Chapter 327: Praise at the Dinner Banquet

Lights and bonfires illuminated the grand banquet hall inside and out.

Voices of lively conversation, laughter, instrumental music, and folk songs blended into one continuous symphony.

Tonight, the Golden Feather Palace hosted an unprecedentedly vibrant celebration for Blanche’s birthday.

Nobles gathered here—not only to honor the princess’s birthday, but also to cultivate relationships and discuss alliances.

Those fortunate enough to attend the banquet seized the chance to meet high-ranking nobles and expand their networks.

Roen had met many at the feast, though most exchanges were merely polite formalities, for he knew little of these nobles’ true backgrounds.

“Hey, Roen, mind if I join you for a drink?”

Franz, dressed in formal attire, looked even more handsome and elegant, radiating grace that made him a favorite among the noble ladies of the evening.

“Of course—it’s my honor!”

Roen raised his goblet and lightly clinked it against Franz’s.

Franz Silva was among the very people Roen most wished to befriend.

If the opportunity arose, Roen even hoped to pay a visit to Franz’s grandfather.

This living century-old sage was surely a man of vast experience—and a Grand Mage. Roen suspected he might learn much from him.

Franz took a sip with refined poise and smiled. “The wines of Grier Highlands are most famed; only at the Golden Feather Palace’s banquet could one drink such quality without restraint.”

Indeed, tonight’s wine far surpassed the vintage of Wushan Keep.

“You have a fine appreciation for wine?”

“Ha! After training, nothing pleases me more than a fine glass,” Franz sighed in bliss. “It’s like a desert traveler, on the brink of death from thirst, suddenly drinking from a spring.”

Roen paid little mind to drinks—he’d yet to even begin his long-delayed plan to brew white liquor.

So instead, he engaged Franz in a discourse on the world’s wine culture, learning of his tastes and needs.

Though this world produced wine and beer, Franz noted that many knights found them too weak after intense training or battle.

Given knights’ considerable spending power, if Roen were to brew white liquor, there would surely be a market.

Perhaps, upon returning to his domain, he could summon two vintners to attempt it.

After much lively talk, the two grew more familiar, and Roen ventured a question that had long puzzled him.

“Many practice both martial energy and magic, but few achieve equal mastery in both. Why not focus on one path and elevate it to the highest possible level?”

Franz sighed, resigned. “Compared to the vulnerability of mages in close combat, I crave the thrill of victory won by the sword’s edge. But…”

He spread his hands. “It was my great-grandfather’s demand. He insisted I first bring both martial energy and magic to the sixth tier, then choose one to pursue as my primary path.”

Roen’s heart stirred.

Franz’s great-grandfather—that was the Mage-Berola. For such a man to impose such a condition, there must be profound reason and benefit behind it.

“What advantage does this approach offer?”

“I don’t know the specifics,” Franz admitted. “But my great-grandfather told me that should I one day become a Sun Knight or Grand Mage, the rewards will be immense.”

He offered no concealment—for those who could master both arts were exceedingly rare, and even fewer could endure such a path.

Roen felt a quiet awe.

This, perhaps, was the unshakable confidence of a great family. Berola’s expectations for his descendants did not reach for gold or shooting stars—they aimed straight for the ninth tier.

Roen even wondered: had the legendary mage already surpassed the Grand Mage rank, unbeknownst to the world?

Such a question, of course, was unfit to ask.

“Lord Berola is the foremost mage on the continent of Orland. His words must be true.”

Roen’s eyes shimmered with reverence. “Might I ever have the honor of visiting your family’s domain in the Amethyst Earldom to meet him?”

“Ha! The Silva family welcomes you anytime to Crystal Domain,” Franz replied warmly. “But my great-grandfather rarely sees visitors—I cannot guarantee you’ll meet him.”

Roen understood completely.

Such a power, unbound by political ties, owed no courtesy to every noble. His visit to Wushan Domain had been drawn solely by the Soul-Devouring Surge within Rulans.

“Count Roen~”

A warm greeting came from a man Roen did not recognize.

He responded politely. “And may I ask who you are?”

“This is Lord Lud Cox, the Kingdom’s Minister of Finance,” Franz introduced with a smile, then raised his cup and took his leave.

Cox—the same surname as Miss Misi.

Recalling Carada’s words earlier that afternoon—that someone would approach Roen—could this be the man?

“Are you Miss Misi’s father?”

Lord Lud smiled and nodded. “Misi is a stubborn one—born a girl, yet always among men, lacking the grace a lady ought to possess.”

Everyone knew this was modesty.

“Vigor and elegance are also beauty.”

The phrase drew a hearty laugh from Lud. “I’ve already sent your championship prize to your quarters—delivered to your two attendants. Might I trouble the esteemed Flame Knight for two minutes? I’d like to speak with you.”

“Of course—it’s my honor, Lord Cox.”

“Don’t call me that. I bear only the title of viscount—I’m no true noble.”

As they spoke, they stepped out of the hall and paused beside the ornate pillars of the corridor.

Roen knew—this was about Carada.

“I have a request,” he said. “I hope you will grant it.”

“Oh? Please, go on.”

Lud cut straight to the point: “This afternoon, I saw you speak alone with Carada. So I boldly surmised—you wish to recruit him.”

“I enjoy dealing with those who show potential.”

Roen smiled. “Though Carada comes from humble origins, I see great promise in him. Should he join my Northern Wushan Domain, I would be delighted.”

“But I ask you to abandon this plan.”

Lud met Roen’s gaze directly, his expression grave. “As compensation for changing your mind, I will secure cooperative projects for your domain and cede a portion of my authority’s benefits.”

The Minister of Finance—controller of the kingdom’s treasury.

His words were no empty promise. Roen believed him—he would deliver.

No wonder such a promising Carada had no noble seeking him.

Minor nobles dared not touch him; major ones would deal with Lud—and would surely grant him a favor.

In such circumstances, Carada’s path into noble circles was nearly impossible.

“You may not know—even if you don’t recruit him, once he becomes a Gold Knight, he can join the Royal Knights’ Order.”

“Perhaps,” Lud replied.

Luther’s tone carried a thread of nonchalance: "Even if he joins the Royal Knights, rising from a mere knight to His Majesty’s Knight of Honor remains an extraordinarily arduous path."

It appeared this Minister of Finance was resolutely bent on targeting Karada.

"May I ask why you hold such animosity toward him?"

Roning inquired: "From my two encounters with him, I found nothing amiss."

"Simple enough. I despise him."

With that, Luther unveiled the root of his disdain.

It turned out that Karada and Mixi had crossed paths and kindled a friendship during an exchange between the Royal Knights Academy and the Oxhorn Bay Academics of the Extraordinary.

As their bond steadily blossomed into romance, Luther, in his capacity as a father, chose to intervene.

In Luther’s eyes, his daughter was exceptionally gifted; if she were to marry, it must be to a true scion of nobility.

A commoner by birth, Karada had to expend tremendous effort just to acquire high-tier combat techniques, making him utterly unworthy of Mixi.

"Karada once brimmed with confidence. He told me that with his strength, he would absolutely become a Knight of Honor before the age of twenty-eight and force his way into the aristocratic echelon."

Luther offered a faint smile, one tinged with a subtle cruelty: "But I intend to teach him that this circle is not one just anyone can enter at whim. Without connections, without a network, mere strength alone will not suffice."

Some were born into nobility, inherently blind to the staggering walls those on the outside had to scale just to glimpse within.

"With Karada's talent, he has the potential to become a Meteor Knight," Roning offered a word of defense on the man's behalf.

"A Meteor Knight is indeed formidable, but that strength belongs to him alone."

Evidently, Luther harbored no dread toward a Meteor Knight.

It was not that he possessed superior strength, but rather his belief that even a Meteor Knight could not withstand the collective might of the aristocracy.

"What if he were to become a Silver Moon Knight?"

Roning asked with a smile: "A powerhouse of the Silver Moon rank requires no ennoblement; his very existence is noble."

"Then I could only offer him my blessings."

Luther replied: "Yet even the exceptional Crown Prince Garrett is currently only a Meteor Knight, and I do not believe Karada surpasses the Crown Prince. Wait another ten or twenty years, and by then, Mixi will have long been wed."

Roning cautioned: "Offending a Silver Moon powerhouse does not seem a prudent choice for the Cox family."

"Thank you for the warning, Count Roning, but that is merely a theoretical possibility."

Luther’s composure remained unruffled, "This world does not lack for those with grand potential and fine talent, but how many truly live to fulfill it? We cannot let ourselves be paralyzed by what might happen in the future, worrying over this and that."

"Moreover, it is not as though I denied him a chance. It is simply that over these years, he has failed to even squeeze into the outermost edge of nobility. At twenty-eight, how does he expect to become a Knight of Honor?"

From Luther’s perspective, it had to be admitted that his words carried a certain pragmatism.

After all, this era knew no concepts of freedom in love and marriage.

Indeed, even in the modern society of Earth, parents still fastidiously weighed matching social statuses for their children’s unions.

Yet Roning found little justice in Luther's method of wielding his status and authority to sever a man's future and stifle his path of ascent.

"What do you think?"

Having spoken at such length, the Minister of Finance inquired with a beaming smile: "What is the Lord Count's verdict?"

Roning pondered briefly: "I wonder what collaborative ventures you might extend to my North Crow Territory?"

"The kingdom shares many areas of cooperation with the nobility each year—grain procurement, weapon supply, material provisions, apparel, tools, and the like. Even a small fraction of a single project allocated to your North Crow Territory would yield an immense fortune for you and your lands."

There was no falsehood in those words; even subcontracted crumbs could fill one's coffers to overflowing.

However, Luther had presented no tangible, executable plan, which smacked rather heavily of writing empty checks.

Roning nodded slightly: "I shall consider it."

Luther raised his glass: "I trust you will make the correct choice. After all, a handsome profit can secure more Silver and Gold Knights for your territory."

The two clinked their glasses, and the Minister of Finance turned to re-enter the hall, drifting off to converse with his peers.

Watching the slightly plump figure recede, Roning swirled the final drop of wine in his glass, a faint, ambiguous smile playing upon his lips.

They stood on different ground, viewed the world through different lenses, harbored different ambitions, and naturally perceived matters in entirely different lights.

Silver and Gold Knights were easily found, but a Meteor Knight was a rarity—especially one genuinely devoted to his cause.

If he were to extend an olive branch to Karada now, it would undoubtedly be a timely rescue in an hour of need.

As for whether persisting in recruiting Karada would offend the Minister of Finance, Roning cared very little.

He was a landed noble and the future son-in-law of His Majesty the King; his status and rank eclipsed the other man's.

The porcelain and silk produced within his territory would be the exclusive specialties of the North Crow Territory; even if the minister attempted to interfere, the impact would be negligible.

Furthermore, compared to the hostile factions of the Black Mountain Territory, Luther amounted to very little.

As he weighed these matters, a burst of raucous laughter shattered his train of thought.

He could not help but turn his gaze toward a corner of the open-air plaza, where a flock of noble youths had gathered, throwing out continuous jeers and mocking taunts.

The man hemmed in at the center of their circle was none other than Karada.

"Interesting."

Swirling his wine glass, Roning walked over.

He was not alone; many other nobles who relished a spectacle began to drift toward the scene.

"Look here, everyone! Behold the commoner who dreams so desperately of becoming a noble!"

The speaker was somewhat flushed with drink, his mockery dripping with intense malice, "Look at his attire, observe his bearing—and with that, he possesses the effrontery to attend the Princess’s banquet?"

"And his manners just a moment ago!"

Another youth stepped grandly to the long table, sliced a massive chunk of magical beast meat, and stuffed it into his mouth, mimicking a ravenous glutton, leaving his lips and hands glistening with grease.

"Eating like that, have you never laid eyes on magical beast meat in your entire life?"

He sliced another piece and flung it onto the table, "Come, come, you must eat your fill tonight, hahaha!"

This display elicited suppressed snickers from the surrounding onlookers.

Though Karada surpassed them in strength and talent, there was far greater pleasure to be found in degrading such a man.

Roning observed the target of their scorn.

At this moment, though Karada's attire was far from opulent, it remained entirely decent.

No trace of grease stained his lips or hands; it was clear he had not even touched the magical beast meat.

Karada merely stood with a darkened face and furrowed brows, and despite being insulted to his face, he did not fly into a rage to pummel his tormentors.

He knew that the moment he raised a hand, regardless of right or wrong, a severe punishment would await him.

For a commoner to strike a noble was a direct violation of aristocratic privilege and dignity.

He had no desire to let a fleeting impulse land him directly in a dungeon.

Just then, one of the mockers noticed Roning’s presence and came scurrying over: "Noble Flame Knight, come bear witness to your defeated opponent."

He said with a grin: "He is utterly unworthy to share a stage with you, and he has absolutely no place at tonight's banquet!"

Roning did not recognize the man, nor did he know what status he held.

But the other had used him to mock Karada, and this filled him with deep displeasure.

“To share in the people’s joy is the King’s own wish.”

Roning’s appearance instantly made the situation far more interesting.

Many who had just snickered at Karada immediately clamped their mouths shut.

The noble youth who had hoped to leverage Roning’s influence froze, at a loss for how to respond.

Roning approached the long table, sliced off a piece of beast meat, and shoved it into his mouth: “The flesh is tender and delicious—excellent flavor. In all my years, I’ve never tasted anything so fine. What kind of beast is this?”

“It’s the meat of a Level Three Water Serpent,” Karada replied. “I personally slew several in the Beast Mountains and ate them for over a fortnight.”

“So you must be sick of it by now.”

“Yes, Lord Roning.”

Karada seemed lost in the memory of its taste, unable to help adding, “Perhaps the royal palace prepares it in some special way—but I truly have no desire to eat it again.”

At these words, the faces of those who had mocked Karada turned sallow, then flushed crimson.

They had never anticipated that Roning would not join them in ridiculing the defeated, but would instead side with him and leave them humiliated.

Yet they dared not turn their mockery and slander upon Roning himself.

Helpless, they slunk away in silence.

Roning turned to Karada. “I believe we may now speak at length.”

“As you wish, my lord!” (End of chapter)