A low chorus of laughter followed, like sandpaper scraping over metal.
Elliot could not help frowning. Why did something feel off about these people?
He had been busy attending social events every day lately. The Empire's upper circles were only so large, and he had met practically everyone.
Back then, these heirs' voices had not been so deep and hoarse.
They sounded less like young people and more like a group of old men on the verge of death.
Their voices were thick and indistinct, as though they had phlegm in their throats, or their vocal organs had not grown quite right, making even speech seem difficult.
Elliot studied them carefully, but found nothing unusual about their faces.
Was it an illusion?
Elliot frowned. He did feel rather uncomfortable. Entering this hall felt like having too much to drink; even his thinking had grown sluggish.
"As for the heads of our families, naturally, they all had business to attend to and couldn't appear. Otherwise, wouldn't His Majesty have sent them off on an expedition to the front?" the man at their head said unhurriedly, casting Elliot a meaningful glance.
Elliot did know about this.
The Old Duke had taken Lady Camilla on the expedition, but not all the nobles had done the same.
To be precise, among the Seven Holy Families, only the head of the Sterling Family had gone to the front.
"Elliot, we've been waiting for you for a long time."
"Oh? You knew I was coming?"
"This is your destiny."
Elliot narrowed his eyes, studying the man who had been speaking all along.
The other heirs seemed to regard him as their leader, which was hardly surprising. He was the heir to the Helms Family, the hosts of the Blood Feast.
The Church associated with the Helms