“My Lady, this… how can this be?”

Sally’s cheeks flushed instantly, and she became flustered.

In the dance floor, couples were dancing gracefully to the music, as a massive orchestra of over seventy people played light and enchanting dance tunes.

Kritiya’s gaze drifted over the crowd toward that cheerful whirlpool, her tone flat and emotionless. “It’s fine.”

“Such irregular behavior will only make us a laughingstock,” Arendel’s voice was cold and lonely, like the ice of the North.

“Let them laugh if they want…” Kritiya replied with little interest, a hint of weariness in her eyes. “If the only thing they laugh at is a minor matter of etiquette, we should consider ourselves lucky.”

Arendel’s eyes flickered slightly as he gave her a meaningful look, then whispered, “The banquets here are completely different from those in the North.”

Different… but in what way exactly?

Kritiya was no novice to social circles; since she was old enough to understand things, she had often accompanied the Duke to various grand feasts in Airandil.

Yet, the scene before her felt so alien.

A sweet, cloying, fishy scent made one want to retch; the odor permeated the air, nearly masking the smell of the food itself.

An orchestra of incredible scale played a magnificent movement specifically composed for this setting.

And those weaving through the hall with laughter were mostly wealthy merchants and magnates holding honorary noble titles; they whirled and danced on the polished floors, but their heated discussions were entirely about the exchange of gold and silver or the pros and cons of trade.

Arendel was right—it was indeed completely different.

In her memory, banquets were always held in the Duke’s ancient and cold stone fortress.

The guests coming and going were the true territorial lords and meritorious warriors of Airandil.

The Duke would discuss vital state and military matters with everyone during the meal and enjoy watching warriors test their skills in the hall; the clashing of weapons was the best entertainment.

Everyone would drink the fiery spirits brewed by dwarves and share game freshly hunted from the forest, sizzling over the fire—

The rules of a banquet had been taught to her by the etiquette teachers hired by the Duke, but which side… was the real banquet?

Was it neither? Was the difference merely the performance of warriors versus the performance of merchants?

Just as the girl was lost in thought, an angry voice suddenly rang out before her:

“Lady Duke of Airandil, do you—do you not have even a shred of mercy?”

Kritiya snapped back to reality and looked up to see a young man of seventeen or eighteen who had approached the foot of her seat at some unknown moment, looking over with fury.

Kritiya was already seated at the most prominent guest of honor position in the banquet hall, and this young man’s reckless and intense action instantly drew the attention of the entire room.

She could almost feel countless gazes—curious, scrutinizing, or gloating—stabbing at her like needles.

Behind her came the sound of muffled rustling from Sally—the half-eaten piece of bread was likely being hurriedly hidden behind her back.

On the other side, Arendel’s hand was already on his sword, a muffled cold snort coming from his throat.

“What is your business?”

Kritiya composed herself and looked at the hostile youth before her.

***

[Did you see it clearly? That emblem—the crest of the Silver Moon and White Wolf.]

Nolan Cyril subconsciously tightened the leather belt at his side, the touch helping to settle his turbulent thoughts.

Once again, he confirmed the objective of this operation in his heart.

Tonight, the Governor’s Mansion was brightly lit and filled with the sounds of music and singing, but those indulging in revelry were not just the dignitaries in the hall.

Following what had almost become a tradition, the servants and guards had also received wine and meat from the Governor’s Mansion and were seeking their own entertainment.

The hundred-odd guards from Airandil naturally shared in this “generosity.”

Nolan was hidden in the deep shadows of the garden like a silent stone statue, staring from afar at the silhouettes flickering in the distance where the lights were dim.

Faint noise and the smell of food drifted through the air, mixing with the cool scent of plants and trees in the garden.

“That’s right… those are the ones,” behind him, the elven warrior wrapped in a dark cloak spoke, his sharp gaze like that of a nocturnal owl fixed onto the flag emblem reflecting the firelight.

After a long pause, he squeezed out cold words from between his teeth. “Lord Farr fell into their hands.”

“They are still on rotating guard duty—much more disciplined than those guards from the Governor’s Mansion who are already stumbling drunk and oblivious,” Nolan made a calm assessment after observing for a while.

However, even so, the current state of laxity was a rare opportunity.

“Human—” the elf’s voice was as hard as iron, carrying undisguised agitation. “I don’t care about any of that; I only care about whether we can rescue Lord Farr.”

Nolan rubbed his temples, feeling a headache; talking to this stubborn elf felt like there was an invisible wall between them, making it difficult to form a real cooperation.

Two completely different ways of thinking were clashing silently in the dark night.

However, since he had accepted this troublesome commission, there was no turning back.

Helping these elves rescue their imprisoned elder was his only mission at this moment.

“Fine,” Nolan turned his gaze back toward the camp flickering with spots of firelight, straightened his back, and let out a long-suppressed breath.

He whispered, “Let’s first find out exactly where your elven elder is being held.”