Chapter 49: The Royal Palace Banquet (Part One)
These days, Mother hasn’t brought up Viki at all.
As for Viki herself, she’s probably too busy with her affairs to have many opportunities to meet up with the young lady—she’s always like this, with endless things to do, even back when they were at the Order Royal City.
On the other hand, Skarlij, the young lady’s father, took advantage of Lady Catherine’s busy schedule during the banquet to have a heart-to-heart with her one evening.
Or perhaps it wasn’t quite a heart-to-heart.
The young lady had buried things in her heart that she was unwilling to share with him. Skarlij understood that, so he didn’t press her, but he had made it clear that the reason she chose silence was connected to the “experiment” the Church was conducting and to his daughter, who was no longer a child.
That truth came after the man learned about his daughter’s “d*ath.” In his sorrow, he felt something was off and discreetly sent someone to investigate. Clues began to emerge starting from Woodward Forest, and after some indirect confirmation from Elizabeth, he was left as the only one aware of the cause and effect behind it all—while even Catherine remained in the dark.
It wasn’t hard to guess that once the existence of the vile organization known as the “clinic” was confirmed, it would surely lead to the three years of his daughter’s disappearance, and the thought of her returning having no recollection of who she was, nor any memory of them—becoming the youngest Pope Knight in history, awakening from Woodward Forest in Silgaya—made Skarlij uneasy. He didn’t want to pursue those thoughts further; they hurt too much and only fueled his hatred toward the Church, especially Pope Angel.
He thought the end of the Royal War would clear his daughter’s name regarding her past sufferings, but instead, it only deepened his understanding of how horrific her experiences had been.
And those were the very things his daughter was reluctant to share.
She didn’t want to reopen old wounds or be seen by her family through questioning, doubtful eyes—even though Skarlij believed no one would act that way, her heart was afraid, so best not to say anything.
Digging deeper into the issue would serve no purpose.
After all, she was still that child who mattered the most to him.
She had simply “grown up” a bit now; she learned to bear things alone and developed her own thoughts, so the man could no longer treat her as a child.
That night, both of them were harboring thoughts they truly wanted to express but couldn’t, engaging instead in a rather “honest” exchange between father and daughter.
This “honesty” was Skarlij’s decision to abandon his old ways—no more “You don’t have to worry about a thing, just be happy”—and instead chat with his daughter about serious matters, considering her on par with Lafael, viewing her as a capable warrior from the Northern Region. He tried this entirely different approach to discuss the matters of the Holy City and Holy Wall, the olive branch extended by Saint George, and asked for her thoughts and opinions.
The outcome was unexpected, but in retrospect, it didn’t seem so strange.
Regarding these things, the daughter knew far more than he could imagine. She even understood the internal conflicts in the Church, tracing back to the Abyss incident in the royal city a few years ago, the Church’s southern crusade against heretics, the fall of the Third Knights Order, the various sightings in Silgaya, the conspiracy of the floods, and so forth—she was fully aware of it all.
Because she had lived through it and seen it with her own eyes.
She told him about her initiative to release the choir of heretics and shared what she heard from that man about the more detailed facts concerning the disaster.
She insisted that the internal strife within the Church had to end immediately—whoever won was unimportant—because whoever it was would ultimately need her to stand at the Holy Wall and face the “Deity.” She had to go; otherwise, everything might be irretrievable. She had faced the true “God” before and knew that it wasn’t something easily defeated by armies or courage.
Skarlij understood that this was his daughter choosing to be “honest” with him.
“Let’s wait.”
“Wait for Ramiel, Tarlasya, or someone from Viki’s side to bring us more reliable news, wait to figure out the real circumstances facing the Holy City, wait… for me to finalize a deal with Angel.”
“Before that, please, Father, don’t hastily take sides.”
His daughter’s words kept echoing in Skarlij’s mind for the next two days.
Because when he asked her what kind of deal she was making with the Pope, she fell silent and never told him.
…………
In the year 1189 of the common calendar, on August 25.
Late at night.
The bell tolled through the desolate city, as Count Lafael, dressed in his finest Northern noble attire, closed the doors and windows and made his way down from the opulent second floor of the royal palace to the banquet hall.
The place was nearly ready; people had begun to trickle into the various banquet halls, mostly armored figures, including the generals from the New City of Kaliye, Firebird Annie from Erin Castle, representatives of the Sword of Kanli, and the eldest son of the Leikmont family from the royal city, among others. Lafael greeted them all—pounding fists with familiar faces and exchanging pleasantries, while smiles adorned the faces of those he didn’t know so well.
He was the best at this sort of thing in his family, even more adept than his father Skarlij at handling these social situations. He could always capture the essence of the person he was speaking to within a few words and smoothly steer the conversation toward what they were most proud of, leaving everyone feeling pleasant and comfortable. Despite not having fought side by side with those warriors, he could quickly warm up to them.
As the servants began serving dishes and drinks, with his parents still absent, Lafael temporarily took charge of the banquet, guiding everyone to their seats and deciding who would sit where and with whom.
The scale of the banquet was relatively small, with mostly familiar faces present, making it an easy task for the Count. He chatted and laughed with everyone as he settled them in. In the past, at Shanter Castle, he often represented “Winter Moon” at such gatherings, while his younger brother and sister would typically be waiting at the door to “welcome” guests, everyone talking either with their parents or directly with him.
When the elders would discuss their offspring, they would comment on Lafael’s accomplishments, noting how he was unmatched among his peers.
So, when someone suddenly mentioned during an introduction, “Oh, you’re Miss Peilo’s brother,” Lafael was caught a bit off guard.
Because in the past, they would say, “Mr. Lafael, the beautiful young lady at the entrance is your sister, isn’t she?”
This was something…
That girl just returned, and didn’t even tell him, nor did she let Mother say anything. She’s grown wings and thinks she can ignore her big brother now!
Lafael felt a tinge of “grievance.”
Before long, another person who shared some “grievance” about the little girl’s return wobbled in—a two-meter-tall, red-nosed drunkard. As he staggered in with a bottle of alcohol in hand, Lafael spotted him, and suddenly felt a headache coming on.
But no matter what, he had to greet him with a smile: “Uncle Pagos.”
“Burp!”
The man named Pagos let out a loud burp, his sleepy eyes half-open as he stared at the “short” man blocking his way for a long time. Then he made a face: “Oh, it’s little Lafael… Burp! When did you get back? Where’s little Pepé? Don’t block the way, I’m looking for her!”
As he spoke, the man pushed Lafael aside, grumbling, “Back for so long and didn’t even think to check on me… The nerve of that little ungrateful girl… Burp! I crafted the thirteenth moon blade for her with all my heart…”
“I’m going to challenge her to a duel!”
