The Banquet Invitation and a Frightened Maid

Inside a small banquet hall, measuring twenty feet wide and thirty feet long, Sir Kovan and Friar Paine, the court physician, sat along the longer sides of a dining table, which was four times its width, leisurely sipping wine from their goblets and engaging in animated conversation.

A knock echoed from the wooden door.

Sir Kovan took a slow sip of his wine and drawled, “Come in.”

A five-foot-tall maid appeared at the banquet hall’s entrance; her head bowed respectfully, she announced, “Sir Kovan, Young Master Igor has been informed of the banquet.”

“Hmm,” Sir Kovan nodded. “Did you see him? Did he give you any instructions?”

The maid shook her head, deliberately omitting the detail that her hasty knock had provoked Igor earlier, for she dreaded Sir Kovan’s potential retribution.

“You may go.” Sir Kovan, deep in thought, waved the maid away.

“What occupies your thoughts, Sir?” Friar Paine, the court physician, seeing Sir Kovan lost in contemplation, could not help but feel a touch of curiosity.

This sudden display of inquisitiveness was a stark departure from the man who had been so taciturn while treating Ryan; it seemed only a personage of Sir Kovan’s standing could loosen his tongue.

“Oh, nothing at all!” Sir Kovan’s thoughts were interrupted by Friar Paine’s inquiry.

As he raised his head, a glint of shrewd calculation still lingered in his eyes.

That fleeting gleam, however, swiftly receded, sinking back into the profound depths of his cunning.

Sir Kovan offered a polite smile. “I hear you once made a pilgrimage to Rome?”

Friar Paine set down his goblet, clasped his hands, and, bowing his head to reveal his gleaming bald spot, rested his chin on his fist. “Indeed,” he affirmed, “it was on that very pilgrimage that I acquired my extraordinary medical skills.”

“Did you meet His Holiness, the Pope?” Sir Kovan subtly shifted to a more respectful address.

“I—I did,” Friar Paine stammered, yet after a drawn-out moment, he managed to deliver his reply in an even tone.

“What languages does His Holiness speak? Does this emissary of the Heavenly Father speak Slavonic?” Sir Kovan’s curiosity was palpable.

“His Holiness…” Friar Paine faltered.

He had no knowledge of any Pope, nor of the languages His Holiness might speak; his so-called Roman pilgrimage was merely an elaborate fabrication designed to inflate his own standing.

“As devout believers, we ought not to presume to speculate about the Ark’s navigator,” Friar Paine declared smoothly, deftly sidestepping the question.

“Oh, is that so?” Sir Kovan felt a flicker of displeasure.

He then inquired, “Will Ryan’s wounds heal completely after your treatment?”

Friar Paine chuckled. “I am employing the most conservative and gentle treatment,” he explained.

“By simply bleeding him half a bowl each day for seven days, the toxins within Ryan’s body will be completely expelled with the outflow of blood.

He will make a full recovery in a few months!”

Sir Kovan offered a perfunctory nod, sipping his red wine without another word, his thoughts remaining an inscrutable mystery.

****

“Noren, this castle is so drafty, damp, and chilling; it’s far less comfortable than your brick house in Ostrava,” Tolke remarked, meticulously surveying the stone room before plopping himself down on the edge of the bed. “The bed’s fabric isn’t bad, though it’s quite thick. I imagine it’ll be rather warm.”

After Noren and Tolke had briefly surveyed the castle walls, they returned near the gatehouse entrance, where they encountered a robust maid.

The maid informed them she was instructed by the Old Steward to lead them to their resting chambers.

They then entered the main building, traversed a corridor, ascended a spiral staircase, and after passing through another corridor, arrived at this room—

A room that was exceptionally enclosed and gloomy.

Though the room was quite spacious, perhaps twenty feet in length and width, it featured only a single, narrow vertical slit of a window, much like an archer’s loophole in a tower.

“Indeed, the castle’s interior offers less comfort than a manor, yet in times of war, a castle is undeniably safer,” Noren mused, peering out through the narrow window slit.

Her view was restricted, but from this vantage point, she could clearly see Hafdan and his men’s resting shelters, along with the numerous covered wagons.

“You’ll be sleeping here tonight.” Noren’s unexpected declaration startled Tolke.

“Huh?” Tolke blinked, his expression dumbfounded, then sprang from the bed with a sudden jolt, exclaiming, “Ah!”

“What’s with the ‘ah’?” Noren asked, eyeing Tolke askance, a puzzled frown on her face as she failed to grasp his exaggerated reaction.

She then explained, “This is someone else’s castle, so we must remain vigilant.

Your hearing is acute, and you’ll be the first to detect any unusual sounds.”

Ever since her unsettling encounter with a dwarf climbing through her window at the Osbrück estate, Noren had harbored a lingering unease.

She constantly feared someone might stealthily approach her while she slept, and having Tolke by her bedside offered her a measure of reassurance.

In the past, Noren had scoffed at the tale of Cao Cao’s habit of killing in his sleep, attributing it to the warlord’s inherently suspicious nature.

Now, however, as her own back began to ache from sitting and talking, she understood that true empathy often revealed the logic behind others’ actions.

“Esteemed sirs!” A maid’s high-pitched voice echoed from outside the door.

She had not knocked, and her voice was as abrupt as a venomous snake darting from the shadows.

“What is it?!” Noren replied loudly, her tone laced with anger.

She had been recalling the incident with the small dwarf climbing through her window, a memory that sent shivers down her spine.

The sudden female voice intensified that chill, simultaneously igniting a flicker of rage in her heart.

“Whimper… I-I-I’m here to inform the esteemed guests about the banquet,” the maid outside the door stammered, clearly startled, letting out a small, whimpering sound like a frightened animal.

“Sir K-Kovan has arranged a banquet to host the young masters and ladies,” the maid continued, “and I-I’m here to escort you to the banquet hall…”

“Very well!” Noren opened the door to find a diminutive maid gazing up at her timidly.

“Ah…” Noren’s flicker of anger dissipated.

‘What point was there in being angry with a mere maid?’ she mused, then gently stroked the girl’s head.

“Lead the way,” she said softly.

The little maid had been reprimanded for knocking abruptly when informing Igor, which was why she hadn’t dared to knock just now.

Yet, she hadn’t anticipated still angering the lady inside the room.

She was terribly frightened, yet to her surprise, this exquisitely beautiful lady merely stroked her head kindly, dismissing the matter with a smile, and showed no intention of punishing her.

In her years of service, the little maid had never once been caressed on the head by a noblewoman.

Even the Countess herself would only issue commands for various chores in a cold, distant tone.

Immediately, the little maid developed immense goodwill towards Noren.

If the Count represented a ‘terror value’ of 100 to her, then Noren, conversely, represented a ‘favorability value’ of 100.

Little Maid’s Favorability: +100 (Peerless Beauty, Forgiveness of Transgression)

“I-If you require anything, y-you may command me at any time,” the little maid suddenly offered, as she led the way.

Noren followed the little maid through the corridors.

Though she didn’t understand why the maid had suddenly spoken so, she replied softly, “All right!”

It might have been Noren’s imagination, but after her affirmative reply, the little maid’s footsteps seemed to lighten, even hinting at a slight skip.

Witnessing this, Noren’s face broke into a radiant smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and her red lips curving into an arc.

‘Cute little girl.’ Noren pursed her lips, smiling to herself.