Thanks to the advancements of this world, what should have taken hours by traditional means was now reduced to a mere fraction of the time.
The spatial gates allowed for swift and smooth travel.
I sat alone in the carriage, the gentle hum of its magic engine a soft backdrop to my thoughts.
No one else was with me. Not my sister, not my brother or even father.
Figures.
They probably took their own separate, more luxurious carriages.
I didn't mind.
Less noise. Less drama.
I leaned back against the leather seat, eyes half-lidded as I mentally ran through the layout of the Acheron estate—or at least what I remembered from the books.
Soon enough, we arrived.
The Acheron Duchy was just as extravagant as the Lovecraft estate, if not more so.
Spires of enchanted stone stretched toward the sky, crimson banners bearing their crest fluttering in the wind. Layers of magical wards shimmered briefly as we passed through them.
[Analysing mana density… seventy-seven per cent combat optimised. Heavy defence layering. Typical of a high-tier noble residence.]
Damian's voice echoed smoothly in my mind.
As I stepped out of the carriage, I adjusted the black coat draped over my shoulders.
My outfit was simple—charcoal shirt, dark trousers, black leather boots, and the long coat lined with faintly glowing seams.
The other guests, however, were… radiant.
Tailored coats with mana-thread embroidery, silk gloves with crest-embedded gemstones, and shining boots that clicked against polished marble.
Walking showpieces of wealth and pedigree.
I felt out of place.
Not that it mattered.
We approached the main gates.
The guard, dressed in formal black and silver, stepped forward, bowing slightly before requesting the invitation. I handed it over.
He examined the seal, eyes narrowing for a brief moment—then his posture straightened.
"Welcome, Lord Vancroft Lovecraft. You may proceed."
And just like that, I was in.
The main hall stretched endlessly ahead. Chandeliers of mana crystal lit the interior in golden warmth.
Noble guests mingled, laughter echoing between velvet-draped columns. Every step I took felt like threading a needle through stares and whispered speculation.
Then—
"Heeey!"
I stopped mid-step.
No. Please, no.
I slowly turned my head and sighed.
Lena.
She descended the grand staircase in a blaze of red.
Her dress was dazzling—flowing silk that shimmered like flames, hugging her figure without restraint.
Her crimson eyes sparkled with glee the moment she locked eyes with me.
Beside her stood Arista.
Unchanged. Blue overcoat, white shirt, pristine as ever.
Her hand rested lightly on the hilt of her sword, expression unreadable.
"Vancroft!" Lena called out, weaving through the other nobles as if none of them existed.
"You actually came!"
"I didn't exactly have a choice," I muttered under my breath as she reached me.
She stopped inches from me, hands on her hips, eyes glinting.
"Still. I'm glad."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
She leaned in, grinning like a child with a new toy.
"Because I might get to see something interesting again."
I blinked.
"You think I'm entertaining?"
"Oh, very," she said with a teasing smile.
"You're like a black sheep covered in glitter. Everyone expects you to fail, but I know you will just keep proving them wrong."
Arista gave me a nod—not warm, but not hostile either. A soldier's greeting. Her eyes never fully left me.
I wanted to sigh again, but I held it in.
"Try not to drag me into anything crazy," I said dryly.
Lena laughed. "No promises."
Of course not.
Damian whispered.
[ I suggest to tread carefully. She's a tempest in disguise.
I already knew that. But I was here now, and things were in motion.
All I could do was move forward—carefully.
***
The ballroom had music, nobles, and elegance flowing in every direction—but my attention was on one thing and one thing only.
The food.
Plates of glazed mana-boar ribs, marinated sea wyvern tail, and golden-powdered dumplings that shimmered faintly with embedded mana spices were lined up in the long buffet.
Silver trays filled with buttered skyroot bread and lemon-dipped fireclaw prawns sat neatly beside crystal bowls of starfruit jelly.
Phoenix eggs topped with ghost pepper flakes? Yes, please.
I loaded my plate like a man who hadn't seen civilisation in years. Which, technically, was true.
I'd been living on basic tavern fare and the occasional bitter coffee. This—this was divine.
I stuffed a bite of the fireclaw prawn in my mouth and nearly melted on the spot.
"Damian…" I whispered mentally. "This is the greatest thing I've ever tasted."
[The Acheron chefs are said to use cooking instruments enchanted with 7th Circle spells.]
Damian replied in his usual analytic tone.
[Even their spices are partially enchanted for heightened aroma and taste. This particular prawn? Cultivated in a high-pressure aquatic mana dome. Forty gold per tail.]
"Worth it", I said without hesitation, reaching for another.
For a blissful moment, it felt like the party didn't matter.
Nobles chatted around me, Lena was nowhere nearby, and my plate was a fortress of flavour.
Just me and the phoenix egg.
But peace is an illusion.
A sudden wave of arrogant laughter shattered the calm.
They barged into my space like they owned the room—flamboyant outfits, smug faces, and overdone perfume.
One of them glanced my way and smirked.
"Oh? Isn't this the discarded heir? I thought they stopped inviting trash."
Another chuckled, elbowing him. "Maybe he snuck in through the servant's door. Or maybe Lovecraft brought him as a pet."
I didn't answer. Not even a glance. I just bit into the manaboor rib and let its glaze take me to heaven.
That made them angrier.
"Hey. I'm talking to you, worm."
Still chewing.
One of them lost his temper. With a sneer, he reached out and—
Flipped my plate.
The world froze.
The phoenix egg… fell.
The ribs hit the floor.
The prawn—the blessed prawn—landed in shame.
I stared at the fallen food, my hands motionless.
I heard the nobles laugh louder.
"What's wrong? Gonna cry over spilt supper, beggar?"
I exhaled softly, placing my glass down.
" You shouldn't have done that," I said.
They scoffed.
"And what'll you do, huh?"
I reached toward the serving table.
There, lying innocently, was a table knife—polished, silver, perfectly balanced.
"Damian", I whispered. "Now."
In an instant, the air shimmered faintly. Mana circuits bloomed within my eyes, invisible to the crowd.
[Strength. Speed. Piercing. All prepared. All synced.]
The moment my hand touched the knife, the enchantments took hold.
A blur.
The nobles didn't even have time to register what was happening.
Crack.
One collapsed, his shoulder dislocated by a blow too fast to see.
Thud.
Another's knee was swept out, dropping like a sack of flour.
The third fell face-first into the buffet, unconscious.
Silence.
The music hadn't stopped, but every noble nearby had.
Eyes locked on me as I calmly adjusted my coat, the knife still glowing faintly in my hand.
Lena, across the hall, had a wild grin on her face.
Arista beside her simply folded her arms.
I stepped over the groaning heap of silk and pride, picked up what remained of my prawn from the table's edge, and took a bite.
"Manners maketh a man," I muttered quietly, brushing imaginary dust off my coat.
And then I walked off—calmly—toward the dessert table.
I had spotted a shimmering tart that needed my attention.
I was nearly at the dessert table.
A shining crystal platter displayed a row of violet tarts, their crusts glowing faintly with chilled enchantments.
Cream made from strong cow milk swirled on top, and just the scent was enough to make me forget everything.
"Finally…" I whispered.
And then, of course—someone had to speak.
"Wait."
I stopped mid-step, already feeling the headache form behind my temple.
A tall man with pale green hair and pointed ears stood in front of the table, arms crossed.
He wore a formal dark green tunic lined with silver trim and a brooch that marked him as a noble from one of the major Elven provinces.
His eyes, a sharp emerald, narrowed at me.
"What you just did", he said coolly, "was disrespectful. You embarrassed noble heirs. Regardless of the reason, you owe them an apology."
I stared at him.
Then looked back at the tarts.
Then back at him.
Was this real?
"Apologise?" I asked.
"I am sorry to say, but they are the ones who flipped my plate. What I did was an act of mercy."
The elf's expression didn't budge.
"You are still a noble guest. It is your responsibility to exercise patience and forgiveness."
I sighed, pressing two fingers against my forehead.
"I don't think you clearly understand what I said. I was minding my business. Then someone flipped my plate and mocked me.
"And now you are here making claims and preventing me from reaching the deserts."
I took a step forward.
He stepped in the way again.
"I formally challenge you to a duel," he said.
"You may choose the rules."
Unbelievable.
I looked up at the chandelier. "Damian… Is this some curse?"
[No curse detected]
[However, your life does resemble the archetype of a genre-bound protagonist.]
"Why can't I just be a side character? One with food?"
[Too late for that]
My jaw clenched. Rage simmered. Not because of the challenge—but because this was all for nothing. I just wanted the tart.
I turned back to the elf and let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Fine. Let's get this over with."
A small crowd had begun to gather now, whispers and murmurs rising around us.
On the other side of the ballroom, hidden behind a tall pillar, a young man leaned slightly into the light.
His hair was black and cut short, and his eyes shimmered a deep blue. A silver brooch hung on his collar, the symbol of the imperial academy.
He watched the scene unfold, expression blank.
"…This didn't happen before," he muttered to himself, voice low and confused.
"Not in any of the regressions. He… wasn't supposed to be here."
His gaze locked on me with newfound interest.
And he smiled—just slightly.
"Interesting."