**Chapter 50: The Royal Palace Banquet (Part 2)**
“I want to duel her!”
The booming voice of the drunken man drew the attention of countless nearby guests.
“Uncle Pagos…”
Lafael smiled helplessly, patting his sore shoulder, and hurriedly stepped forward. “Your niece isn’t here right now, so take a seat, take a seat… Hey! What are you drinking, uncle? It smells like cheap booze! Put that down—today’s a grand banquet, we need to get you some aged snow wine to soothe your throat. Just wait, I’ll send someone to fetch it for you…”
While leading him to a seat, Lafael subtly gestured to a passing servant, urging them to fetch some good wine—otherwise, who knows what trouble this drunken fool might stir up at the banquet?
Upon hearing about good wine, Pagos finally quieted down and contentedly settled at Hoover’s table. This spot was filled with Skarlij’s core confidants, and Pagos naturally took the prime seat. As soon as he sat down, he threw an arm around Hoover’s shoulder. “Come on, it’s a joyful night! Let’s guzzle it down!”
And Hoover might be the only one in Shanter Castle who thought he could match Pagos drink for drink, immediately slamming a hand on the table to accept the challenge. “Sure! I was off my game the other day, so tonight, let’s see who can stand the longest!”
“You were drinking the other day?!”
Pagos asked, puzzled. Nearby, Firebird Annie couldn’t help but cover her face. Lafael immediately guessed what had happened; surely, it was just that their fathers had been drinking without inviting Pagos. Not a huge deal, but still something to avoid. He quickly shot a glance at Uncle Hoover, who understood instantly and decided to keep mum, even as Pagos kept pressing for answers.
After a while, the snow wine arrived, effectively putting an end to the giant man’s curiosity. They busted open a barrel and, without waiting for the banquet to formally start, Hoover and Pagos began clinking cups like there was no tomorrow.
Lafael quietly instructed Annie to subtly encourage the two uncles to hold off on the drinking till the banquet began, especially aiming the comment at Uncle Hoover. Firebird Annie, understanding the gravity of the situation, reluctantly agreed.
Today’s feast included not just snow wine, but Lafael’s Falcon Army also brought back some famed “Falen Fortress Volcano”—a fiery imperial specialty they’d snatched from the camp of the six thousand ragtag coalition. This drink was even stronger than the snow wine!
Falen Fortress was known for its brewing, and when Lafael’s men seized these bottles, one of them remarked about the fortress lord’s absurdity in not just minding his own business making money through brewing, but instead going through the effort to deliver such fine booze to them for a fight…
They were here for war, and while their arms and armor might be mismatched, they had all the booze they could want!
The Northern Army was thrilled about this of course. As Impearl citizens, they loved their hard liquor and could generally hold their drink. However, the royal city army were less enthusiastic. Due to the pleasant climate of Ethanbel, people there preferred beer or wine, and on special occasions, maybe something like rum or brandy. But when it came to stronger drinks like snow wine or Falen Fortress Volcano, they usually either weren’t used to it or had never even tried it!
For this banquet, they had prepared some beer, with Lady Catherine having instructed the servants to set up barrels in various halls, even placing a few next to the royal city army’s tables. However, she overlooked one little detail: excellent warriors often have more pride than ordinary men, and they also have a keen spirit of competition.
Especially when they realized that the drinks at the northern table were completely different from theirs, some took offense, assuming it was some form of discrimination. A quick inquiry led to the northern commanders joking around, spurring one another to chug a full cup, and soon enough, faces were flushed and some even spewed out their drink!
In the cacophony of taunts from the northern warriors, the indignant Little Reikmon ordered the servants to remove all the beer from their table and replace it with the strongest Falen Fortress Volcano. However, before that could fully happen, both sides had already started drinking, and Little Reikmon, along with his drink-holding generals, mixed in with the hunters from New City of Kaliye, Erin Castle, and Shanter Castle—ignoring the food and taking turns to challenge each other to a drinking contest.
This scene unfolded as Lafael was busy managing Pagos. By the time someone came over to report on the situation, the fervor on both sides was unstoppable.
Thus, when Skarlij and Her Majesty the Queen finally entered, they were greeted by the sight of raucous merriment resembling a drunken brawl among the guests.
“What’s going on here?”
Her Majesty immediately frowned, her gaze sweeping across the uproarious banquet. She quickly spotted Little Reikmon standing on the table, facing off against a stern-looking hunter, both forgoing cups and instead chugging from giant bowls, seeing who could down theirs first in one go.
“The banquet hasn’t even started yet! What kind of decorum is this?” she exclaimed, quite vexed.
However, Skarlij merely chuckled at this: “No worries, no worries! It’s rare to see everyone so happy! It’s just a banquet, no need to fuss over formalities—I think this is just grand!”
As they conversed, more and more people began to notice them, resulting in a momentary lull, but soon erupted into even louder cheers.
“Her Majesty the Queen has arrived!”
“His Majesty Skarlij is here too!”
“Time for punishment drinks! Hic! Punish drinks!”
Those shouting were largely already a few drinks in, and the loudest cheers for punishment came from the inebriated giant Pagos, who promptly stood up and headed towards Skarlij, intent on getting the new imperial ruler to join him for a drink, only to be pacified by Hoover and Annie, who convinced him with gentle coaxing to sit back down.
Meanwhile, Her Majesty the Queen cast a dark look at the rowdy royal city generals and had a few pointed words for them. Little Reikmon stepped down from the table, and, in awe of the king of Ethanbel’s dignity, the Shanter Castle crowd slightly toned it down.
Not long after, once both Majesties were seated at the main table, Lafael approached and vaguely summarized the situation for his father. Skarlij nodded knowingly and turned to the Queen, saying, “They’re all warriors, after all! Bonds are forged in battle or over drinks. If they enjoy causing a ruckus, let them! Drinking and singing—this is what a Northern banquet should look like.”
However, Her Majesty Elizabeth was not on board with this.
While she enjoyed her drinks, she did not appreciate the chaotic drinking style. To the upper-class nobles of Ethanbel, drinking was a matter of etiquette and culture—how and what you drank often reflected one’s refinement and status. Only those coarse drunks who loitered in taverns and cared not for quality would drink like this!
But the Northern nobility clearly held a different view; they believed that the atmosphere at the table should be relaxed and casual. Now, their side had effectively lost all restraint expected from royal city warriors.
Yet, the Queen didn’t press the matter further.
Because this unruly way of drinking could indeed bring the two nations’ leaders closer together.
And this was precisely one of the main purposes of tonight’s banquet.
After finishing his conversation with his father, Count Lafael didn’t just sit down as expected; instead, he returned to enjoy the festivities, sunk a few drinks, and feeling a bit stifled, decided to step outside for some fresh air—also to send a servant at the entrance to inquire when his mother and sister might arrive.
However, just as he stepped out, he suddenly heard a commotion not far away, seemingly coming from the spiral staircase on the second floor. Lafael instinctively looked up.
There stood the little girl, decked out in an extravagant poofy dress, her black hair elegantly styled, looking like a shining star stuck on earth but strangely wearing a sulky expression, as if something had displeased her. Supported by their mother, she stepped down the staircase slowly, one tiny step at a time.
