It truly was a massive hall, and designed in such a way that the entrance was visible from wherever one might be standing, the actual seating was in a slightly lowered area to allow for that. What that means for Lucas is that everyone in the room stared at him and quieted down to speak in hushed whispers.

It would have been terribly nerve wracking, but all the nobles looked like they had dressed from the props of a parody based on Versaille, and Lucas ended up being more worried about restraining his laughter.

Of course, this worked both ways. Though he was shielded to some extent by the fact he was the “Hero,” he too was judged on his clothes and did not make the best impression.

The noble ladies that had traveled with Lucas seemed unsurprised by his manner of dress, having come to expect such behavior from him. Lucas had never been very aware of social cues and responsibilities, and that fact was readily apparent in a society dominated by the subtleties of both.

A manservant directed Lucas towards the head of the table to sit by Duke Are, who was a relative of Lady Versi and the ruler of this duchy. Lady Almistraus was also there and so was a pompous overdressed man who was introduced as Lord General Tyr Are. Tyr was Duke Are’s second son and it was apparently tradition for second sons in Francinea to command the military forces of the duchies. Lucas thought that seemed like a recipe for fratricide, but with the demonic threat to the north it seemed the system was stable enough.

What Lucas noted most, however, was that despite the Lord General wearing simpler clothes overall, he had so many medals pinned to his chest that he sounded like a box of metal rolling down a staircase every time he so much as shifted.

Duke Are stood up and greeted Lucas warmly, offering him a glass of wine. The room quiet as Are held his own drink up, “A toast to the Hero,” He said loudly. “And to victory!”

The nobility shouted and drank, and Lucas had just enough self awareness to pretend to do the same. As things settled down, he asked the manservant who was hovering behind him to bring him wine that was heavily watered down. He couldn’t trust the water after all, but he had no desire to get drunk when he barely had gotten used to the idea he was no longer on earth!

“Now, I hate to discuss business at the table,” Duke Are said as he cut into the steaming meat on the plate in front of him. “So we shall have a meeting after dinner, once we have our fill of wine and food!”

Unlike the svelt Lady Versi that Duke Are was related to, the Duke was a portly man. At least, that is what a polite person would say. Lucas, on the other hand, was thinking that it was impressive for a man to be obese in this era. Without processed sugars and fats, Duke Are had reached a width that required a larger chair than anyone else at the table. For that matter, some of the nobles were also quite large, but none so much as the Duke.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Lucas interrupted Tyr as he was agreeing with his father.

“With all due respect Duke.” Lucas did not like using the title, but he had not learned the man’s first name when he was introduced and their were two people with the surname “Tyr” so he made do. “We should either have the discussion now, or we should water the wine quite a bit.”

The manservant had returned with his own drink at this time, he took a sip and grimaced. The wine had been bitter to start with by modern standards, and watering it down removed any other taste it might have had, leaving him with just a goblet of bitter water.

“Bah,” The Duke waved away Lucas’s concerns. “Wine grants us courage to think of and to pull off daring plans, to take away a Francinea’s man’s drink is lunacy.”

Lucas was stunned, “This is common? Even for soldiers in the field?”

Lord General Tyr was the one who answered the question, as he sipped his own wine. “But of course, between the cold of the nights and winters and the need for courage against the demons, we often send out extra rations of wine to the frontline.”

Lucas sighed, but gave up and took another sip of his own drink. It was not his specialty, but as he had considered a future where human genetic therapy for commercial uses might be possible, he had a degree of knowledge about dangerous mental issues. Obviously, you wouldn’t want a person of unstable mind to be able to alter their own genetic code without seeing a therapist first, which left Lucas wondering if this was not a form of self-medication. Probably every person sent to the front line ended up with an anxiety disorder or PTSD, but he could not be sure.

Lady Almistraus brought him out of his thoughts by asking about the meal in front of him.

“It is very nice,” Lucas’s reply was rather bland, but even he knew better than to tell them that he had had far better. In all likelihood, spices and seasonings were a commodity that even nobles would have a hard time acquiring in this world.

Terrasin quirked her eyebrows at the response, likely divining Lucas’s thoughts from the middling reply, but said nothing about it.

Lucas spent the majority of the meal making small talk with Lady Almistraus and Lady Versi, who only sipped at their wine, as the nobles and the Tyr family became more and more rowdy, celebrating Lucas’s arrival.