The King's Banquet

His Majesty the king was holding a grand banquet for his ministers! To celebrate his recovery, he'd invited the nobles and officials to his palace for a meal. He said he'd been unwell recently and had done many foolish things, hurting everyone's feelings. So tonight, he'd prepared a banquet to make it up to them and soothe their wounded hearts. Who did he think he was fooling? That was the first thought that came to many people's minds when they received their invitations. None of those who had risen to high office were fools. What was the king up to? That was the question on everyone's mind.

"What is my uncle playing at?" The couple were murmuring about it in Azshara's villa.

"If there's food and drink, let's go. We've been worn out lately and could use a little nourishment. I hear the dishes are excellent," Azshara said breezily, wearing her usual carefree expression.

"Azshara, my dear, as your husband, I have to reprimand you. At such a delicate moment, how can you be so politically oblivious? You're a viscount of the kingdom, not to mention the wife of this Earl"—he'd been promoted—"and yet here you are, laughing away. I'm not blind. The High Priest's messengers and the king's messengers have been coming by in turns lately," Azar said, frowning.

"Relax, relax. I'm a woman, after all. I leave these things to my husband. With you around, what do I have to worry about?" Azshara didn't care at all about Azar's tone. She kept her carefree expression and even began to coax him playfully.

"Tell me honestly. You really haven't made any preparations at all?" Azar's tone grew serious.

"All right, all right. Don't be angry. I'll tell you, okay?" Seeing that her husband really was a little angry, Azshara turned to soothe him.

"I just don't think it's necessary. The mage corps listens to me, and the warriors listen to you. Your own troops may not be in the capital, but don't tell me those kids from back then don't listen to you anymore. So whatever happens, as long as we hold on to our military power, everyone will have to rely on us. What do you think, God of War?" Azshara said with confidence.

"I've made some arrangements, and I guessed you'd have prepared in advance too. But I still can't figure out how things are going to unfold. Do you know? This feeling of uncertainty, of having no control, is awful. I'm sorry, darling. I shouldn't have gotten angry with you." Azar gradually calmed down and apologized gently to his wife.

"It's not your fault. You're doing this for our family, for me, and for our child. You're a good husband, and you'll be a good father, too."

"What did you say? Do you mean I'm going to be a father?" Azar jumped around with excitement.

"That's right, my dear Earl. You look so silly. Hahaha!"

The king's grand banquet began as scheduled, and all the kingdom's most prominent figures were in attendance. Everyone was curious about how tonight's drama would unfold. The opening was certainly exciting: as soon as the guests were seated, the guards shut the palace doors. Everyone was startled. What was this about? No one had brought guards tonight. Was something serious really going to happen? Azar was one of the few who remained calm—not because he knew anything, but because his mind was elsewhere. Who was afraid of whom? He was thinking about his son. Indeed, he still hadn't regained his composure. But that was understandable. He'd become a father in his twenties back on Earth, and now he was over a hundred. By Earth standards, he'd have at least five generations of descendants by now. With his own bloodline continuing, he didn't care about anything, no matter how grave. So he lounged at ease, sipping the tea a maid had brought him and chatting idly with his wife beside him. Every so often, he exchanged a few words with another person who seemed just as relaxed. Who was it? The High Priest, of course.

"Azar, what's got you so happy?"

"Heh-heh. Azshara is pregnant."

"Oh, that's wonderful news. A man with a child should be all the more steady and responsible. Don't you think?"

"Of course. A father should take responsibility."

"What, husbands don't have to take responsibility for their wives?" Azshara chimed in at just the right moment.

"Of course they do. Our life will only grow sweeter, darling."

"Yes. After tonight, things will only get better," the High Priest said meaningfully.

"The king is here!" Before anyone could think further, their host had arrived, and the banquet began. The king first gave a long speech full of pleasantries, then told everyone to eat and drink their fill. He reassured them that he'd ordered the guards to shut the doors so their revelry wouldn't disturb the commoners. Did anyone believe that? I certainly didn't. Everyone was still uneasy, but with the king smiling broadly, no one dared say much. Before long, aided by the wine and the dancers, everyone was raising their cups and mingling. To an outsider, it must have looked like a scene of peace and prosperity. But we all knew that happy times never lasted; some things were bound to happen. After the king tapped his silver goblet three times, the music and dancing stopped, and the maids stood to one side. The guests looked toward the king and saw that his expression was stern, as if he had something to say. One by one, they returned to their seats and waited for him to speak.

"From the Great Migration onward, you've all followed me every step of the way. Tell me, have I ever treated any of you unfairly?"

"No, no! Your Majesty has treated us very well."

"But some people don't appreciate what they have. They're never satisfied."

"Your Majesty, what makes you say that?"

"Hmph. Do you think I was ill? That's right! I was ill, because someone tried to poison me!" The king's voice turned stern. The guests were all shocked. Who would dare do such a thing? Azar furrowed his brows too. Why hadn't Number 0 told him? Was his uncle making it up? Or was Number 0... His expression grew serious. If it was the latter, he'd have to be careful tonight. Perhaps he was a target, too. He glanced sideways at the High Priest, who sat silently with his eyes closed, his expression unreadable.

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"What do you think we should do with someone like that?"

"Kill him!" the guests roared indignantly. What a bunch of Oscar-worthy performers. They'd made it this far and were still putting on a show. Who was on whose side? No one was getting out of this tonight, were they?

"What do you think, High Priest?" The king's question was a weighty one. The guests weren't fools, and they immediately understood: he was going after the old man.

"Jabani, we've put on enough of a show. There's no need to be so sarcastic. We've been old friends for years. We both know who's who. I scheme against you, and you know it. You scheme against me, and I know it. We both understand why we scheme against each other. Everyone here is smart enough to see that, aren't they?" The High Priest slowly walked to the center of the hall and stood there, looking up at the king on his throne. His gaze was calm and resolute.

"You're right about all of that. But I never laid a hand on your son! Tell me why!" The king stood up in fury and roared at the High Priest.

"Don't make yourself sound so noble. Did you never plan to lay a hand on my son? We both know that neither of us could seize control of the state and the church while they were in our hands. Our only chance was to go after each other's children. Unfortunately, your son died in battle. By the time you decided to move against mine, it was already too late. Isn't that right?"

"Enough! You damned schemer, you butcher! I've had it with you. Today is the day you die! Guards! Seize him!" the king shouted. Several guards rushed in from outside and surrounded the High Priest. He didn't panic; he still looked as though he had everything under control. Azar was baffled. Things had gone this far, and he still looked so calm? Play your card already! The landlord has only one card left—you're about to win!

"You're just as impulsive as ever. I admire your foresight, but you're truly terrible at judging people." The High Priest spoke. His voice was as calm as ever, but his words were so shocking that some of the less composed guests nearly fell out of their seats. Clearly, those were the king's loyalists. Meanwhile, the guests who remained at ease were obviously on the High Priest's side. This was a great chance to see where everyone stood. As soon as the High Priest finished speaking, everyone saw a dagger pressed to the king's neck! The one holding it was the attendant who had been serving the king all along! What a twist. Even Azar hadn't seen it coming. He'd thought the king had just a slight advantage. In the instant he was distracted, the lead guard had tried to seize the High Priest, but he couldn't lift his hand! The others noticed the same thing. Azar, however, saw exactly what had happened. Ever since the High Priest had walked over, he'd kept moving his right little finger behind his back. He'd drawn an Immobilization Rune on the floor! The guards had been caught in it! No wonder he'd kept one hand behind him the whole time.

"Looks like I've won this round. The guards outside have all been replaced with my men, except for these few. It's not that I didn't want to replace them too; I needed you to walk right into my trap. A moment ago, you thought you had everything under control, didn't you? What do you have to say now?"

"You win. For old times' sake, tell me: who poisoned my youngest son?"

"I swear to Elune, I had nothing to do with your concubine's miscarriage!" The High Priest's face was solemn. Who could know? Politicians were all sanctimonious hypocrites. I wouldn't admit it either, in his place. Would you? Yet the king seemed to believe him. He slowly raised his left hand, gently moved the dagger away from his neck, and began walking toward the High Priest. As he walked, he said, "That answer can earn you a quick death, my old friend." The king's voice was calm now, completely unlike before. The High Priest looked slightly flustered, but quickly regained his composure.

"Looks like I underestimated you after all."