“Sancha Sanguis and her two esteemed Uncles, Roger and Estos Sanguis!”

The Master of Ceremonies, standing at the entrance of the spacious outdoor terrace, announced the newly-arriving guests. His voice was clarion yet not loud enough to disrupt the banquet’s atmosphere.

Although Sancha came along with her family members, she distanced herself the moment she was inside. She didn’t even glance at them, instead choosing to sit at a lonely table.

‘Motherfuckers just had to attend and force me to come.’

Sancha didn’t hide her sour mood as she emptied a glass of wine and crossed her legs, her eyes sweeping across the dozens of guests, all of which were high-status aristocrats.

The situation in the Militant Syndicate was getting more tense, especially with the attack on Blackcrest happening a week from now.

However, she had to attend the banquet because her two shrewd uncles were also going to come. They wanted to use this opportunity to deepen their relationships with some of the Noble Houses of the Empire as well as ‘ask for help’.

It was no secret that the current state of the Sanguis Family wasn’t particularly peaceful. Sancha was able to keep a tight hold over the family through sheer and overwhelming power and nothing else.

Unfortunately, her lack of political skills and the missing heirloom started to pose problems.

In fact, Sancha had no legitimate claim over the Head position of the Sanguis Family. She only rose to that seat after killing the last head due to his incompetence. At first, her brutal act was complimented as, back then, the family was in a disastrous state. However, things changed when peace returned and the family prospered again.

Estos and Roger, specifically, were voicing one objection after the other and demanding that, through a proper tradition, a head to be appointed in her place.

‘Roger’s son hasn’t returned from Wilsden. He must’ve been killed. The Heirloom is there but… something isn’t right. I must go there myself and-’

Sancha raised her head and stared at two guests accompanied by a maid.

“Baron of Wilsden, Julie Lernon!”

Neither Feylord nor Elyna got introduced by the Master of Ceremonies, though that was probably for the best.

‘So that’s her. Quite young.’

Sancha fiddled with her half-filled glass while scrutinising the Baron.

Julie was dressed in a modest black dress, and unlike the other female guests, she wore no jewellery. Her hair was flowing on her back instead of tied with a flashy hairpin or resembling some of the ‘fashionable’ hairstyles used by Nobles.

Still, when her name was announced, many eyes looked at her with intrigue and interest.

If she was just the ruler of a small territory, most- if not all- wouldn’t care, however, it had recently, and publicly, became known that Wilsden- and Julie by extension- were now part of the Aeternus Family.

The Masked Queen wouldn’t just take anyone under her wing, so it was natural for many of the aristocrats to want to see and meet someone like Julie.

The maid drifted to the side and walked out of the terrace and into an adjacent place in which the maids and servants were.

As for Julie, she was approached by two men almost immediately.

Of course, she politely greeted them and obliged their questions, but only for a time as Sancha also joined.

“I want to talk to her alone.”

“What?”

One of the two Nobles, a young man, frowned at Sancha but was pulled back by his friend.

“Greetings, Miss Sancha.”

“It’s rare to see a Baron so young. You’re a Vampire too, right?”

Sancha disregarded basic etiquette and talked in a blunt manner, which made Julie hesitate before nodding her head.

“It is good to see you, Miss Sancha.”

Sancha glanced at the smiling Feylord, but she didn’t respond to him. It was clear that her interest laid solely on his younger sister.

“Give us some room, will you?”

As it got awkward really fast, Sancha unceremoniously waved her hand at Feylord, who kept smiling and acting overly-polite.

“Yes, of course!” He elegantly bowed and retreated. He only distanced himself by a bit, but Julie followed him with her gaze, as if warning him not to do something stupid.

…

“Ah! Feylord!”

“Hello, Inspector.”

Inspector James approached Feylord with a wide and knowing smile.

“I didn’t expect to see you here. You look… healthy!”

James chuckled as he looked at Feylord up and down.

“...”

“No need for secrets. I know about what you did. Very brave!”

The Inspector leaned closer and whispered, “If I knew about your plan beforehand, I might’ve been able to help. Still, I am happy for you!”

“Thank you.”

Feylord didn’t really want to talk as his mind was focusing on the guests, assessing them and wondering if the Dark Knight was hiding amongst them. It was a foolish notion to even think about, but the anxiousness made him come up with ridiculous ideas.

“Ahem, your powers would be of great use to the Ten Seats. I’ve spoken with the Seat of Purity about it.”

“Oh…” Feylord kept nodding his head, though his mind was elsewhere.

“She wants to personally meet you. A talent like you shouldn’t be wasted elsewhere, and certainly not left to rot in Wilsden. You belong with us, Feylord!”

Inspector James let out a hearty laugh and patted Feylord’s shoulder,

“Think about it, okay? The Militant Syndicate would love to officially welcome you into its inner ranks. Plus, you will be at liberty to choose any position you want.”

“Okay. Excuse me…”

Feylord’s hand twitched ever-so-slightly as something within him seemed to erupt. Fortunately, no Phoenix Flames exploded from his body, but something was happening.

A bit dizzy, Feylord walked to a nearby seat and sat down, not even registering the words a young girl said to him.

“Hey! This seat is taken! Are you ignoring me?!”

Feylord leaned forward and put his hand against his temples as he took deep breaths.

‘The Dark Knight is coming, Feylord.’

A disembodied and clear voice rang in his head. It was the Phoenix, just like last time. It was much clearer than the first time, and louder too.

‘Take him to that place. Show him. Warn him.’

‘If you’re the Phoenix then help me! How do you know He will show up? Where will he appear? What exactly do I need to do?!’

‘Help him and I will help you, Feylord. Show me your worth, prove to me that you are capable of wielding my flames.’

‘How?!’

‘Do not hesitate. Burn resplendent.’

“Hey! I’m talking to you, dumbass!”

“A-ah?!” He turned his head and saw a girl

A girl with golden hair tied into intricate braids was glaring at him.

“Miss Selene! My apologies.”

“Oh, so you know me? This is my darling’s seat. Move.”

Selene Donkrig was on the verge of dragging him out of his seat. Feylord apologetically lowered his head before he scurried away.

“Hmpf! And I thought the Southerners were rude!”

Selene crossed her arms and glared at the departing Feylord for a while.

“Sit down, Darling! Ah, eat this!”

Daren, who, after breaking out of the Shadow Keep Penitentiary, had no choice but to stay at her side, shook his head and remained standing. He was dressed in a neat black outfit and was allowed in as Selene’s friend. As for Zenzo Jill, her Knight, he was in the other servants’ banquet in the other terrace.

“Who was that?”

Daren pointed at Feylord with his chin, but Selene shrugged.

“I don’t know him so he must be a nobody from the Militant Syndicate. Forget about him, are you going to dance me with later?”

Daren kept staring at Feylord for a bit while Selene kept talking non-stop, as was her wont.

In fact, Daren should have been a fugitive and therefore unwelcome in such a banquet, but Selene’s father had pulled some strings and managed to clear his name. The matter was much more complicated as Daren had to agree to many things and even disclose sensitive information, but it was worth it to maintain his freedom.

Admittedly, the Despot Collective wasn’t pleased with this, but it couldn’t start a war just because of one prisoner.

“His Radiance, Emperor Augustus Azakin!”

“Her Imperial Highness, Jennifer Zos Azakin!”

“His Imperial Highness, Finn Azakin!”

“Master of the Black Magic Tower, Archmage Frederic Lamb!”

At 10:20 PM, the four of them arrived together. Augustus, dressed in an exquisite yet not-overly flashy black attire was leading the way while conversing with Frederic Lamb.

The Archmage was a man in his late forties: He was a stout old man, his beardless face was a bit wrinkled but filled with vitality. He was a man with Heterochromia, one eye blue and the other brown, though the most distinct thing about him was a black snake tattoo on his right cheek.

Jennifer Zos Azakin was right behind the two, pushing a wheelchair on which sat her youngest sibling, Finn Azakin.

Brother to her and Augustus, Finn was 29 years of age and always had a gloomy expression, which became more apparent as he looked at the lively atmosphere in the banquet and sighed, clearly disliking being present.

“Why is the Angel Troup outside?”

Finn raised his head and asked his older sister.

“To ensure the safety of all the guests and your brother.”

“Okay. I can push on my own.”

He lightly pushed her hands away and proceeded to move the wheelchair on his own. He directly headed away from the crowd and stopped near a solitary gazebo located in a small elevation.

“Ah… excuse me.”

A young woman came from the other side, but when she saw Finn, she halted her steps with a startled expression.

“It’s fine. You can stay if you want.”

The young man eyed her curly orange hair, which was a rare sight to see even amongst nobility.

Although she didn’t leave, she kept her distance and took out a book to read, totally unperturbed by all the noise.

“Thorn’s War Strategies?”

Finn saw the book title and asked, his voice sounding a bit more excited than usual.

“Yes, Your Imperial Highness. Do you know of it?

“It is one of my favourites, actually.”

“Really? I find it hard to understand.”

The young woman shyly closed the book and hesitantly asked,

“Is it true that General Thorn defended his fortress against the Armans for more than 5 years?”

“So the legends go. There is no proof as the fortress itself fell, but…” Finn, suddenly energetic, gave an instant response. “But many other historical records mention his many won battles against the Armans and their warmachines. It is said that General Thorn created a nigh-unbeatable army… but what’s more fascinating is that it is almost entirely composed of Shieldbearers!”

“Really? That seems a little…”

“No, it is!”

Finn started to explain and recount what he knew while she attentively listened. The conversation went unnoticed by everyone, but that was probably for the best.

‘It’s working.’

As she saw him describe things with his hands and talk non-stop, the young woman was relieved.

Jan, the Witch of Izakan, sweetly smiled at Finn Azakin and continued to bring forth topics that greatly interested him and made him break out of his shell.

‘The Angel Troup is here and…’

Before she had accepted this important mission, Jan was told that the Angel Troup wouldn’t be present. However, what made her worry was that her energy within her body was disturbingly fluctuant.

Her heart was beating fast and her hands were sweaty. A cultist like her was masquerading as a Noble and attending an important banquet, which was enough to make anyone nervous, but Jan was certain that her extreme discomfort was because of something else.

“I’m Jannitt of Mount Aero… err, from the Western Continent.”

“It is very nice to meet you, Miss Janitt.”

Finn smiled back and extended his hand to shake hers, which was against proper etiquette.

Jan faked some hesitation before raising her hand, but it was then that she heard a strange quiet yet audible explosion.

Exactly at 10:45 PM, the air grew still and all color was robbed from the world. Jan found herself letting out a gasp of surprise as Finn froze in place.