Brave man, attend the banquet

The political marriage between the Duchy of Camille and the Duchy of Wylding was… deeply strange.

Syldra didn’t know much about Camille, but the Duke of Wylding was a blood relative of the Aetelarma imperial family. Though less influential than Lentiya, to outsiders, “Wylding” still symbolized noble lineage—imperial blood.

If the Duke’s son married beneath his station, it might be tolerated—so long as he remained heir and the family’s influence endured, his status would remain secure.

But Lakazet wasn’t just any daughter. She was the Duke’s daughter, just like Syldra.

Even after marriage, she would represent House Wylding. She carried its name, its power—and was expected to wield it.

She couldn’t just marry anyone. A union like this could only mean one of two things:
“I will use you to gain greater advantage,”
or
“I will absorb you—your strength will become mine.”

…… Camille fell amid “factional struggles.” Wylding survived. Yet later, when Samael marched north, he specifically diverted his army to crush Wylding.

At that thought, a cold shiver ran up Syldra’s spine.

Her mind raced—then snapped into clarity. She gently pulled her hand from Lakazet’s grip.

“—A betrothal? Congratulations, Sister!” she said with a bright smile. “What a delightful surprise for everyone at the banquet—the Duke of Wylding’s daughter pledging her vows before honored guests.”

Her words sounded warm, sincere—even joyful.

But her thoughts were ice.

Only someone raised in nobility, groomed since childhood as an heir, could wear such a flawless mask.

“Thank you, Miss Lentiya!” Lakazet beamed, pulling Syldra into a tight hug. The overwhelming perfume enveloped her completely. Syldra coughed and tapped Lakazet’s arm urgently.

“Ohohohoho~ Sorry, Miss Lentiya! I’m just so happy to have the blessing of House Lentiya!” She released her, laughing her signature highborn laugh.

“Now I can finally breathe easy. Oh, thank goodness. At first, I was afraid you were like those petty older sisters—jealous of me, deliberately seeking out Samael.”

“Sister misunderstands. My encounter with Lord Camille’s heir was purely accidental.”

Syldra smiled along, shifting smoothly into idle chatter about trivial matters.

A short while later, Rosetta returned. Lakazet took Syldra’s hand and led both girls toward the tenth floor.

…… As they walked, Lakazet glanced at Syldra—her slightly shorter frame, her composed profile.

This girl… is she really only fourteen?

She was nothing like the other noble girls Lakazet knew. Too sharp. Too polished.

Lakazet, who had seen countless noblewomen, couldn’t find a single flaw in her demeanor.

Clever. Mature. Impeccable.

Unsettling.

But no matter—so long as she didn’t interfere with her marriage to Samael.

…… Dealing with that man was already difficult enough. If more complications arose in these final days…

At the thought, her expression darkened slightly.

Syldra noticed it instantly.

She was thinking too.

At first, she’d assumed Lakazet came because the Duke of Wylding had a message for the Duke of Lentiya—sent through his daughter as a discreet channel.

But Lakazet’s words felt personal—spoken as a woman, not a noble.

How credible was her stance?

Could Syldra possibly believe this marriage was truly voluntary? She’d sooner believe Samael had torn her apart with his bare hands.

And then there was last night’s scene—burned into her memory.

In the shadowed grove outside, Samael on one knee, pleading. Lakazet standing coldly above him. Then—the slap.

What had he been begging for?

What had she refused?

—Did this engagement even happen in the end?

…… If this marriage was tied to a political conspiracy that ultimately destroyed Camille—and Samael sought revenge because of it—then it aligned perfectly with what she’d learned.

But.

—If Samael’s war was only because marrying Lakazet led to Camille’s fall… why did his campaign engulf the entire northern world, merely detouring to destroy Wylding?

His motive must run deeper than this single marriage.

New clues. At last, a thread.

Still… what were the odds? Syldra inwardly scoffed.

Of all the ways to restart—she just happened to meet Samael, and uncover critical fragments of his past?

…Holy Father above. Since I’ve been granted a second chance—

This time, I will prevent that despair from coming to pass.

Syldra steeled her resolve.

Before long, the three arrived near the banquet hall.

Syldra spotted several representatives from major Aetelarma ducal houses at the entrance—sons and daughters accompanied by stewards, even a few Dukes themselves.

Music and conversation intertwined. Occasional clinks of glasses echoed from within. Shifting lights painted their faces in surreal hues.

Seeing these familiar faces, Syldra felt a wave of nostalgia—memories of past banquets flooding back.

One thought surfaced: The highest-ranking guests are probably already inside, speaking with the imperial representative. Anyone still lingering out here… are they just low-tier nobles?

It was inevitable—returning to this world reawakened the deepest instinct in her blood: an aristocrat’s sensitivity to every nuance of rank, posture, and power.

Lakazet guided them through the opulent hall toward the inner chamber where the Duke of Wylding waited, introducing Syldra to several local dignitaries along the way.

Syldra exchanged brief greetings, but in her absentmindedness, she bowed with the male noble’s gesture—hand to shoulder, slight nod—just as Samael had done that morning.

The dignitaries didn’t react. Not a flicker. As if nothing she did could ever surprise them.

…… Only after passing them did Rosetta quietly point it out.

Syldra sighed. If a member of the Central Imperial Family greeted them like that, they’d probably break into applause even if they did a backflip in midair.

The inner chamber lay deep down the second-floor corridor.

As Syldra entered, she recognized several prominent figures immediately.

Northern nobles she’d known well as Ludwig—including the Duke of Stante and his daughter—had been watching her since she appeared at the hall’s entrance. Others in lavish attire cast curious glances her way.

“Wylding, looks like your little niece has arrived,” boomed the Duke of Stante—a broad-shouldered man with a bushy brown mustache. “The one you’ve been raving about!”

“Lord Stante, you flatter me,” replied the tall, slender man at the center of the room. His face was thin, almost gaunt, but he smiled warmly toward the door. “Young cousin from Lentiya has come all this way. Forgive this uncle for not greeting you personally at the gate.”

This was the Duke of Wylding.

“Uncle Wylding,” Syldra said, lifting her skirt in a graceful curtsy, prompting soft laughter from the Duke.

But her mind wasn’t on pleasantries.

As she lowered her eyes, her gaze swept the room.

…… Where is Samael?