Eagle Claw Territory

"Yo—!" He leaped in front of Hoxi and shouted in an exaggerated chanting tone, "Well, well, look who dared trespass into Eagle Claw territory! Oh, my heavens, could this be... the legendary little piece of trash, Hoxi Atmesia, who studied for a whole three months and still couldn't even perform the most basic Holy Light Strike?"

Behind him, a fat attendant named Ferdinand immediately stomped his foot in support. "Mistress is right! This noble garden welcomes only respectable people who can recite the Eight Virtues of a Knight backward!"

He stomped too hard, slamming his toes into a stone jutting from the corner of the wall. With a pained howl, he clutched his foot and hopped on one leg.

The other fat attendant, Otto, clumsily imitated his mistress's movements. With a clatter, his sword fell to the ground.

Cyril completely ignored his two foolish lackeys. He poked Hoxi's coarse linen sleeve with one finger and said smugly, "You know, my dear Hoxi? Tonight's ball has invited every notable person in Plint Town—"

"—even that old goblin guarding the gate is on the guest list! But you?" He suddenly straightened up, shrugged theatrically, spread his hands, and wore a grin that mixed contempt with gloating.

"Tsk. Father said it himself: your name would ruin his ball!"

The moment he finished speaking, Ferdinand and Otto, who had just picked up his sword, immediately put their hands on their hips and burst into loud laughter on cue.

Otto's laugh was especially awful, like a goose being strangled.

"Well, Hoxi? How was my performance?" The cruel expression on Cyril's face vanished in an instant, replaced by the anxious, expectant look of a student.

Looking at the three living clowns before him, Hoxi helplessly rubbed his brow. "Excellent, Cyril. A perfect example of American Bullying."

"American? Is that the language of some lost kingdom or ancient elf tribe? It sounds strange..."

"Ah... well..."

Hoxi silently cursed his slip of the tongue.

He couldn't exactly say it was something from another world, could he?

So he could only begin spouting nonsense with a straight face.

"American refers to an exceptionally elegant and efficient form of performance art.

"Take the Holy Veronica Empire, for example. Back then, they used a series of treaties that seemed unreasonable but were actually full of Wisdom to make the regions brought under their wings not only lose any desire to resist, but support their rule even more fervently and willingly dedicate everything to them."

Pierre, another attendant, suddenly slapped his thigh and eagerly cut in. "Oh! I get it! Like the Goblin Resettlement Tax Oak Town collected last year! Those little green-skinned fellows not only didn't cause trouble, they're now fighting over jobs in the mines on the estate! So that's what American means!"

Cyril chopped Pierre on the head with the side of his hand. "You think you're so clever! That's the art of governing an estate! A mark of civilization and enlightenment! Got it?"

Looking at the three clowns, Hoxi suddenly remembered that tonight, Cyril's father, Baron Ul, lord of Plint Town, was holding a ball at the manor.

Baron Ul claimed it was to celebrate the harvest, and he had also demanded that Cyril perform an interesting act at the ball.

Over the past few days, Hoxi had chatted with Cyril a great deal in order to farm some points from him.

He had learned that despite carrying the title of the baron's son, Cyril rarely interacted with others and only liked tinkering with strange insect specimens.

But Hoxi felt the guy was not actually introverted. He simply liked immersing himself in his own world.

Baron Ul did not see it that way. As the sole heir to his title, he had higher expectations for Cyril.

And Federal Law clearly stipulated that only professionals could inherit noble titles.

Therefore, he had always been rather strict with his "introverted" son.

Cyril and his two clownish attendants, Ferdinand and Otto, were practically inseparable. They always reminded Hoxi of a blond young master and his two lackeys from a magical-world novel in his previous life, though Cyril was nowhere near as handsome as the one in the novel.

At the time, Hoxi had a sudden inspiration. He thought that having this introverted fellow perform a contrasting skit of "a spoiled young noble bullying commoners" at the ball might leave a deep impression and produce excellent results.

So, possessed by some strange impulse, he taught them this American Bullying routine.

But he had been far too busy these past few days and had forgotten all about the ball tonight.

He had not expected them to actually use this "act" for rehearsal.

"Cyril." Hoxi looked at the darkening sky. "The ball should be starting soon, right? Why are you still here?"

The arrogance Cyril had shown during his performance had vanished without a trace. He rubbed his hands awkwardly, and his voice lowered.

"Ferdinand said you'd definitely forgotten about the ball, or maybe you just didn't want to come... So the three of us... we thought we'd come call you."

Hoxi had not expected Cyril to think of him, and warmth stirred faintly in his heart. But he still said, "I really wasn't planning to go. You know my health isn't very good. A lively occasion like a ball isn't really suitable for me."

But Cyril was insistent. "You have to come! Otherwise... if our act goes badly, or something unexpected happens, who are we supposed to ask? You're the chief planner!"

As he spoke, he gave Ferdinand and Otto a meaningful look.

Ferdinand and Otto immediately caught on. One seized each of Hoxi's arms, and without another word, they dragged him toward the manor north of town.

"Hey! Wait! Bruce!"

Bruce immediately trotted after them, his dog face full of the excitement of someone eager to watch the commotion.

Watching Hoxi being carried away, Cyril followed behind them.

Father invited so many ladies tonight. He obviously wants to pick a fiancée for me from among them. I don't want to be tied down by an engagement so early!

Perfect. If I bring Hoxi along, with someone as dazzling as him there, who would keep all their attention on me?

Cyril felt that the Goddess of Wisdom had truly blessed him.

Eagle Claw Manor was brightly lit.

The melodious music gradually softened, and the once-noisy hall slowly fell quiet.

The townspeople, dressed in their finest clothes, stopped their conversations and turned their eyes toward the figure on the raised platform at the front of the hall.

"People of Plint, honored guests!"

"We have gathered in this hall not merely for delicious food, fine wine, and graceful dancing. More importantly, let us raise our cups together!"

He held his crystal goblet high. "Let us give thanks to this land beneath our feet that nourishes us! Give thanks to every farmer who toils diligently! Give thanks to the harmony of wind and rain, and the blessings of sunlight!

"It is this shared diligence and Heaven's favor that have brought us the joyful faces filling this hall and the abundance overflowing our granaries!"

"Today!" The baron's voice grew even more impassioned. "Set your worries aside for now! Let the cups remain forever full! Let the cheerful music never cease! Children of Plint, put down your hoes and spinning wheels! With your most beautiful smiles and your most dashing dances, offer our most passionate celebration to this harvest season!"

"For the harvest—!"

"For the harvest—!"

Warm applause and cheers erupted from the crowd.

Smiling, the baron stepped down from the platform and withdrew toward his study, though his gaze swept across the corners of the hall.