The Brave Man is Confused About the Banquet

Syldra straightened calmly, turning slightly with Rosetta to bow politely to the gathering in the inner chamber.

Yet, still unaccustomed to the feminine grace of noble etiquette, her foot nearly caught beneath her skirt—she barely steadied herself in time. No one noticed.

…… A misstep here would have been a disgrace to House Lentiya.

“My dear niece is so young, yet already carries herself like a true representative…” Duke Wylding chuckled, his smile that polished, practiced expression of nobility—warm, yet revealing nothing of his true thoughts. “Truly, I envy Lord Lentiya for having such an outstanding daughter.”

“Father, are you teasing me now~?” Lakazet, who had guided Syldra and Rosetta in, circled around to her father’s side and looped her arm through his. “I’m not that bad, and besides—it’s only natural for Lady Lentiya to be exceptional~”

Her playful, almost petulant tone drew another round of laughter from the guests.

Among them were redheads, green-haired, blondes—none with black hair.

Syldra smiled along, scanning the circle.

…... Samael was truly absent.

—Was this some kind of internal family meeting?

“Now that everyone has gathered—Your Grace, Duke of Wylding,” spoke the man beside the Duke, “we’ve all come together for the rare joy of celebrating your nation’s 80th anniversary.”

Syldra turned toward the voice. The man appeared a vigorous middle-aged figure—imposing in military regalia, broad-shouldered, standing ramrod straight. His deep voice carried authority. Thick, vibrant red hair was tied back, adding to his commanding presence. As he spoke, the others fell silent, attentive.

This man was from the Central Imperial Court.

Syldra was certain.

With an imperial representative present—and every attendee a duke or ducal heir—the nature of this gathering was clear: a private, closed-door affair among kin.

“The Empire will always stand with the Duchy of Wylding,” the man declared, his voice booming. The hem of his ceremonial robe swayed with each word. “Before I departed, His Majesty entrusted me with a message—he wished to attend personally, to celebrate and strengthen our familial bond. Alas, imperial duties bind him. But should Your Grace face any distress, inform the throne. The Empire will answer.”

“…… On behalf of my house, I express our deepest gratitude to His Majesty and to all esteemed representatives,” Duke Wylding replied smoothly, raising his wine glass with a composed smile. “To the Emperor—this humble servant drinks.”

At once, the others raised their glasses as well.

Syldra’s breath caught. Instinctively, she began to lift her hand—then remembered, quickly tucking her fingers into her skirt and offering a slight bow.

Rosetta mirrored her motion precisely.

“Esteemed representatives,” Syldra said softly, “House Lentiya and my father remain ever grateful for the Emperor’s benevolence. We join in this toast—but as I am still young, I cannot partake in wine. I pray none misunderstand House Lentiya’s loyalty.”

“—No need for concern, Lady Lentiya-Syldra,” the imperial representative replied, gripping his small goblet in a large, calloused hand. “The Emperor understands House Lentiya’s intent.”

Tch—!

A cold bead of sweat traced Syldra’s temple. She glanced at Duke Wylding, elegantly sipping his wine—and then at Lakazet, standing dutifully behind him, head modestly lowered.

…… He knew someone her age couldn’t drink. That such behavior would tarnish a noble’s dignity. Yet he still initiated the toast—forcing her into an awkward position.

Duke Wylding did it on purpose! To make House Lentiya look foolish before the imperial envoy and other dukes!

It was petty—no real consequence, just enough to make the Central Court view Lentiya as slightly less agreeable. Typical intra-clan power maneuvering.

But the fact that someone would use such underhanded tactics at every opportunity—

Syldra felt a sudden surge of disdain for the Duke of Wylding.

After the first round of toasts, the conversation drifted into dull political matters.

Syldra greeted the elders formally, then engaged in light talk with nobles who approached her.

Being seen as a child had its advantages. When questioned about sensitive family affairs or subtly probed, she could deflect with vague, polite answers.

Raised as an heir, trained by the Duke of Lentiya himself, she was a master of noble evasion.

She’d attended far more treacherous banquets—tense, high-stakes gatherings between rival empires where every word was a dagger. Compared to those, this “family-only” event was tame—just minor scheming and passive aggression.

…… Still, when was the last time she’d sparred verbally with cunning aristocrats like this?

Even this felt nostalgic.

As Syldra deftly navigated conversations with people twice her apparent age, responding flawlessly, she couldn’t help but reflect inwardly.

…… Through idle chatter, she gathered fragments of information.

All attendees were influential figures within Aetelarma—southern dukes with close ties, rising northern houses strengthened by strategic marriages, long-standing imperial favorites.

This wasn’t just a celebration. It was likely a covert internal conference—organized by Duke Wylding, tacitly approved by the imperial center.

…… Once the elders settled into deeper discussions, the younger generation naturally grouped together—sons and daughters chatting about typical youth topics.

Even among them, Lakazet was the youngest sister. Syldra, even younger, was practically a child.

Only one girl remained near her: the timid daughter of Stante, who had greeted her earlier.

Though she spoke little, her quiet presence served as the perfect cover for Syldra’s racing mind.

Seated on an expensive crimson leather sofa, Syldra exchanged soft words with the girl while her thoughts surged.

…… An internal Aetelarma meeting—and no representative from Camille.

If Wylding intended to announce an alliance with Camille in two days, they clearly meant to bring Camille under their sphere of influence.

So why—why was there no Camillian representative at this crucial internal gathering?

That made no sense.

In noble politics, even for internal marriages, you test the waters. You make subtle moves, observe reactions, gauge opposition. Only if most factions respond neutrally—or favorably—do you proceed.

Otherwise, if early signs provoke suspicion or resistance, the plan collapses under collective sabotage.

Bringing Camille’s heir—Samael—into this meeting would have been the perfect, logical way to test the court’s reaction.

Yet he was absent.

Syldra couldn’t fathom it.

Precisely because the engagement was a secret, it needed internal pre-approval!

In an empire as complex as Aetelarma, any plan pushed without majority support—and without allies prepared in advance—would fail the moment it went public.

—Why? Why would Duke Wylding do this?

“Sister Syldra?”

Suddenly, a soft, hesitant voice cut through her thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?”

The daughter of Stante stared at her, unblinking.