As the afterglow of the setting sun was about to sink below the horizon, distant, desolate drums sounded through the empty banquet hall, pulling everyone into a magnificent battlefield in an instant.
Traditional Asgardian music was the horn that sent warships sailing and the drumbeat that saw mighty divine warriors off to war.
The art developed by the oldest military state in this universe carried sharp killing intent without exception. The colder it was, the grander it became; the grander it became, the more deeply it shook the heart.
The atmosphere in the lavish, splendid ballroom froze the instant the urgent music began.
The coldness and calculation so carefully hidden behind the guests' radiant smiles flowed forth with the rough plucking of strings. As soon as the drums left a single beat empty, countless elegant figures stepped onto the dance floor with civilized dance steps.
Shoe tips were like swords, skirts like blades. Beneath the feast of an even broader arena of fame and profit, there were bound to be even more hidden currents.
Pair after pair smoothly danced the fashionable steps currently popular in interstellar society. Hela's black hair had barely brushed Stark's shoulder when another pair behind them swept past the edge of the dance floor.
Loki was unusually dressed in the off-the-shoulder pure white gown commonly worn by Asgardian goddesses. The long hair at her temples was braided into several fine plaits, forming a complete circle at the back of her head and gathering a few flowers still beaded with dew. The rest of her hair cascaded down like a waterfall.
Schiller wore traditional British formal attire. Even in human society, this was among the most formal of dress, and paired with a monocle hanging from a fine gold chain, it made him seem even more old-fashioned.