The barbarians had entered the city-states, cast aside their weapons, and put on formal clothes. Centuries had passed like that... How much of their former glory remained?
Olin firmly believed the old ways survived. These hothouse flowers did not speak for the Empire.
"Olin, you're actually associating with an outsider."
Olin looked up and saw several familiar faces.
"Are you questioning the Old Ancestor's judgment?"
The moment Olin mentioned the Old Ancestor, the young women who had picked a fight with her fell silent.
Olin ignored their resentful looks and walked past. Then she turned back and stopped before the blonde leading them. "Don't think I won't hit you just because you've grown up."
"You..."
Olin's gaze brought back a memory from ten years ago. She had mocked Olin's hair in front of the other girls for not being lustrous enough, and Olin had grabbed her beloved hair and swung her around like a windmill. Fear flashed through her eyes.
"The elders are here. You—you wouldn't dare!" she threatened, trying to sound fierce.
Olin certainly would. But a brawl at the banquet would disgrace the Family, and she did not want to cause the Old Ancestor even the slightest trouble.
"Then I'll have a knight wait outside for you."
After spending so much time with Annan, Olin had picked up a few of his bad habits. Of course, she would call it using a small trick to avoid a bigger problem—even her excuse was exactly the same as his.
Peterson drove Annan to the Judgment Hall.
The dark, solemn building felt almost welcoming to Annan now. He went down to the Dungeon, where a small party was underway in the main hall.
Blackwatch soldiers roasted meat and drank in the dim hall. Their prosthetic limbs had been returned, and