~Where the Weak Learns to Stand Among the Wolves~
The room was quiet again.
Kel sat upon the dark velvet sofa, the morning's training already absorbed and repurposed into strategic reflection. The flickering of the fireplace seemed to pulse with the same rhythm his root aura had begun to align with, slow and deliberate.
He rested an elbow against the arm of the sofa and leaned his chin upon a gloved knuckle.
I've attended dozens of banquets…
Not as Kel.
But as Vinay, the player behind the screen, observing through carefully written cutscenes and scripted NPC dialogue.
But this will be the first time I walk into one… not as a spectator, but as blood.
His gaze drifted toward the tall window draped in heavy maroon fabric trimmed with gold embroidery. Dawnlight had faded; afternoon bled slowly toward evening.
Banquets in Destiny always follow the same pattern.
He recited from memory.
Noble ladies gather in circles. They gossip first about dresses… then about people. Men speak of trade. Alliances. Quiet wars masked behind wine.
The cunning observe. The talented network. The powerful make silent shows of dominance.
He closed his eyes briefly.
If I cannot prove my worth with strength yet… I will prove it with intellect.
He opened them.
To survive a banquet without power, I must enter it as a strategist—not a participant.
Kel rose from the sofa.
His coat fell naturally around him, fabric whispering across polished stone. The pendant at his collar caught a fleeting glint of light.
He walked toward the bookshelf.
The shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, carved from ancient oak. Rows of leather-bound volumes rested in meticulous order. Kel's fingers ran along their spines until they stopped on a section rarely touched by his predecessor.
Politics. Etiquette. Strategic negotiations. Leadership philosophy.
He pulled three books free.
They slid into his hand like long-awaited tools.
He walked them to the table, laid them neatly, and opened the first.
"Noble Dynamics: Subtlety in Speech and Presence"
He flipped pages, reading with startling efficiency.
Maintain polite neutrality until your position is assessed.
Do not initiate "offer" unless an ally exists.
Respond with wisdom greater than your age, but never arrogance.
He smirked faintly.
Age-wise, I am twelve. Experience-wise? Over twenty playthroughs.
He turned the page.
"A noble's words must present three layers: what is said, what is unsaid, and what is intended."
Good. I understand that system already. Gaming forums can teach more than aristocrats sometimes.
He reached for the second book.
"Strategic Social Conversation in Imperial Courts"
— By Lady Arctea Velmont, Great Duchess of Southern Realms
He read deeper.
Ask about territories; allow them to speak of their power.
Offer insight subtly, but never dictate.
Know the names of their heirs and supporters. Know what they value.
Kel closed his eyes for a second.
Memories of NPC profiles restored from his gamer mind emerged.
Duke Harwin—supports military expansion.
Lady Victesse—values rare artifacts.
Lord Cadune—suspects corruption within royal council.
Count Meline—envies Rosenfeld's army strength.
He opened his eyes.
If these NPCs reflect the same logic as in game, I can predict at least 70% of their responses.
He turned the page.
His breathing slowed.
Another excerpt emerged.
"One who lacks power should not hide. They should reveal just enough potential for others to desire investment."
Kel's eyes flickered.
Interesting.
A faint translucent panel appeared before him—only visible to his eyes.
[Learning Efficiency Enhanced] You have acquired:
• Basic Aristocratic Etiquette (Passive)
• Strategic Dialogue Fundamentals (Intermediate)
Retention Quality: 93%
Estimated Conversational Adaptation during event: High.]
Kel blinked softly.
So the system recognizes learning from books as valid.
Good. Even without direct combat support, accumulation still works.
He continued reading.
A third book was now open.
"The Art of Masked Warfare — Negotiation When Holding No Sword"
Kel's expression darkened subtly.
He leaned back.
His inner voice whispered coolly.
I am cursed. My body too weak to stand among swords.
But words can cut too.
And tonight, I may need to wield them sharper than steel.
His fingers rested atop the closed book.
Father will return tonight. He will not expect anything from me.
The nobles will see me as the cursed heir, a forgotten piece. Some may mock. Some may avoid. Most will simply not notice me.
Good.
In the absence of attention, there is space to observe.
He lowered his gaze.
I do not need to shine.
I need to endure.
A faint tension rolled across his shoulders under the tailored coat.
That is how survival begins.
The translucent panel flickered once more.
[Side Note: Upcoming Event: "Grand Banquet — Return of the Dragon"
Threat Evaluation: Variable (Medium-High)
Recommended Action: Observe before participating. Engage only when necessary.
Potential Opportunity: Unlocked.]
Kel stared at the last line.
Potential Opportunity.
He looked out the window.
Snow had melted during the day.
Evening was approaching.
Light dimmed softly.
He closed the final book.
He stood.
"Enough."
His voice barely a whisper.
He walked toward the full-length mirror one last time.
He adjusted his cuffs. Smoothed the mantle. Fastened the emblem tighter.
No expression shifted.
Only his posture refined.
He looked at himself not as the cursed heir.
But as someone preparing to survive among nobility.
He extinguished the candle on his desk.
Light dimmed.
Only the fireplace remained, casting long shadows that crept along his tailored attire.
His eyes reflected in the mirror—
steady, unreadable.
Let them speak of beauty, of power, of alliances…
I will speak only when their silence becomes useful.
The window darkened.
The first evening bell resonated across the estate.
It sounded like distant war horns.
Kel looked toward the night sky outside—
where clouds began to gather.
The storm begins in silence.
He turned away from the mirror.
And walked toward the door.
Night arrived quietly.
Not with the fanfare of drums or the glamour of torches being lit across the estate…
but as a gradual surrender of daylight, where each passing minute dimmed the world into deeper shades of cold indigo.
In Kel's chamber, not a sound stirred.
The single lantern he allowed to burn swayed slightly with each whisper of air from the winter corridor. Shadows brushed over his formal attire—black, refined, and quiet—like the night itself tested its presence on him before releasing him into a world of eyes.
A soft knock.
Then another—gentle, controlled.
"Enter," Kel said.
The door opened soundlessly.
Marine stepped in.
Her presence was composed, but Kel noticed the way her fingers subtly tightened around the fabric of her uniform skirt. Even she felt tonight's weight.
"Young Master," she said with a small bow, "guests have begun entering the banquet. You should start making your way to the hall."
Kel rose from where he'd been standing near the window. In the fading daylight behind him, snowflakes drifted beneath torchlight, glowing softly like whispers of ancient worlds.
His expression remained calm. His posture immaculate.
But his next words were not those of a passive attendee.
"How many are expected to attend?"
Marine blinked—surprised by the directness. She composed herself.
"Approximately two hundred, Young Master. All northern noble houses are present, including strategic invitees from the Imperial Capital."
She hesitated slightly.
"…Some members of minor courtly branches as well, likely here to seek favor with your father."
Kel nodded slowly.
Two hundred witnesses.
Two hundred different eyes measuring worth.
"And among them," he continued, "who holds the highest sphere of influence?"
Marine thought for a moment, then answered:
"There are three of particular note. First, Lord Edric Frostborne, Count of Northwin Pass—known for trade control through the northern trade routes. Second, Lady Maelina Ravensong, advisor to the Crown's intelligence council. Third…"
She paused.
Kel turned his head slightly toward her.
"…His Highness the Fourth Imperial Prince, Adrian Aurelius."
Kel's gaze sharpened fractionally.
The Fourth Prince… Strong contender in future imperial politics. In the game, he kept a neutral stance. Neither ally nor foe unless provoked.
"And Father?" Kel asked.
Marine straightened.
"The Duke is expected to arrive within the hour. He may be introduced formally after the guests have settled."
Kel nodded once.
His eyes lowered. His gloved thumb traced lightly across his left palm.
His aura stirred faintly beneath his ribs.
So this is how the game board forms.
Not a banquet…
…a convergence of power evaluation.
Marine observed him carefully. Even without aura sensitivity, she sensed something shifting beyond what was visible.
"Young Master," she said softly, voice breaking the layering silence, "will you be… alright?"
Kel glanced at her.
The faintest flicker passed behind his eyes.
"Do not worry."
His words were steady.
"I am not going to fight."
He turned toward the door.
"…Only to be seen."
Marine watched him walk past.
For a moment, she forgot he was twelve.
Forgot he was cursed.
Forgot the whispers of pity that echoed in the chambers of House Rosenfeld.
The boy who passed her then…
walked like someone who had already survived something far greater than judgment.