Chapter 112: The Great Banquet (4)

Chapter 112: The Great Banquet (4)

"...?"

Vikir's mouth dropped open slightly in disbelief.

Hugo, the patriarch of the family and organizer of the Great Banquet, had been watching his siblings argue with an amused expression on his face.

The Boston Terrier and the Great Dane continued to argue.

Both dogs are normally more likely to bite than bark, but in Hugo's presence, they seem to be restrained.

Vikir studied Hugo's expression.

'...Why is he smiling like that? No way.'

It didn't take him long to come to a conclusion.

Every day in Baskerville, there are fierce battles.

Patriarch. Below him, under the umbrella of the Seventh Count, there are countless lines, each with its own independent factions.

Beyond the shadows, assassinations, framings, duels, mergers, acquisitions, and deals are made in a bloody game of nerves and politics.

It's not uncommon for one faction to keep another in check, and Hugo, the pinnacle of the Ironblade family, is no exception.

It's his job to keep an eye on his half-brothers and sisters who are rising in power within the family, as well as those from outside the family.

Ironically, the brother he should be closest to is the most feared enemy within the Baskervilles.

Hugo's greatest enemy, then, was the Seventh Count.

A fight between a Boston Terrier and a Great Dane would eventually lead to a split in the Count's ranks, which in turn would lead to more power for the Patriarch.

So Hugo probably wouldn't condemn this kind of power struggle among the counts.

In fact, he would likely encourage it.

"A cunning man, indeed."

Vikir clicked his tongue.

Suddenly, Hugo's eyes shifted to Vikir.

When Vikir lowered his gaze to his plate, Hugo spoke in a low voice.

"It's good to see my son being recognized."

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Vikir looks up and sees Hugo's face, still wearing an extremely faint smile.

It's an extremely faint smile.

As Vikir stood there dumbfounded, Butler Barrymore sneaked up behind him and whispered in his ear.

"It is said that all seven of the Counts wished to attend the great banquet, all to see you, though the other five were too far away to come."

"... Is that so?"

"The patriarch seems to be in a good mood, seeing his usually high-minded and dutiful siblings so restless. I wonder whose child you are."

Vikir turned his head again.

...So that smile wasn't just him taking pleasure in seeing his siblings' division?

That he was actually happy to see his son recognized?

"It can't be."

Vikir shook his head.

Not Hugo, who had no blood or tears.

Vikir shook his head and tried to focus on the meal.

Soon, the meal began to enter its main course.

One main dish after another.

It didn't take long before the table was set with an enormous feast.

"Thank God it's not haggis anymore."

Vikir felt a little better knowing that he wouldn't have to eat the tasteless, filling haggis anymore.

Meanwhile.

He simply raised his hand and placed it still on the table.

"...."

There was a slight pause.

Then, after a long moment of silence, Vikir's mouth opened.

"I think Uncle Dane's steak is slightly undercooked."

At the same time, Vikir turned his head to look at the Boston Terrier.

"Uncle Terrier has too much wine in his glass."

With that, the Boston Terrier and the Great Dane looked at each other's steaks and wine.

Then.

Something amazing happened.

Tsk, tsk, tsk...

Vikir's hand twitched, and the utensils on the table rattled slightly.

The Boston Terrier and the Great Dane immediately took their hands off the table.

The mana from Vikir's body was flowing onto the table.

And then.

A strange phenomenon occurred before the two counts' eyes.

chiiiiig...

The Great Dane's steak began to sizzle and cook.

Nothing changed around them, but only one side of the steak was being cooked by the intense heat.

The blood dried and steam rose.

The steak had gone from rare to well-done.

"...Hurr."

The Great Dane picked up his fork.

The fork was right next to the plate of steak, but it wasn't hot at all.

He dug in, and the meat was firm, with just the slightest hint of charring.

Meanwhile.

"Kahahahaha!"

The Boston terrier was also laughing, looking at the glass of wine in front of him.

Bubbling, bubbling, bubbling...

The wine in the silver goblet boils purple.

In the blink of an eye, the wine turned to vapor and disappeared, sending a sweet smell throughout the banquet hall.

The bubbling wine reached the waist of the goblet and stopped boiling.

Exactly half of it had vaporized and disappeared.

Just by placing his palm on the table, he cooked meat and brewed wine.

He could touch things and channel mana into them, causing them to explode exactly where he wanted them to.

What would happen if that was applied to swordsmanship?

You would be able to channel mana into your sword and produce an aura of the desired strength and viscosity at the desired point.

And that's what the world calls it.

"Graduator."

Before Swordmaster. The most mature stage a great swordsman can reach. They symbolize the power of the Empire.

Vikir was an intermediate Graduator, a level that even the geniuses of Baskerville could only reach around the age of thirty-five.

A seventeen year old Intermediate Graduator. The youngest ever.

It was enough to shatter all official records of the Baskervilles up to this point.