The reflection staring back at Liam from the polished silver mirror was a stranger adorned in finery. A deep sapphire doublet, intricately embroidered with the silver snarling wolf of House Lithia, fit snugly over a crisp linen shirt. His silver hair, usually tousled from training, was neatly combed back, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the unnerving intensity of his amber eyes. He looked the part of a young lord.
Before leaving his chambers, he focused on the pulsing notification for his remaining stat points from the Vangoria rescue. Five points. He needed to be strategic. Crimson Fang, now nestled in his inventory, craved strength; his evasions demanded agility; and Dragonheart Vigor was a thirsty beast.
[Strength: 17 -> 19 (+2)][Agility: 13 -> 15 (+2)][Mana: 204 -> 205 (+1)]
A subtle warmth suffused him, a tightening of muscle, a sharpening of his senses. He felt… readier.
Sarah was waiting outside his door, her usual simple maid's dress exchanged for a slightly more formal gown of deep forest green, a sign of her elevated role in assisting the family during the ball. Her russet braids were adorned with a single white gardenia, a gift from Maria. Her eyes met his, a silent acknowledgment of the secrets they now shared.
"You look very distinguished, my lord," she said, a faint smile playing on her lips.
"And you look lovely, Sarah," Liam replied, the compliment genuine. "Try to… enjoy the evening, if you can. And keep your senses sharp."
She nodded. "Always, my lord."
The great hall of Lithian Hold was a symphony of light, music, and murmuring voices. Chandeliers blazed, casting a warm glow on the assembled nobility. Lords in their finest doublets and ladies in shimmering gowns moved with practiced grace, their laughter and conversation a delicate counterpoint to the lilting melodies of the musicians.
As Liam entered with his parents, a wave of attention washed over them. He was, after all, one-half of the evening's celebrated betrothal. He saw Lord Gareth Vangoria, resplendent in crimson and gold, already holding court with a group of northern barons, his booming laughter occasionally punctuating the din. Lady Narine stood beside him, a vision in a gown the color of seafoam, her fiery hair catching the light. Her gaze met Liam's across the crowded room, a polite, almost formal, smile on her lips.
The initial pleasantries were a blur of curtsies, bows, and polite inquiries. Then came the formal opening dance.
He approached Narine, offering a bow. "Lady Narine, may I have this dance?"
Her smile was impeccable. "It would be my pleasure, Lord Liam."
As he led her to the center of the floor, a hush fell over the hall. The music swelled, a graceful waltz. Liam, drawing on memories from countless such events in his past life, moved with an unexpected fluidity.
"You dance well, Lord Liam," Narine commented, her voice soft amidst the music.
"My mother insisted on certain… social graces, Lady Narine," he replied.
The dance was formal, correct, and revealed little. When it ended, they were quickly absorbed back into the throng.
Liam found himself parrying subtle questions from various nobles, his Draconic Senses picking up on the nuances. One face, however, was conspicuously absent. Vorian.
So, he didn't attend, Liam thought, a grim satisfaction settling in. Predictable. After his little scheme with the Shadow Vipers failed so spectacularly, he wouldn't dare show his face here, especially with the Vangorias alive and well. He must be furious. Good. Let him.
Later, a herald announced the presentation of betrothal gifts. Several nobles brought forth tokens – fine silks, carved ornaments, even a pair of pedigreed hunting hounds. Maria, beaming, presented Lady Narine with a stunning golden necklace from which hung a ruby the size of a robin's egg, its worth easily tens of thousands of gold coins. Liam, caught off-guard as he hadn't prepared a personal gift, felt a flush of embarrassment, but his mother smoothly presented it as a joint gift from their House, saving him the awkwardness. Narine accepted it with graceful thanks.
Then, Lord Danver, an older, respected noble and a close friend of his father's, stepped forward. He was a man of sturdy build, with kind eyes and a neatly trimmed grey beard. "Young Lord Liam, Lady Narine," he said, his voice warm. "A small token for your future endeavors." He presented Liam with a velvet-lined box. Inside, nestled on satin, was a single, exquisitely beautiful flower with silvery-blue petals that seemed to shimmer with an inner light. "The Lilith Grass. May it serve you well, young lord."
A translucent panel flickered into Liam's vision:
[Item: Lilith Grass]
Rarity: Rare
Effect: When consumed, permanently increases Mana pool by +50.
Single use per lifetime. Attempting a second consumption may result in mana instability or physical backlash.
Liam's eyes widened slightly. The System confirmed its basic properties. But he knew more. From his past life, from forbidden texts and desperate experiments in the face of overwhelming odds, he knew a secret method.
Lilith Grass… Liam's mind raced. They know its basic mana-enhancing properties. But with a pinch of sunstone dust and three drops of refined moonpetal oil, processed under a precise heat… it's not just mana. It increases Strength and, most crucially, one's innate Potential. It could elevate my Potential rating by a full grade for each successful concoction. The base flower can only be used once, twice with severe risk. But with this method, the refined essence can be consumed up to four times with no ill effects, each time granting the boost. This… this is a game-changer.
"Lord Danver," Liam said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude, "this is an extraordinary gift. Truly. Thank you."
Lord Danver smiled, pleased. "Cherish it, young man. It is not easily found."
Just as the gift-giving was concluding, Liam saw Sir Lucas enter the hall, his expression grim. The knight commander bypassed the nobles and went straight to Lord Baren, who was speaking with Lord Vangoria. Lucas leaned in, whispering into Baren's ear.
The air around his father seemed to solidify. Baren's jovial expression vanished, replaced by a thunderous scowl. He cast a swift, almost imperceptible glance towards Lord Gareth, then schooled his features back into a semblance of neutrality, though the tension remained.
Liam, feigning a need for refreshment, moved closer, his Draconic Senses straining.
"…Black Knight interrogation is complete," Lucas murmured, his voice low and gravelly. "The Viper leader… he took his own life before we could extract all the information. Cyanide capsule."
Baren's fist clenched. "Damn him. Did he say anything? Anything at all?"
"Just before the end, my lord," Lucas continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "He uttered a single name. Turan."
Liam saw his father flinch as if struck. Turan!
Baren's voice was dangerously soft. "Turan? Vorian's personal attendant? Are you absolutely certain, Lucas?"
"Positive, my lord. The man spat it out like a curse."
Lord Baren stood frozen for a moment, his mind clearly reeling. Liam could almost see the storm of thoughts behind his father's eyes. Vorian? His own brother? But he couldn't react openly, not here, not with Lord Gareth mere feet away, their new alliance so fragile. To even hint at such a betrayal within House Lithia could shatter everything.
He can't speak of it now, Liam thought, a cold, calculating satisfaction spreading through him. Gareth would bolt, and the alliance would crumble. But the seed is planted. Father heard the name. Turan. It's not ironclad proof, not enough to openly accuse Uncle Vorian, not yet. But the doubt… oh, the doubt will crawl into his mind and fester. He'll never look at Vorian the same way again. And that, for now, is more than enough. It's a start.
Lord Baren took a slow, deliberate breath, his face an impassive mask once more. "Thank you, Lucas. We will discuss this… matter… in private. Later." He turned back to Lord Vangoria with a forced smile, though the warmth didn't quite reach his eyes.
The music played on, the nobles chattered, but for Liam, the entire atmosphere of the ball had shifted. A crucial piece had fallen into place.