Chapter Six: The Banquet

Victor gently stroked the sheepskin scroll laid out on the table and exhaled a long breath.

This was a hereditary land registration document for the Centaur Hills, certifying that more than twelve thousand square kilometers in the southwestern corner belonged to Victor Wimbledon, Baron of Gambis, as a legal estate recognized by the Kingdom of Gambis. The land would be protected by the royal army, subject to annual tribute, and inherited by the baron and his family.

The territory was vast—far exceeding the typical size of a barony, and even larger than most viscounties.

Yet Victor frowned. Despite its size, the land was remote: bordered to the south by the Goldenwater River, flanked to the west by endless marshes rumored to harbor monstrous creatures—lizardfolk, it was said.

The estate was a great distance from the heart of the Centaur Hills frontier—the Black Castle. Traveling there on horseback would take at least ten days.

Victor doubted the York family had ever developed such a remote tract.

Imagining the wilderness teeming with goblins, kobolds, and the foul-smelling gnolls, perhaps even more fearsome monsters, made Victor’s skin crawl.

Still, he felt no regret. Escaping the turmoil of succession was his greatest priority. Though isolated, the territory suited his current needs.

He planned to recruit a mercenary band and displaced peasants near the Black Castle; once settled in his new domain, the fortress would offer security, and slow development would ensure safety.

Thinking of this, Victor unconsciously squeezed the lizard-skin purse at his waist.

Inside were fifty royal purple gold coins of Gambis. One side bore a mountain with the sun rising above it, symbolizing the divine authority of the Lord of Radiance; the other, a soaring eagle, representing the imperial power of the Lant Empire. As a vassal kingdom, Gambis was not yet entitled to stamp its own insignia on its currency.

The royal house guaranteed that each purple coin could be exchanged at the capital’s treasury for a thousand gold solars. Victor recalled the Earl of York’s grief-stricken expression as he handed over the coins, feeling a secret delight.

Those fifty thousand gold solars, along with the knowledge and skills stored in the X-3 chip, were Victor’s true confidence in pioneering the wild lands.

As for the thunderous fury of Marquis Sophia when news of the land exchange reached the capital—Victor could hardly be bothered.

A light, graceful tread sounded outside the door; likely a servant sent by the countess to escort him to the banquet. Victor had just secured his coins and documents when the expected knock came.

“Baron, I come at the countess’s command to take you to the dinner,” a clear, melodious voice called from outside.

Victor opened the door to find a tall, striking female guard standing smartly in the corridor.

“Lead the way,” Victor said, smiling at the spirited beauty.

She hesitated briefly, then turned, somewhat flustered, to guide him.

Following behind her, Victor could not help but admire her long, straight legs, slender waist, and shapely hips, all moving with a seductive grace that made her especially alluring. His gaze lingered on her supple waist and beautiful legs.

After a moment, Victor noticed her walk had grown stiff; her earlobes were flushed pink. His heart skipped—a sensitivity like that suggested she was close to knighthood, if not already a knight. Fortunately, she did not seem hostile toward him. Victor felt quietly relieved.

Knights—the pinnacle of human strength—must be respected even by nobles.

A splendid four-wheeled coach awaited them by the roadside. Victor and the female guard entered. The driver flicked the reins, and the carriage rolled forward.

“Forgive my manners—I have not yet learned the name of this beautiful lady?” Victor asked, glancing at the guard, whose cheeks still bore a faint blush.

“I... my name is Nicole,” she replied, her face suddenly dimming.

Among the human kingdoms, commoners and servants had no surnames; knightly bloodlines usually arose among the nobility, and knightly squires were typically noble youths. Nicole’s lack of a surname implied her mother was a York family servant.

By noble tradition, offspring of a maid and a noble remained of low status. Unless Nicole advanced to knighthood, she would always be a subordinate. Only one in five knightly squires ever became a knight.

Victor wished to comfort her, but found no words. Silence reigned between them as the coach, almost unnoticed, drew up to their destination: Rose Manor.

“Baron, the banquet will not begin for a while yet. You may rest in the drawing room,” said a manor servant, guiding Victor to a chamber door and bowing.

Victor nodded, gently pushed open the ornate golden wood door, and entered.

Pink drapes, snowy cashmere carpets, a lavish ivory bed, an exquisite dressing table—and on a long chaise lounge reclined a curvaceous woman.

This was unmistakably a lady’s bedroom. Victor immediately turned to leave, only to find the door had been locked from outside.

At that moment, a soft, alluring voice sounded from within. “Baron Victor, how rude of you to trespass into my bedroom.”

Victor looked up to see the woman on the chaise slowly rise. Her waterfall of golden hair draped casually over pale shoulders; her bright eyes watched him with a teasing smile. It was the Countess of York.

Victor began to speak, but the countess approached with languid grace. Clad in a red, low-cut gown of spider silk, her skin gleamed whiter than snow, her beauty radiant as a blossom. As she swayed, her slender waist and two snow-white legs, glimpsed beneath the slit gown, made Victor’s mouth dry and his mind blank.

When she drew near, Victor’s gaze shifted from the deep, white valley of her décolletage to her feet, where crystal-pink nails shimmered on skin like jade, dazzling him further.

“What are you thinking, Victor?” the countess murmured, her delicate hand resting on Victor’s chest, eyes full of spring.

“Countess, I...”

“Call me Sylvia,” she whispered, covering Victor’s lips with her snowy hand. Turning her body, she took his arm and led him into the room. “I hear Sophia once invited Lady Ariel, chief court lady, to instruct you in etiquette. Let us discuss courtly manners before the banquet.”

Victor’s memories of Lady Ariel’s lessons were filled with techniques for pleasing women; the lady often even invited masked beauties as teaching aids.

Though the young baron was not unacquainted with the debauched ways of nobles, the current Victor was an impostor, and such seductive scenes left him powerless, forced to let Sylvia take the lead.

Outside, Nicole heard intermittent sighs and soft singing from within. Her face alternated between red and pale; stamping her foot, she strode out toward the manor gates.