[Possible Space-Time] Beneath the Feast

Inside the banquet hall, a huge crystal chandelier illuminated every inch of the space, where elegantly dressed people mingled and clinked glasses. The light flowed and refracted among countless crystal glasses and silk gowns, weaving a lavish and bustling dreamscape.

Serie sat down at a large round table covered with a snow-white tablecloth, the hem of her platinum gown flaring out like flower petals. Her back was straight, her posture elegant, and her gaze calmly swept across the shimmering hall.

Sense stood slightly behind her, her long brown hair tied into a neat ponytail at the back of her head. Her expression was calm, and a few strands of hair quietly separated from her cascade, like delicate tentacles with independent life, winding and curling up a glass of deep red wine on a waiter's tray not far away, and steadily handing it to Serie.

Serie took the wine glass, her fingertips gripping the slender stem, and gently swirled it. The wine rippled softly within the glass.

"I am extremely grateful."

Sense didn't speak. Another strand of brown hair reached towards the dessert table beside him, precisely scooping up a delicate cake decorated with bright red strawberries and cream frosting, and steadily holding it in front of Serie. Her face remained calm, but her usually droopy eyes were now slightly raised, her eyelashes casting faint shadows in the overly bright light of the room, revealing a hint of docility that contradicted her cold expression, like a little maid.

Would you like some cake?

"Of course I'll eat it."

Serie scooped out a piece with her silver spoon and put it in her mouth. The cream was smooth, the cake was soft, and the sweet and sour taste of the strawberries was just right. She squinted her eyes in satisfaction.

At another table not far away, Frieren had started eating even earlier.

Two empty porcelain plates were already in front of her, and half of the cake in the third plate was gone. Her silvery-white hair swayed slightly as she bent down to eat, and her cheeks puffed out.

"This cake is delicious."

Sein sat beside her, holding a barely touched glass of juice. He glanced at Frieren's focused profile as she ate, then at the elegantly dressed, laughing crowd around them, his expression complex.

"Really? It's clearly fraught with danger, yet you seem to be enjoying your meal so much."

Frieren didn't look up, scooped up another spoonful and put it in her mouth. A little cream got on the corner of her mouth.

Fern silently took out a clean handkerchief from her small bag, reached out, and naturally wiped the cream from the corner of Frieren's mouth.

Frieren let her wipe her mouth, her chewing motions continuing, her voice slightly muffled.

"Fern... Ouch... Please wipe gently... Fern, won't you eat something... Ouch... Sein has already tried it, it's not poisonous."

"It was identified using identification magic. I'm not the kind of person who would risk my life to test something..." Sein couldn't help but reply.

Fern wiped her hands clean, folded the handkerchief, and put it away. Her pale purple eyes swept across the hall, carefully examining every face and every shadow, her brows furrowing slightly.

"... Lady Frieren, this situation is not what I expected."

"Kindness?"

"Isn't this a den of dragons and tigers?"

Frieren finally stopped spooning and turned to look at her. Her emerald green eyes were clear and calm.

"What are you talking about, Fern? This place is a den of dragons and tigers!"

Fern was silent for two seconds. She raised her hand, her fingertips tracing a few lines in the air, and a faint purple magical light outlined several simple, constantly changing images—several tall, indistinct figures confronting each other in the shadows, talking in hushed tones, their gestures intense, as if they were about to draw their swords at each other at any moment, resembling several gangster bosses conducting an unspeakable transaction.

"... I thought it would be like this," she said softly.

Frieren glanced at the image she had conjured, shook her head, and continued eating her cake.

"How could that be? Fern's imagination is running wild. This is a national banquet, after all, and the assassins aren't from the Empire's own forces. It's bound to be lively. Let's wait and see what they do."

She swallowed the food in her mouth, and her voice became clearer.

"This plan is good. We have a profile of the other side, so we can react immediately. Some intelligence can only be obtained by striking back."

Her gaze fell on the brown-haired figure standing by Serie's table. Sense was still standing there, tall and straight, his long hair cascading down his back, his face expressionless, only occasionally using strands of hair to fetch Serie new snacks and drinks. Every movement was steady, precise, and without any unnecessary actions.

"Sense's calmness in devising the plan reminds me of when she was First-Class Mage examiner," Frieren said softly. "That's probably why Serie entrusted this operation to her command."

Fern followed her gaze.

"Lady Frieren, I was just about to ask," she turned back, "Since we have the portrait, why don't we strike first?"

Frieren picked up the glass and took a sip of water.

"That sounds like something Serie would say, so full of youthful vigor." She put down her cup. "But this isn't the wilderness, or some sparsely populated place. This is a banquet, with many guests. Even if we confirm that the other party is Shadow Warriors, the others here—those nobles—might not know. And..."

Her gaze drifted, intentionally or unintentionally, to the edge of the banquet hall, near the shadows cast by the massive pillars and curtains. There stood several people in dark uniforms, their postures impeccable, their uniforms clashing with the surrounding opulent attire. They stood silently, their gazes like an invisible net, covering every corner of the hall.

"The Magical Special Forces will also take action." Frieren withdrew her gaze, her voice steady. "If the Continental Magic Association tarnishes this ball that symbolizes peace and prosperity, even by causing a minor disturbance, it could be interpreted as a provocation, potentially triggering a full-blown conflict. Therefore, even if you know the other party harbors ill intentions, within the framework of national laws and diplomatic etiquette, and without solid evidence and open provocation, you absolutely cannot take the initiative."

She scooped up another spoonful of cake.

"So, why not eat some cake to replenish your energy? If you really can't relax," she glanced at the couples twirling on the dance floor, "Just go dancing. It'll make the enemy think you've let your guard down."

Fern glanced at the dancers, their clothes fluttering and smiles perfect, and immediately shook his head.

"I think I'll have some cake instead."

She picked up a piece of untouched pastry and ate it in small bites. Her movements were refined, but her eyes remained wary.

On the other side, at Serie's table.

Sense then used his hair to roll up a small piece of honey-drizzled pastry and handed it to Serie. Serie took it naturally, took a bite, and the pastry crunched softly.

There was almost no conversation between the two. One fed the other naturally, and the other ate with ease. Sense's face still had that calm, slightly weary expression, but his posture and every "handover" gesture revealed a steady focus.

Not far away, in the shadows against the wall, two men dressed in dark uniforms of the Magical Special Forces stood ramrod straight. Their hat brims were pulled down slightly, but their eyes were sharp.

One of the blond, younger-looking team members glanced at Serie and whispered to his dark-haired companion beside him:

"Look, Glau. They're enjoying the ball."

The black-haired team member called Glau did not look away, his gaze remaining straight ahead, but his lips moved slightly.

"We're being 'enjoyed' too. They've been watching us since we came in."

His gaze inadvertently met that of Sense, who was turning his head to look in their direction.

Glau's expression didn't change much, but he immediately waved to Sense as if they were very familiar with each other.

Sense looked at him, her face expressionless. Then, she casually raised her fingers, which were resting at her side, and made a throat-slitting motion as if she were just moving them across her neck.

Glau understood, his lips curled downwards, and he turned his gaze away.

"Ah, just as unfriendly as the rumors say."

The blond team member Rega, shrugged, the shoulder line of his uniform wrinkling slightly with the movement.

"Yeah, only a fool would want to be in charge of guarding a place like this. Why were we specifically sent here as reinforcements?"

"Alright, stop complaining," Glau said calmly. "Before the battle begins, we just need to stand by. As long as nothing goes wrong, we don't need to intervene."

Rega turned his head to the side, a hint of absurdity flashing in his eyes beneath the brim of his hat.

"Huh? A battle? Who would be foolish enough to challenge the Continental Magic Association at a royal palace ball?"

"We're one of those 'fools.' Haven't we heard of Sense before? Besides, even putting aside what happened before, the current orders from above are to monitor and prepare to intervene in all illegal armed conflicts, including the Continental Magic Association."

Rega was silent for two seconds, then let out a short, soft chuckle.

"Haha, should I hurry up and write my will? To be honest, I don't want to die yet."

Glau tilted his head slightly and glanced at him.

"That's not a funny joke for me."

Deep within the palace, in the command center of the Magical Special Forces.

The air here was completely different from the glitz and glamour of the banquet hall; it was cold and quiet, with only the low-frequency hum of the communication magic device in operation.

Kanon stood in front of the large desk, his back straight.

Fres stood with her back to him in front of the huge French windows. Outside, the palace courtyard was a meticulously manicured night view, but her gaze seemed to be fixed on something far away. She wore a crisp, dark blue commander's uniform, her short blond hair was neatly combed, and the pince-nez glasses on her nose reflected a cold light.

"My investigation shows that all files, records, and personnel lists related to the 'Shadow Warriors' organization were systematically destroyed or transferred when the organization was officially disbanded sixteen years ago. Currently, no valid records remain in the Imperial archives."

Fres did not turn around.

"Of course I know they were disbanded. That's why I asked you to investigate in detail."

"I did conduct a thorough investigation," Kanon said calmly, repeating his conclusion, "There are no records. It's as if this organization never existed in the first place."

Fres remained silent for a few seconds.

Then, she slowly turned around. Her face bore the deep lines etched by time and decisiveness, and her golden eyes, through her glasses, fell on Kanon's face. Her gaze was calm, yet carried a heavy pressure.

"So," she began, her voice low and each word carefully chosen, "That's your conclusion? 'No records'?"

Kanon met her gaze, his expression remaining unchanged.

"Yes. Based on the official imperial archives that are currently accessible within our current authority, that is the conclusion."

Fres stared at him for several seconds. The command room was so quiet you could hear your own breathing.

"Okay," she finally said, turning back to face the window. "That makes sense. If the Shadow Warriors were so transparent, leaving traces everywhere they went, they wouldn't have been established in the first place, and there would have been no need to disband them later."

Kanon stood silently, awaiting the next command.

"So," Fres's voice came again, calm and even, "Without knowing the Shadow Warriors's exact appearance, name, or current identity, won't this affect your security duties tonight?"

"As you wish, everything is at your command. Currently, we have established surveillance over all major passageways, entrances, and high points within the palace, with the central banquet hall as the core. The security perimeter is in place."

He paused for half a second, then continued his report.

"However, given the large number of guests tonight, the diverse backgrounds, and the presence of many local nobles and their entourages, we cannot completely rule out the possibility of infiltration. Therefore, based on known intelligence, the Shadow Warriors' target is Serie, the president of the Continental Magic Association. We have adjusted our deployment, focusing our surveillance on the area where Serie and her entourage are located. If a battle breaks out in that area, we can intervene immediately."

Fres tilted her head slightly.

"Immediately?"

Kanon will fix it immediately.

"We will intervene immediately upon your [order]."

Fres nodded, her gaze still fixed on the distant night outside the window.

"Good."

She didn't say anything else.

Kanon remained at attention, waited a few more seconds, and after confirming there were no further instructions, raised his right hand, lightly touched the brim of his hat with his fingertips, gave a brief military salute, then turned and walked steadily away from the command room.

The door closed silently behind him, leaving the cold silence of the command room and the illusory night view outside the window to the female commander who stood alone once again.

Fres stood alone by the window, her straight figure reflected in the large pane of glass and the empty, cold room behind her. She raised her hand and gently pushed up her glasses with her gloved fingertips.

Behind the glasses, golden eyes gazed out the window at the palace outlined by lights, and the deep, boundless night in the distance, remaining motionless for a long time.