Banquet
A full week had passed since the grand tournament's conclusion, and the roaring cheers of the crowd had faded into memory—but within the halls of the Valerian estate, life continued, shaped now by new bonds and a sense of calm after the storm.
In the private training yard nestled between the twin towers of the estate, two figures clashed—not in hatred or bloodlust, but in rhythm and challenge.
Arthur Valerian stood with his blade, Ashbreaker, held at the ready, his black hair slicked slightly from sweat, golden eyes focused and unreadable. Across from him, her own sword shimmering in the soft morning sun, stood his youngest sister—Lyria Valerian.
"Come on, little brother," she teased with a playful smirk, "Don't start slacking just because you're famous now."
Their swords met again in a crisp metallic clang, light but precise. It was a spar, not a duel—no aura, no deadly skills—just pure technique.
Arthur observed her style. Lyria, despite being only twenty-one, had already reached Peak Rank 2, and from the feel of it, her core glowed with the brilliance of Gold Grade. Her speed was polished, and her movement tight—refined.
She struck again, her blade slicing downward with deceptive strength.
Arthur blocked—but the impact sent him sliding a few feet back. He steadied himself, but his eyes widened slightly.
She was holding back, but even so, the power gap in raw strength between them was clear.
Lyria grinned.
"His form is sharper than ever. Honestly, if it came down to technique alone…"
"He might already surpass me," she thought.
From the edge of the yard, a third voice rang out—calm and amused.
"Alright, that's enough for today."
Elyra, the eldest of the Valerian sisters, stood with her arms folded, long silver-black hair flowing behind her like a banner. Her sharp eyes sparkled with mischief as she walked over.
"The banquet starts at five sharp. Don't go limping in with bruises and blame us."
Arthur lowered his sword, relaxed, and nodded. "Alright. Let's go."
The three of them walked out of the training hall, cool spring air brushing their skin.
"Big sis," Arthur said, glancing at Elyra, "Where's Selene? I haven't seen her for three days."
Elyra chuckled, brushing a silver strand from her cheek. "She's gone to get you a gift."
"A gift?" Arthur blinked.
Lyria leaned in and nudged his side. "Of course. We all have something prepared for you. We're giving it to you after the banquet."
Arthur looked ahead silently, but a small hint of excitement flickered in his eyes. He didn't say it, but deep inside, he was curious. What kind of gift would his sisters prepare for him?
As they neared the main corridor of the estate, Elyra suddenly turned, looking at him with an inquisitive expression.
"By the way… Arthur. Did you open the scroll yet? The one from the Pope?"
Arthur looked down for a moment. "Not yet. I was planning to open it tonight, after everything's over."
Lyria's voice was light, but firm. "No need to tell us what it is."
Arthur glanced sideways. She was smiling, but there was sincerity in her tone.
Elyra nodded. "That's right. Some secrets are worth keeping to yourself. We all have our own."
Arthur gave a small, thoughtful nod. "Alright."
They entered the estate through the side corridor, parting ways at the second hallway.
Arthur moved toward his own chambers. As he entered, his personal butler, Rein, stood waiting with perfect posture.
"Welcome back, young master."
"Where are Leona and Drake?" Arthur asked.
Rein replied smoothly, "They've gone to visit their families. Both said they would return by next week."
Arthur nodded. "That's fine. Can you prepare my outfit for the banquet?"
"Already done," Rein said with a slight bow. "Your bath is drawn, and your attire is laid out. Shall I assist you further?"
Arthur gave him a small wave of thanks. "I'll manage. Just make sure no one interrupts me for the next hour."
"As you wish, young master."
Arthur entered his bath chamber, a faint mist already rising from the hot water. As he settled into the warmth, his mind drifted—not toward the scroll, or the tournament—but toward the quiet moment that followed.
The warmth, the silence, and the unspoken comfort of being surrounded by family.
The war was not over, the world still veiled its dangers, and Arthur Valerian had much left to uncover…
But for now—
He was home.
The grand banquet hall shimmered with golden chandeliers and mana-infused crystal lights, casting a soft glow over the elegantly dressed nobility. Tonight was not just a celebration of the tournament's end—it was a gathering of power, lineage, and the future of the Elydrion Empire.
Trumpets blared, announcing the arrival of the five noble houses of the Northern Province. All eyes turned as the herald spoke:
"Welcoming the noble house of Countess Seraphine Evan of the Evan family, accompanied by her husband, Lord Thaddeus Evan, and their daughter, Georgina Evan!"
A tall woman with silver hair and regal poise stepped forward, her presence commanding. By her side was Georgina, dressed in flowing sapphire robes, her arm confidently looped through that of Nyx Akers, the mysterious dark-haired youth who had made waves in the tournament. Their appearance together was a subtle but public confirmation of their bond.
"Next, Count Evan Reinhart, head of the Reinhart family, with his wife Lady Ysolde Reinhart, and their son, Julian Reinhart!"
The fiery-haired youth, Julian, stepped in with a strong gait, nodding toward a few familiar faces in the crowd. His father's expression was proud, eyes burning with the same crimson mana his son wielded.
"Presenting Count Blake Sagnius and his wife Lady Isolde Sagnius, alongside their son, Feldine Sagnius!"
Feldine, once a finalist, carried himself with grace and restraint, the defeat still fresh but his head held high. The noble blood of House Sagnius was evident in the way he moved—stoic, tempered.
"Entering now, Count William Eisenworth, with his wife Lady Marissa Eisenworth, and their son, Davis Eisenworth!"
Davis walked with the calm elegance of a tactician. The Eisenworth family had produced many strategists, and Davis had shown a quiet but clever style in his battles.
"And finally, Count Alaric Valerian, with his wife Rubina Valerian, and their four children—Elyra Valerian, Arthur Valerian, Selene Valerian, and Lyria Valerian!"
A hush fell over the hall before applause followed. Arthur stood at the center, gold eyes unwavering, dressed in noble black and gold. His sisters flanked him—Elyra, with her silver hair and sharp wit; Selene, whose dyed red-and-black hair drew many glances; and Lyria became calm
Too calm and regal.
The five count families took their places at the high table. Glasses were raised, and Countess Seraphine Evan was first to speak.
"All of your children have made the Northern Province proud. Georgina and Nyx—what a formidable pair you make. Julian, your command over fire is a beacon of your potential. Feldine, your resilience was unmatched, a true warrior. Davis, your tactical sense is invaluable. And Arthur…"
She looked at the young Valerian with narrowed eyes, a flicker of curiosity.
"…you are a mystery, and that may be your greatest strength."
Count Reinhart added in a proud tone, "Julian surpassed my expectations. But Arthur, your calm under pressure—something only few possess."
Count Sagnius gave a curt nod. "Feldine will learn from this, and grow stronger. But I admit, Arthur, your sword style is… frighteningly refined."
Count Eisenworth raised his goblet. "Davis showed what precision can do. But Arthur Valerian's timing and control—it was like watching a blade dance. Controlled madness."
Finally, Count Alaric Valerian stood and smiled faintly. "Each of your children has proven worthy of their lineage. As for Arthur, I am honored he carries the name Valerian."
Applause followed, and the banquet truly began. Enchanted dishes were served, rare wines were poured, and for a while, rivalries gave way to stories, laughter, and the unspoken recognition of rising stars.
But in a quiet corner of the room, eyes still watched Arthur—not with malice, but with curiosity and caution.
For Arthur Valerian had walked through the storm and remained untouchable.
And the nobility of the north now knew—his rise had only just begun.
The clinking of goblets echoed as the five Counts raised their glasses together, a rare gesture of unity among the northern nobility.
"To the future of our houses," Count Evan Reinhart said.
"And to the strength of our heirs," Count William Eisenworth added, nodding at Davis, who was adjusting his collar near the edge of the floor.
"May their blades be sharp, and their paths victorious," Countess Seraphine Evan declared, lifting her crystal glass high.
"Let the music begin," announced Count Alaric Valerian, lifting his glass last, gold-flecked eyes watching over the hall.
A soft hum of strings filled the hall as the orchestra began to play a graceful waltz. The tension that had once weighed heavily began to dissolve into the warm elegance of celebration.
Nyx Akers offered his hand to Georgina Evan, who took it with a light smile. As they glided to the center of the dance floor, the crowd parted. Their movements were fluid, almost rehearsed. Whispers rose among the younger nobles—how well they matched, how powerful they'd both become.
Meanwhile, Arthur stood near the banquet table, sipping something light. The fire-haired Julian approached, holding his own drink with a slight smirk.
Julian spoke first. "Your blade work in the final… brutal. That last move—Black Lotus, was it? Looked like something out of a legend."
Arthur tilted his head. "I didn't think it would land. Elias moves like wind."
Julian scoffed. "He does, but you—? You moved like inevitability. Don't get me wrong, I'm still not letting you beat me next time."
Arthur offered a small smile. "I'll be waiting."
They shared a brief glance—mutual respect unspoken.
Across the hall, Feldine Sagnius danced stiffly with a noble girl in pastel blue—daughter of a viscount from a lesser house. His shoulders were tense, and his expression strained.
"Smile more," the girl whispered through gritted teeth.
"My father insisted. I didn't come here to socialize," Feldine muttered.
From their table, Count Blake Sagnius was watching closely, nodding approvingly as if Feldine's awkward form was a masterful political play.
Nearby, Davis Eisenworth was going through something similar. He danced with a young girl with braided auburn hair, the second daughter of a baronial family. He moved gracefully, but his eyes drifted every few seconds toward Arthur, Julian, and the center of the floor.
Julian leaned toward Arthur, smirking. "Look at Davis. He's trying so hard to appear relaxed, it's almost painful."
Arthur looked toward the dance floor, shrugged. "Not everyone enjoys dancing."
"True," Julian said. "Some of us prefer swords to small talk."
Nyx and Georgina spun perfectly in time with the music. Her laughter rang clearly through the air as she twirled under his arm. Every step, every glance—elegant and natural.
"Georgina's a sharp one," Julian added, watching them. "And Nyx? No idea what to make of him."
Arthur followed his gaze but said nothing.
The music softened into a closing chord. Applause followed as more pairs joined the floor. The celebration was still just beginning.
But in the heart of it all, beneath the pleasantries and performances, each heir carried something deeper—ambition, rivalries, and the dawning realization that the world was far bigger and far more dangerous than a noble banquet could show.
And Arthur Valerian, ever calm, ever unreadable, stood quietly among them.
A storm waiting to move.