Reborn As Papa Silva

Chapter 106 - Silver Engagement (2)

The bittersweet moments in life are still sweet at their core. Be thankful that it wasn't merely bitter. — Number 1 Bullshitter

—

Castle Silva, Ballroom

The crowd parted along the ballroom floor, the spotlight fixed on Nozel and Dorothy at the center. Their postures were upright, arms held together at a square angle.

From the corner, the trio of musicians orchestrated the beginning of the Pavane—a stately, processional dance set to a slow 4/4 time signature, its tempo hovering between 50 and 70 beats per minute.

As the music began, Nozel took the lead, stepping forward with his right. Dorothy joined him almost simultaneously. That simple movement was so smooth, it was as if Nozel had swept her forward, while she moved with the tide at the exact same time.

Then, both brought their left foot forward to align with their right. Toes pointed outward, they bent their knees in a stiff ninety-degree motion before straightening again, then repeated the same movement—this time leading and leaning with their left, following with their right.

Four steps. A graceful turn. A shift in direction.

And again, they repeated the sequence, perfectly attuned to the music.

Lead with the right. Follow with the left. Bend the knees. Lead with the left. Follow with the right. A graceful turn in another direction. Repeat.

It was a simple dance—a very simple dance—but that was precisely why even the slightest mistake would stand out like a sore thumb.

A dull, methodical performance designed to highlight imperfection. If they couldn't execute something this basic flawlessly, they weren't ready to take the next steps in their journey of life.

At least, in the eyes of the aristocracy, they wouldn't be.

That's why every step, every glide, every lean, every bend, every turn had to be perfect.

Sebastian worried for Dorothy. She had to perform this dance in high heels and a long, flowing dress that made movement difficult—made flexibility rigid, almost impossible.

Her attire wasn't designed with the Pavane in mind.

No—that wasn't right. Rather, it was designed perfectly with the Pavane in mind—to make this simple dance as difficult as possible for her.

She wasn't being singled out. All noblewomen wore similar attire for their engagement ceremony performance.

House Silva could have broken tradition, tailored her a gown more suited to ease of movement, but that would have drawn eyes. Sparked whispers. Birthed rumors of inadequacy that would follow her for years.

Dorothy was already fighting an uphill battle for acceptance. A foreigner. A commoner. She didn't need to give them any more ammunition.

She had declared that she would do this.

And, much to Sebastian's relief, it seemed she wasn't just putting on airs. She was flawless.

Of course, Sebastian wasn't an expert on dance.

His wife, however, was.

And if Acier's blooming smile was any indication, Dorothy was performing perfectly.

As for Nozel—well, perfection was expected of him. But even if he weren't perfect, it wouldn't matter.

No one in the crowd would dare criticize the future Lord Silva. A future Duke of the Kingdom. Not unless they wanted their own futures to become uncomfortable and suffocating.

No—the real danger was if Nozel did make a mistake.

Because if he did, there were those among the aristocracy who would immediately shift the blame to Dorothy.

She would be the one accused of holding Nozel back. Of disrupting his rhythm.

Of tarnishing his reputation.

And reputation was everything to the nobility. Few would ever put theirs at risk.

Unfortunately, these fools failed to grasp one simple fact:

The so-called icy Prince Nozel was a soft-hearted fool when it came to those he loved.

And Dorothy was among them.

This wasn't an engagement of convenience, arranged to fend off opportunistic noblewomen and their power-hungry houses.

This wasn't some calculated alliance for mutual benefit.

Nozel liked Dorothy.

And she liked him.

Nothing they said or did would change that.

Not that they would get the chance—because as the fifth iteration of the dance came to a close and the music neared its end, Nozel and Dorothy executed a final, flawless bow and curtsy.

A flawless end to a flawless performance.

And so...

Clap! Clap! Clap!

Despite how infuriating it was, the crowd was forced to offer a begrudging round of applause.

A show of acknowledgment.

Of Nozel's perfection.

Of Dorothy's worthiness.

They clapped.

Even though many of them wanted to tear her apart.

Few among the upper circles would ever dare to criticize a Silva, even if they were in the wrong.

And Dorothy wasn't.

So they all clapped.

At the center of the ballroom, beneath the fading spotlight, Nozel and Dorothy exchanged a soft, victorious glance.

The light expanded outward before fading entirely as the dimmed chandeliers brightened once more, restoring the ballroom to its original brilliance.

Smiling softly, the young couple, arms linked, turned and walked forward toward the front of the room, where Sebastian and Acier stood side by side at the base of the grand staircase.

Stopping about a meter short, Nozel and Dorothy bowed and curtsied once again in flawless unison—this time, only toward them. A show of respect.

Then, without hesitation, they knelt.

Sebastian's and Acier's expressions softened. The former looked down at the young lovers, then across the room, before speaking with quiet power.

"We are gathered here today, on the seventh day of the ninth month, in the year 1619 of our holy calendar, to oversee the engagement of Nozel Silva and Dorothy Unsworth."

Sebastian turned to address the crowd. "Respected members of the nobility, do you hold hope that the union between these two young hearts will work out for the best?"

A strained silence followed. Many nobles forced wry smiles. They did not hope for such a thing—but gritting their teeth and schooling their expressions, they nodded and spoke as one.

"We do!"

Sebastian nodded before turning left, his gaze settling on the main table. His next words were directed at the Pope and Cardinal.

"Distinguished members of the clergy, do you hold faith that these two will remain forever loyal and committed to one another?"

Pope Benedictus and Cardinal Veritas placed their right hands over their hearts and nodded, their smiles kind.

"By the Lord's grace and protection, we do!"

Sebastian's gaze continued down the table, locking onto Augustus.

"I bequeath the throne's opinion. Your Majesty, do you believe these two hold love for one another in their hearts?"

For a brief moment, the nobles dared to hope.

But that hope was immediately dashed.

Augustus twirled his mustache, sweeping a dark, almost mocking gaze over the couple before offering a lazy nod.

"Why, of course I do!"

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to smile smugly before turning back to Nozel and Dorothy. His expression steadied, his lips parting.

He spoke in a solemn whisper that reverberated through the room, sinking into every ear.

"Then, with the power and authority vested in me as a Duke of the Clover Kingdom, as well as the 19th Head of House Silva, I hereby validate this engagement and approve of the betrothal of Dorothy Unsworth to Nozel Silva. May the blessing of good luck forever shine upon you both. You may rise."

And rise they did.

Dorothy's smile brightened, her eyes shimmering with emotion.

Yet no one clapped.

No one cheered.

Not yet.

Acier snapped her fingers.

"Alfred."

All focus shifted to the old head butler of House Silva. He stepped forward, carrying a ruby ring pillow securely in his arms, halting just between Sebastian and Acier—just short of Nozel and Dorothy.

No instructions were needed.

Nozel reached for the pillow, lifting one of the two rings.

A pure white band, crowned with a glistening diamond cut into the shape of House Silva's floral fitchy emblem.

Heat dusted his neck. Dorothy's cheeks flushed.

Gently, Nozel took her left-gloved hand and slid the band onto her ring finger.

Dorothy's blush deepened as she admired the circlet for a second before reaching for the other ring.

It was identical to hers—save for one detail. Instead of a floral diamond, this one was cut into the shape of an eagle.

Nozel extended his left hand. Dorothy took it, steady and careful, before slipping the ring onto his finger.

And then—without a word—both hands found each other, grasping firmly, bound by more than just riches and tradition.

The applause was about to start, but—

"KISS HER!"

Heads snapped toward the main table.

All eyes landed on Aurelia Silva Vermillion, who was now standing, hands cupped around her mouth to make sure her voice echoed through the hall.

And then she repeated, louder this time.

"KISS HER, NOZEL!"

Nozel and Dorothy turned as red as tomatoes.

Nozel was just about to tell his aunt off, but—

"MAN UP AND CLAIM YOUR PRIZE!" Mereoleona growled, fire crackling at her fingertips as the fiery manifestation of a lion roared behind her.

Yami took that as his cue to retreat further into the crowd.

Amber and Amara groaned, rubbing their foreheads in exasperation.

Florian and Ignatius sent Sebastian and Acier apologetic glances.

Dorothy felt very dizzy. Nozel's mind went completely blank.

And then—

Augustus twirled his scepter, pointed it at them, and issued a royal decree.

"The people have spoken! Now display your royal prowess for all to see!"

Nozel cringed inwardly. Who invited you— He stopped himself mid-thought.

Because right in front of him, Dorothy—redder than crimson—had shut her eyes, slightly puckered her lips, and stood on her toes.

Waiting.

For him to make the move.

Nozel blanked. Completely.

Like a machine, he slowly craned his head left, looking to his parents for help.

Acier's excited expression did not help at all.

Nozel ignored her and turned to his father—his last hope. The voice of reason.

Sebastian said nothing. He simply smiled.

Meanwhile, Noelle—still in his arms—stopped chewing on his coronet and looked at him.

Then, with all the authority her pudgy fingers could muster, she pointed at him and ordered,

"Gwo Bwubba!"

Nozel blinked.

And then—without thinking anymore—he turned back to Dorothy and leaned down.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

His heart threatened to escape his chest.

His nose brushed against hers.

And then—softly—his lips captured hers.

Dorothy tensed for a moment—before fireworks exploded in both of their heads.

And just like that, they melted into the kiss.

For two seconds, an eternity passed—an eternity where only the two of them existed.

And then they pulled away.

Neither could look at the other.

"YEAH, ATTABOY! WOOH!!!" Aurelia whooped, kicking off the celebration.

Her husband joined in awkwardly.

"NEXT TIME, DON'T BE SUCH A SISSY ABOUT IT!" Mereoleona snorted, clapping her hands.

And then the entire ballroom erupted.

Applause and cheers rang out—some loud, some begrudging, but all unavoidable.

Ignatius. Fuegoleon—who let out a very depressed sigh. An excited, giggling Leo. A blushing Nebra and Vanessa. Solid, stars in his eyes. Kirsch, striking a dramatic pose. Sebastian. Acier.

Even the reluctant nobles.

Every last person in the room broke into applause.

All but one.

Among the crowd, a lone boy stood, clad in an ornate yet undeniably ugly helmet and a peacock-like mask.

He did not clap.

This boy was William Vangeance.

An illegitimate noble child.

Born with a cursed scar.

Cast out of his house at a young age.

Forced to live in the Forsaken Realm, only to be ostracized there as well.

At eight, his half-brother—the rightful heir—passed away.

And so they dragged him back. Back to the noble realm. Back to be groomed as the new heir.

His father's wife despised him. Saw him as an intruder. A replacement for the son she had lost.

She loathed him. She made sure he knew it.

William was always alone.

Only two people had ever truly mattered to him.

The man who gave him his mask—his guardian, Julius Novachrono.

And the other life inside his body. The presence that had always been there.

He had to stay healthy. Had to endure the pain. Had to keep living.

Even when he wanted to end it all, he couldn't.

Because William had always known—his body wasn't just his own.

Someone else was relying on him.

Since he was nine, he had dreamed of this person. Had lived his memories. Had seen the injustices his other half had suffered—at the hands of his own people.

And right now—

He felt him.

His other half. Stirring. Roaring in pain and betrayal.

For the first time, William heard his voice—not through memories, but in real time.

And it was one of fury.

REVE! REVE!

YOU FILTHY TRAITOR! HOW COULD YOU GET TOGETHER WITH ONE FROM THAT CURSED CLAN?!

AFTER EVERYTHING THEY'VE DONE TO US?! TOOK FROM US?! TOOK FROM HIM?! HOW COULD YOU?!

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

William tensed, pressing a hand to his chest, trying to soothe his other half.

It didn't work.

His body wouldn't listen to him.

His gaze moved—unbidden—from Dorothy to the man officiating the ceremony.

Sebastian Silva.

And then—another roar. Louder. Darker. More venomous.

OF COURSE IT'S YOU, RAINER! YOU FILTHY MUTT!

NOT ONLY DID YOU MARRY AND BREED WITH ONE OF THESE DOGS—BUT YOU EVEN LED REVE ASTRAY!

And then—silence.

William nearly collapsed. He barely managed to stop himself from falling to his knees and retching.

The malice. The hatred.

It was the same as in those memories. The day their people had been wiped out.

He felt sick.

His father had ordered his presence here. Captain Julius had told him to go.

"Get out for once, unwind, socialize, maybe make some friends. I'll come pick you up later."

William no longer wanted to be here.

He felt suffocated. Wrong. Out of place.

If he stayed any longer—

He knew he'd do something he'd regret.

So he turned on his heel and hurried toward the back entrance.

His legs wobbled.

He tried to pick up speed—

And then—

His foot caught on a gap between the cobblestones.

His body lurched forward.

He braced for impact—

But before he could hit the ground, a strong arm wrapped around his waist, halting his fall.

William blinked in surprise.

A tall man stood before him, clad in House Silva servant attire. Black hair. Hazel eyes. Unremarkable features.

The man smiled softly.

"Honored guest, are you alright?"

William steadied himself, nodding awkwardly. "Y-yeah. Th-thank you..."

Silence.

Then, the servant bowed.

"Was there something wrong with the food? You seem unwell. Perhaps I should have the kitchen staff remake the—"

"N-no, not at all." William cut him off, waving a hand hastily. He forced a wry smile beneath his mask. "It's just a personal issue. I don't do well at events like this. The food was great—no need for any replacements."

Another pause.

Then, William nodded slightly. "Thanks again. If possible, please pass on my apologies to Prince Nozel for leaving early. Goodbye."

Without waiting for a response, he turned—

And ran.

As he disappeared from sight, the servant's hazel eyes flickered red.

His lips curved into a small smile.

Then, just as quickly, his servile expression returned.

And he resumed his silent vigil outside the ballroom doors.

—

Back inside the hall, as the thunderous applause and praises faded, Sebastian stepped behind the lectern once more.

Noelle, nestled in his arms, absentmindedly chewed on his cornet as he spoke into the mic with a soft smile.

"The official ceremony is now over. We understand that many of you have pressing matters to attend to, and should you choose to take your leave, we completely understand. However, we hope you'll remain and celebrate with us until the end."

The nobles exchanged wry smiles, laughing awkwardly.

Leave early? During a Duchy's ceremony?

Unless one was royalty—or perhaps the Wizard King or a high-ranking church representative—none among them would dare.

Especially not for an event of this scale.

Seeing that no one made a move toward the doors, Sebastian's smile widened.

"Wonderful. We have a long night ahead of us. Once again, feel free to intermingle and socialize. Help yourselves to the snack bar—but don't eat too much. The entrées will be served shortly, and dinner will follow right after."

The crowd gave polite nods.

But rather than breaking back into their social groups and cliques, they lined up.

One after another, they stepped forward—some to meet Nozel and Dorothy, eager to make an impression, others to greet Sebastian and Acier, keeping their eyes on the present rather than the future.

Ignatius, Benedictus, Damnatio, Conrad, and Augustus received far fewer visitors.

After all, they were here as guests. To relax. To enjoy the festivities.

Despite their status as elites—figures anyone would normally jump at the chance to converse with—doing so now, during their free time, would be a surefire way to make a terrible impression.

Worse—if they drew more attention than the hosts themselves, it would be a slight against House Silva's honor.

So most wisely kept their distance—except for close friends and vassals.

Unfortunately for Sebastian, Acier, Nozel, and Dorothy, there was no such reprieve.

One by one, they had to endure the long procession of greetings, the endless pleasantries, the subtle (and not so subtle) attempts at social maneuvering.

Sebastian could only hope that when he said shortly, it actually meant shortly.

Before Nozel and Dorothy, many attempted to test or pressure Dorothy through high-level social cues and etiquette.

Yet each time, she responded flawlessly—graceful, composed, and utterly unshaken.

Not a single slip-up. Not a single misstep.

And certainly no common slights that an uneducated bumpkin might make.

Nozel, though irritated by their thinly veiled interrogation, couldn't help but smile—broadly—every time his fiancée put them in their place.

That smile vanished the moment the next guest stepped forward.

"Well, well, well, if it ain't Ponytail Jr. How've you been?"

Yami, stuffing his mouth with bite-sized sandwiches, stepped forward. Morgen, beside him, maintained his eternal smile, while Nacht looked about one second away from stabbing Yami in the back.

Nozel's eye twitched in annoyance.

"Foreigner. Why are you here?"

Hmm?

Yami paused mid-chew. Nozel treating him like this was nothing new. But something was... off.

Sure, he looked as annoyed as always, but Yami couldn't feel any actual irritation in his ki.

It was like he was putting up appearances—going through the motions—but not actually disliking Yami's presence.

Weird.

But Yami just shrugged it off, chalking it up to Nozel being so happy that he couldn't even muster the energy to despise him.

Morgen nodded curtly.

"I invited him. Congratulations on your engagement, Prince Nozel."

He turned to Dorothy and nodded again, smile unwavering.

"And Princess Dorothy."

Nozel's features softened as he returned the nod, while Dorothy blushed slightly and mirrored the response.

She kept her gaze on Morgen and Yami, pointedly avoiding Nacht. Even if what she'd done had been for his own good, she still felt a little bad about traumatizing him.

Yami struggled to keep his expression neutral.

Something about the ki here was off.

For some reason, he could feel Nozel and Dorothy warming up to him—appreciating his presence, even.

Which made no damn sense.

He and Ponytail Jr. weren't friends. Not even close. And he sure as hell hadn't done anything for Dorothy to like him.

It was the same feeling he'd gotten when he locked eyes with Ponytail Sr. back at the War Merits Conferment Ceremony.

Every other time they'd crossed paths, he'd felt the loathing radiating off the man like a damn beacon—his disgust at Yami's background plain as day.

But that day?

Civility. Maybe even... fondness?

It was fucking weird.

Even weirder—he could feel the couple's familiarity with Morgen.

Except Morgen didn't know them. Not personally.

As for their seemingly mutual recognition and familiarity with Nacht, Yami wasn't too surprised, given the deceit he sensed in his buddy's ki earlier. Still, it rang some strange alarm bells in his mind.

And then there was the tension between Nacht and Dorothy—Dorothy being the one who felt guilty.

None of it made any sense.

As they stepped aside for the next guests in line, Yami made a decision.

He was done drinking for the night.

More importantly, he had another dilemma.

Was it still right to call Sebastian and Nozel Ponytail, now that neither of them had those egregious front braids anymore?

A far more pressing concern. Far bigger. Far more important.

Yami needed to think of some new nicknames.

—

With Sebastian and Acier standing side by side, Acier's eyes lit up as the next duo stepped forward.

Both women had blonde hair, though one had longer, deeper golden locks with hazel eyes, while the other's was shorter, lighter, and paired with striking light blue irises.

"Lily! Ellenor! So nice of you two to join us!" Acier exclaimed, her voice warm and welcoming.

Lily Wallflower beamed, meeting Acier's hug with the same confidence and radiance she was known for. Meanwhile, her protégé—and current Blue Rose Captain—Ellenor Grappo responded in a more tsundere manner, crossing her arms briefly before reluctantly returning the gesture.

The two women exchanged a flat, wordless nod with Sebastian. Their history with him was... complicated. But they quickly moved on, breaking into lively conversation with Acier.

Acier cocked her head at Lily, curiosity flickering in her gaze.

"Where's Chloe? I don't see her."

Lily chuckled, twirling a strand of hair at the mention of her younger twin.

"Chlo's in the final stages of her pregnancy. She's not exactly in a good place to move around. Otherwise, she'd have loved to come. She told me to pass on her congratulations, though."

Acier smiled softly. Ever since the war in Kiten, Lily and Chloe's roles had almost flipped. Lily had become the more confident and forthright one, while Chloe had grown more reserved and introspective.

Funny how life changes people, Acier mused. Lily used to be the one who held everything inside, but now she's the one leading the charge.

Lily wasn't just a warrior who left everything on the battlefield anymore. She couldn't be. Not when she had taken over the Blue Rose Knights at their lowest, rebuilding them from nearly nothing.

A wave of nostalgia washed over Acier before a mischievous glint sparked in her eyes. She nudged Lily in the ribs.

"Chloe seems to have life planned out. But what about you? When are you going to marry and settle down?"

Lily chuckled weakly, her gaze drifting away for a moment.

"I'm just not into that kind of thing," she admitted. "I think becoming an aunty is more than enough for me. Who knows, if the right guy comes along, I might change my mind."

Acier stifled a laugh, amusement dancing in her eyes, before turning to Ellenor.

"And what about you—"

"The battlefield is my only lover," Ellenor interrupted flatly, her expression deadly serious.

Acier blinked, momentarily thrown.

Did Charlotte get some of her future signature lines—and tendencies—from her captain? she wondered.

Though, unlike Charlotte, who often pretended to be indifferent to romance, Acier had the distinct feeling that Ellenor was being completely, brutally genuine.

Choosing not to press further, Acier simply offered them a warm smile as they exited the line.

As the next person slowly stepped forward, Sebastian leaned in and whispered into Acier's ear, his voice low and intimate.

"I've been meaning to ask you something."

Acier blinked, lips curling into a smile as she turned to her husband.

"Oh?" She raised a brow, clearly intrigued. "And what might that be, Sebby?"

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head before any misunderstandings could arise.

"Nothing major. Just something that always seems to slip my mind before I can ask you."

Acier said nothing, but the tilt of her head and the curve of her lips made it clear she was listening intently.

Sebastian's voice softened further, almost as if sharing a secret.

"...Did you take Mereoleona in as your student... because she reminds you of Lily?"

Acier paused, thoughtful. Then a soft chuckle escaped her lips.

She gave a half-nod, her eyes glinting with fondness.

"Yes. But that's only a tiny part of it."

In many ways, Lily had been Sebastian and Acier's benefactor.

During the final war with Diamond, it was she who had carried their unconscious bodies away from the battlefield, ensuring they made it back to the safety of Kiten.

If it hadn't been for her quick thinking and bravery—if Diamond troops had found them in their vulnerable state—Sebastian would undoubtedly be long dead, and Acier would have faced a fate far worse than death.

So, yes, the fact that Mereoleona was a fellow fire mage—and just as unhinged and ferocious as Lily on the battlefield—had influenced Acier's decision to take her in as a student.

But that was only a tiny part of it.

Mereoleona's own power, talent, and relentless drive to grow stronger played a far greater role. On top of that, there was the bond of family—Acier's relationship with her and Amber—that made the decision feel almost inevitable.

Despite being swamped with responsibilities—raising her children alone, managing the Silver Eagles, and more—Acier had still chosen to take on a student.

Lily was just a small, nostalgically complex piece of the puzzle.

No matter how much I love Mereoleona, Acier thought, I wouldn't have taken her in if she were lazy or lacked potential. It's that simple.

Mereoleona's successes today were entirely her own, born from her hard work and unwavering effort. She had taken her boundless talent and refined it into something meaningful—something powerful.

Acier knew better than anyone that a genius was only a genius if they couldn't tap into their potential. And Mereoleona was not just a genius—she was one of the hardest workers in the room.

According to Sebastian's memories and recollections, Acier understood how Mereoleona had arguably become the strongest person in the Clover Kingdom—no, the world—without relying on anything but her own strength.

It was a feat that filled Acier with pride and satisfaction.

Taking in Mereoleona had been one of the smartest decisions she had ever made.

Sebastian nodded plainly, curiosity satisfied. He didn't press for further explanation—perhaps he could read her thoughts, or perhaps he simply didn't care.

He had his answer. That was all that mattered to him.

With that, the two turned their attention back to the line of guests, greeting each one with the same masked warmth and grace they had shown all evening.

As the line dwindled further and further, Sebastian stiffened momentarily as the next duo stepped forward.

Sebastian paid little attention to the young man—perhaps in his early twenties—but rather to the old figure he was escorting.

A man with gray hair in place of once-platinum blonde, wearing a top hat and a monocle that reflected his emerald iris over his left eye.

"...Count Vardy..." Sebastian murmured softly, still rocking Noelle in his arms, patting her back as she continued chewing on his coronet over his shoulder.

Vardy looked up at him with a steely glare and rasped weakly, "I'm not a count anymore, foolish boy."

Sebastian smiled wryly. There was only one person in the Clover Kingdom who had the gall to call him boy.

His old dance instructor. His mentor.

The man who had played a pivotal role in bringing him and Acier together—teaching him not just dance, but life lessons, instilling in him the courage to pursue her.

Like most of Sebastian's relationships, his with the Count had soured when he turned "evil." He had long assumed he would only ever hear from—or about—his teacher again when it was time for the old man's funeral.

Beside the Count stood the current Count Vardy—his son. A son the Count had fathered late in life.

Sebastian still remembered the boy as a four-year-old toddling around in fancy overalls, attending birthday parties where he and Acier had even gifted him a pony once.

A wave of nostalgia threatened to overtake him, and he was just about to say something—when the Count weakly smacked his leg with his cane, just like he used to smack his head all those years ago.

Vardy looked up at Sebastian, frail and trembling. "I-It's good that you're back. N-Never lose your way again."

Sebastian paused, something intense glinting in his eyes for a fleeting moment before his features softened. He inclined his head. "Yes, Teacher. Thank you."

Vardy snorted. "I-I'm retired now. I'm no one's teacher. Especially not yours."

Yet, despite his words, neither Sebastian nor Acier missed the small smile that flickered across his face as his son led him away.

Acier leaned against Sebastian's shoulder, whispering softly, "Good for you, Sebby."

Sebastian smiled—a weak, bittersweet smile. Maybe it was good now.

But he had missed out on sixteen years with the Count. All because of Lucius.

And now his old teacher didn't seem to have much time left in this world.

It was good. But oh so bittersweet.

Before he could respond, Noelle stopped chewing on his coronet, shifted up in his arms, and promptly latched onto his cheek with a sloppy kiss.

"Baboo..." she mumbled as she chewed.

And just like that, the wave of impending depression vanished.

Sebastian simply held Noelle and Acier tighter for the rest of the evening as they greeted guests.

Noelle certainly didn't complain.

And Acier never brought it up.

—

15 Minutes Later

Across the hall, guests and hosts took their seats at their assigned tables as the time for dinner arrived.

At the elongated main table sat the guests of honor and the hosts, positioned prominently at the front. Those seated closer to them—at the surrounding tables—were individuals of immense importance to either House Silva or the kingdom itself. Meanwhile, those placed farther away, near the end of the hall, had little connection to House Silva or standing within the aristocracy's upper circles.

Yami, having arrived as a guest of the VIPs, took his seat at a table close to the main figures.

The placement of House Faust so high in the hierarchy drew no small number of raised eyebrows from the nobles. Some speculated it was due to Draven's support of Conrad's bill, earning him favor among the royal families. Others suspected it had more to do with a personal connection to House Silva—especially since houses like Francois, Portaport, Granvorka, Roselei, and Caseus, all equally supportive of the bill and more deeply entrenched in the nobility, sat slightly behind them.

As for the other noble houses in favor of the bill, Conrad and Lovilia themselves represented House Leto, while Julius, House Novachrono's representative, remained stationed in Kiten, monitoring Diamond's movements.

But it wasn't just House Faust drawing attention. The real shock came from the people sitting with them—a commoner family.

The Agrippas.

Yami suppressed a shiver as Nathan, Jonna, their son Gordon, and their grandmother Nilenia sat across from him, mumbling something barely audible.

Yami could swear they were chanting hexes and curses.

Morgen, bless his soul, remained entirely unfazed—treating them with the same friendly and cordial manner he extended to everyone.

Nacht, on the other hand, knew exactly what the Agrippas were like and took visible amusement in Yami's discomfort.

Meanwhile, Draven and Lilith conversed easily with Nathan and Jonna, their familiarity with each other evident.

Which left Yami. Alone. Stewing in his own unease.

Many nobles quietly wondered how a commoner family had managed to secure an invitation to such a high-profile event—but wisely kept their grievances to themselves. The Agrippas were not only guests but VIPs.

Elsewhere, Zara and Zora sat with the Francois and Granvorka families.

House Portaport and House Caseus shared a table, getting along just fine.

As for House Roselei—the final house still in Augustus' favor—they had been given their own table for special reasons.

Not everything within their family was harmonious. Asking them to sit with others—or having others sit with them—was simply asking for a scene to erupt.

Lord Roselei, at least, was grateful for Sebastian's consideration.

Although his family had been allotted five seats, he had only brought two of his children—his daughter, who currently wanted nothing to do with him, and his son, Luck.

His legal wife had secluded herself in her chambers, shutting him out entirely ever since news of his adultery surfaced. He had also not brought his concubine—Luck's mother—despite having a reserved spot for her.

It simply wasn't appropriate to introduce her at such a high-profile event. And even if it were, Lord Roselei knew full well that it wouldn't sit well with his wife or daughter.

He had already hurt them plenty by bringing Luck and his mother into their household. He wasn't about to add insult to injury.

Their dinner, like every other since the day Luck and his mother had entered House Roselei's walls, would be a quiet and painfully awkward affair.

—

At the main table, the seating was arranged as follows:

At one end of the long rectangular table sat the master of ceremonies, Sebastian, with Noelle in his lap and Acier seated beside him. Directly across from them, at the other end, sat the two kings of the kingdom—Augustus and Conrad.

To Acier's immediate left, starting along one of the long sides of the table, was Nozel, with his fiancée Dorothy seated beside him. Following them were Vanessa, Nebra, Solid, Kirsch, Leopold, Fuegoleon, and Damnatio, who occupied the seat to Augustus' immediate right.

On Conrad's immediate left sat his wife, Lovilia. Next to her were Amara, Aurelia, Florian—with Mimosa in his lap—Ignatius, Amber, Mereoleona, Anslem, and finally, Benedictus, who was seated at Sebastian's immediate right.

Twenty-four people in total, spread across twenty-two seats.

As House Silva's servants filled their plates—carefully considering each individual's age, dietary needs, and preferences—Augustus broke the silence, twirling his mustache with a satisfied smile.

"So, Advisor, have you given any further thought to my previous offer?"

Sebastian paused, raising a brow. "Which one may that be, Your Majesty?"

Augustus' grin widened. "Why, the position of Royal Guard Commander, of course! You've certainly proven your might by besting Mereoleona here."

Mereoleona had to physically restrain herself from lunging across the table and committing regicide.

Sebastian shook his head apologetically. "I'm afraid I have too much on my plate, Your Majesty. It's simply not possible."

Augustus let out a dramatic sigh. "Such a shame."

Conrad nodded absentmindedly. "It truly is..."

At his words, the table went silent, all eyes shifting toward him in question. Conrad blinked, then let out a sheepish smile. "Oh, nothing—only that my wife and I are searching for a suitable replacement for her to take over the White Snake, and I had considered asking Sebastian for the favor."

Sebastian forced out a strained smile. "I'm flattered by your consideration, Lord Conrad, but as I said—I'm far too busy."

Damn it, why is everyone trying to make me do more work?!!

He already had more than enough on his plate with the whole possibly saving the world from a divine war situation. The last thing he needed was more responsibility dumped on top of it.

Acier, who had remained quiet up until now, suddenly smiled at her husband—soft, teasing.

"You know, Sebby... the Silver Eagles do need a Vice Captain..."

She trailed off purposefully.

Sebastian stiffened, his brow twitching—before his shoulders slumped, and he exhaled in resignation.

"...I'll do my best."

Acier beamed.

Augustus and Conrad blinked.

The rest of the table, meanwhile, found the whole exchange hilarious—to varying degrees, of course.

And with that, having been served their entrées, the group finally dug in and began to eat.

The night was still young.

—

Author's Notes:

[1] In some cultures—such as American dining—entrées refer to the main course, synonymous with lunch or dinner. However, in many other regions, an entrée is a smaller, appetizer-like dish served before the main meal. I mention this in case there's any confusion.

[2] Much of the information in this Chapter, particularly regarding Lily and Vardy, comes from the Dream Arc. If you haven't read it, I did my best to explain the relevant details within the Chapter. If you understood everything—great! If not... well, boohoo.

[3] As always, feel free to join the Discord: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar