Everyone immediately set down their wine glasses and plates, facing the high platform and bowing in salute.
Abel followed suit, lowering his head.
Beint III ascended the high platform, flanked by his guards.
This king, nearing fifty, wore a deep purple royal robe and a crown embedded with a massive blue sapphire, his face stern, his gaze sharp as an eagle’s.
His eyes swept over the entire hall, finally landing on Abel.
“Ladies and gentlemen.”
The king’s voice was deep and powerful.
“Tonight, we gather here for two reasons.”
The hall was utterly silent.
“First, to mourn the subjects who perished in yesterday’s disaster.”
The king’s voice lowered.
“Their lives will not have been lost in vain. The royal family has erected a monument in their memory and will forever remember their sacrifice.”
A brief solemnity.
“Second,” the king raised his head again, his voice becoming impassioned, “we must thank one person—a hero who, in the face of descending calamity, stepped forward, pitting mortal flesh against gods and demons to save this city!”
He extended his hand, pointing at Abel:
“Abel Noct, come forward.”
All gazes focused once more.
Abel steeled himself and walked to the front of the high platform under everyone’s eyes, kneeling on one knee: “Your Majesty.”
“Rise.”
The king descended the steps and personally helped him up—this action elicited another wave of low gasps.
“I have been fully informed of yesterday’s events.”
The king gripped his hand, his voice resounding.
“You not only saved the princess from assassins but also warned multiple times before the disaster struck, ultimately defeating the monster single-handedly and saving hundreds of thousands of subjects in the royal capital!”
He turned to the entire hall:
“For such merits, how should we reward him?”
No one dared respond.
The king looked back at Abel, his tone gentle: “Speak—what do you desire? A title? Lands? Wealth? Whatever you ask, I shall grant.”
Here it comes.
Abel took a deep breath, raised his head, and met his gaze calmly:
“Your Majesty, I want nothing.”
“Oh?”
“I saved people not for rewards.” Abel’s voice was clear and firm.
“It was simply the right thing to do.
Anyone with conscience and ability in my position would make the same choice.”
He paused, then continued:
“If Your Majesty truly wishes to bestow a reward, please give it to the families who lost loved ones in the disaster, to the injured commoners, to all those who contributed to the rescue efforts. They need it more than I do.”
The hall fell into complete silence.
Then, someone started clapping sporadic at first, then spreading like a tide, finally resounding throughout the entire banquet hall.
The king looked at Abel, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes—appreciation, regret, and a trace of imperceptible wariness.
“Very well.”
He finally said.
“Since you insist, I respect your choice. But remember—the kingdom will always be your backing.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
The king nodded and turned to address the hall: “Then, mourning is done, gratitude expressed.
Now—let us enjoy this night!”
The music resumed, this time a lively dance tune.
The king lingered on the high platform for a moment, exchanging brief words with a few great nobles before leaving the banquet hall.
His task was complete—publicly commending the hero, displaying the royal family’s magnanimity, consolidating the people’s hearts.
The rest was the nobles’ social time.
His presence would only make people restrained, which went against the banquet’s purpose.
However, this second son of Marquis Noct was quite interesting.
‘Is he truly in need of nothing, or does he have greater ambitions?’
“Lyle.”
“Yes, Father!”
“Later, go probe his true intentions.
I can’t count on your sister.”
“As you command.”
The second prince showed an amiable smile as he replied.
***
And Abel’s nightmare had only just begun.
The instant the dance music started, several hands extended toward him at once.
“Sir Abel, may I have the honor of the first dance?”
Prim’s voice carried an undeniable insistence.
“To bid farewell to our previous unpleasantness?”
She wore a low-cut gown, and as she spoke, she leaned closer to Abel, nearly half of her snowy, ample softness falling into his view.
Abel had to admit, the sight was quite captivating to his eyes.
“Sir Abel, I-I also want…”
Aiko’s voice was as faint as a mosquito’s buzz; she extended her hand as well, her cheeks red as ripe apples.
This was at Sephilia’s behest, but she herself was clearly not adept at such things.
“Abel~”
Sutis directly hugged his arm, her emerald eyes blinking rapidly.
“What’s dancing? Is it fun? I want to play!”
Damn girl, why join the chaos!
Abel would bet she didn’t even know what dancing was!
Sephilia didn’t extend her hand, but stood not far away, her orange eyes watching him with a smile—that look clearly said: Here’s a dilemma—which one will you choose?
Abel’s cold sweat soaked the shirt on his back.
He couldn’t dance.
He couldn’t dance social dances at all!
He had learned a bit as a child, but after over a decade, he had long forgotten it all.
Going up now would definitely result in stepping on a lady’s feet, then becoming the laughingstock of the entire royal capital—
“My apologies, everyone.”
A clear, cold, and melodious voice suddenly interjected.
The voice wasn’t loud, yet it strangely overpowered the music and noise, clearly reaching everyone’s ears.
A hand extended from the side, grasping Abel’s wrist without a word.
It was a hand so fair it was nearly translucent, with slender, long fingers, nails neatly trimmed, glowing with a healthy pink sheen.
On the wrist was a silver bracelet, radiating a crystalline, brilliant light.
Abel turned his head in astonishment.
Then, he saw her.
Silver long hair like a waterfall woven from moonlight, flowing with dazzling luster under the palace’s brilliant lights.
It traced elegant arcs in the air with her movements.
Her skin was white as fine porcelain, her features exquisitely unreal—slender brows, thick lashes, a high nose bridge, lips a faint cherry blossom pink.
Most striking were her eyes.
What eyes they were—silver pupils, as if stars rotated in their depths, carrying an ethereal, otherworldly quality when gazing at someone.
At this moment, those eyes were looking at Abel, filled with a shallow smile and a trace… of indescribable familiarity.
She appeared only fifteen or sixteen years old, wearing a simple white long gown of archaic style, without any excess decorations, yet it made her entire being like a lotus emerging from water—pure and peerlessly beautiful.
“His partner for the first dance is me.”
The silver-haired girl’s voice was calm, yet carried an unquestionable certainty.
With that, she gave no one time to react, pulling Abel’s wrist with a gentle tug—
Abel felt himself drawn over like a feather.
For some reason, Abel felt no inclination to refuse, as if the beauty’s words carried an irresistible meaning.
Spinning.
The lights stretched into brilliant lines in his vision.
Music flowed in his ears.
“Who is this woman!?”
Prim instantly erupted in fury.
Aiko’s little face also scrunched up, while Sephilia nearby showed a shocked expression, murmuring:
“Euphelia? No, the age doesn’t match… but, too similar… how can there be such a similar person?”