Boer's Feast

When the attendant reverently pushed open the heavy oak door carved with the Kent Family crest.

The clamor inside the banquet hall seemed to find an outlet, but after spilling out briefly, it was replaced by an even more deliberate silence.

Boer entered first, his black clothes immaculate and his expression indifferent.

Behind him came Locke Hall, who had changed into a clean guardsman's dress uniform, though his face was still somewhat pale.

One behind the other, like a victorious lion and a bird of prey that had temporarily submitted, the two walked into what had, until recently, been the heart of the Kent Family's power.

Inside, the nobles were already seated stiffly along both sides of the long table, arranged in strict order of rank.

Their expensive silk and velvet formalwear complemented the heavy tapestries and wall hangings around them.

The air was filled with a mixture of perfume, beeswax, and food.

As Boer entered, everyone rose in unison as though pulled by invisible strings, their faces instantly filling with smiles that could be called "sincere." The curves of those smiles were so precise they might have been measured with a protractor, while their eyes glittered with awe, ingratiation, and the caution of those waiting to choose their allegiance anew.

Standing behind each noble was a clean-cut male attendant in an identical, fitted gray uniform.

They bowed deeply in perfect unison, heads lowered, their postures as humble as marble statues.

Roland, already changed into lavish court attire, hurried forward like a nimble fish.

His face radiated impeccable warmth and respect. Bowing slightly, he extended an arm gracefully toward the head of the table. "Lord Boer, the banquet is ready. Please take your seat."

He personally pulled out the chair at the head of the table, made of precious sandalwood and carved with intricate patterns, his movements smooth and natural, as though this were his rightful duty.

Once Boer was seated, he quietly stationed himself half a step behind and to the side of the principal seat, like the most loyal of stewards, and like a master of ceremonies silently proclaiming the establishment of a new order.

Hall silently walked to the first empty seat on the right and sat down, occupying the place of honor second only to the head of the table.

He folded his arms across his chest, his jaw taut. Though he strove to remain calm, the slight rise and fall of his chest and his deliberate avoidance of Boer's gaze betrayed his inner unrest.

The banquet officially began.

Pretty young female attendants in simple, elegant long dresses approached with lowered heads, their light, precise steps strictly trained. Like a moving tableau, they presented each of the "meat eaters" with a silver basin inlaid with delicate patterns.

Precious spices and petals floated in the warm water. Kneeling beside the guests, the girls carefully wiped each finger with soft linen cloths, their movements as gentle as though handling fragile porcelain.

Expressionless, Boer allowed the young attendant assigned to him to handle his hands.

His gaze passed over the girl's lace-trimmed neckline, which had fallen slightly open as she bent forward.

Her snow-white skin, like a bud just beginning to bloom, lay fully exposed, and a faint fragrance mingling a virgin's natural scent with expensive spices drifted into his nostrils.

He raised his head and swept his gaze across the banquet hall's lavishly decorated dome, where an enormous tapestry hung, embroidered in gold thread with vines and the Kent Family's "K" emblem. The enormous "K" remained glaring in the sunlight and candlelight.

A little inauspicious, Boer thought indifferently.

The next moment, at a microscopic level no one could perceive, metal particles quietly stirred.

At the center of the enormous "K" on the tapestry, a sharply outlined five-pointed star gleaming with cold metallic light silently overlaid it, like an unquestionable brand proclaiming the end of the old era.

The principal seat had been deliberately raised by about thirty centimeters. Seated upon it like a monarch looking down over his subjects, Boer took in every expression of the nobles along both sides of the long table below.

Their smiles of forced composure, the knowing glances they exchanged, and the calculating eyes hidden behind wine cups, constantly sizing up him and Hall.

Ding!

With the clear ringing of a silver bell, the dancing girls who had long been waiting swept into the open space at the center of the banquet hall like fluttering butterflies, their corsets supporting extravagant skirts, their snow-white shoulders and collarbones bare.

They danced to the lilting sounds of lute and recorder, their glances shifting, their figures graceful. Every turn and every look silently begged for the favor of the seated nobles.

Meanwhile, the first course arrived: salted salmon from the North Blue, paired with a rich sauce simmered from dozens of pheasants and enriched with black truffles worth their weight in gold.

Elaborate, tiny, impractical dishes. Boer looked at the extravagantly luxurious combination before him without a ripple of feeling, even finding it somewhat ridiculous. It seemed the cruelest mockery of the hunger suffered by this country's lowest classes.

A bard in brightly colored clothing strolled in, plucking his strings as he began to recite the legendary tale of Brando the "Great Liar" and the Golden Land. His exaggerated delivery and outlandish plot lent the banquet a touch of unreality.

The second course followed close behind: candied almonds fashioned into delicate lilies by deft-handed cooks, and hare hind legs coated in generous quantities of spices, roasted crisp outside and tender within.

At that moment, Locke Hall, seated first on the right, drew a deep breath, as though he had reached some decision. He quickly suppressed the trace of reluctance on his face, replaced it with a smile that could be called "earnest," picked up his heavy silver goblet, and stood.

"Gentlemen!" His voice echoed through the banquet hall, drawing everyone's attention. "Let us raise our cups together to welcome His Excellency Boer to Bernia! Let us thank him for his... magnanimity and strength!"

The toast sounded somewhat stiff, but every noble present obligingly erupted into enthusiastic cheers, as though it were the most heartfelt praise they had ever heard.

Hall tipped back his head and drained the sharp wine from his cup. An attendant immediately refilled it, silently and swiftly.

A huge serving trolley was wheeled forward, piled with ice that gave off a biting chill. Atop the ice lay an astonishingly large bluefin tuna, its scales shimmering with iridescence beneath the lights.

The head chef pushed the trolley himself. First, he bowed deeply to Boer at the head of the table, then doffed his hat to the nobles on either side.

With his assistant's help, the head chef began his fish-cutting performance. His movements were precise and fluid, as though he were conducting a sacred ritual.

Scaling, beheading, deboning... everything flowed seamlessly, with a kind of cruel beauty. He personally cut Boer two slices each of the richest fatty belly and medium-fatty belly, their marbling resembling snow-patterned marble, and arranged them on a chilled celadon plate.

The beautiful young attendant lowered her head again and, with careful steps, presented Boer with the choicest portions of this "king of fish."

As she lowered her head, Boer could clearly see the elegant, slender curve of her neck and her faintly trembling lashes.

Almost simultaneously, Viscount Wilson rose at just the right moment. His face bore a perfectly measured blend of gratitude and humility, and his voice rang out. "Your esteemed Excellency Boer, please allow me, on behalf of the Royal Capital's people who have suffered so greatly at the hands of the gangs, to thank you for extending a helping hand! Your mercy and strength are like sunlight dispelling the gloom! May your glory guide Bernia toward a new dawn!"

With that, he drained his wine and boldly displayed the bottom of his empty cup to everyone, drawing another chorus of agreement. The male attendants behind them began distributing sashimi cut from the tuna's other portions.

So many tricks. Boer watched coldly inwardly, his expression remaining unchanged as he merely picked up his pure silver utensils and began to enjoy the exquisitely delicious slice of fish.

The silver trolley appeared again, this time bearing a suckling pig roasted golden all over, its skin as crisp as glass. A honeyed sheen flowed over the skin, and the mingled aromas of sweetness and meat filled the air.

As the attendant began carving, Baron Caffia rose, adjusted his lace collar, and wore an expression brimming with boundless anticipation for the future.

"Gentlemen! Let us look to the future!" His voice brimmed with passion. "Under Lord Boer's wise leadership, our 'Silver Capital' will surely sweep away every longstanding ill and abuse, flourishing with unprecedented vitality! We will reach new heights, and wealth and glory will belong to everyone seated here!"

This highly rousing speech once again won cheers from the entire hall. Everyone raised their cups, and for a moment, the atmosphere reached a fever pitch.

The same girl presented Boer with the most crisp-skinned cuts of neck meat, carefully sliced.

This time, she bent even lower, directing an undisguised gaze at Boer, so tender and pleading that her eyes seemed almost to brim with water.

Then the banquet became an extravagant revel. Peacock steaks, roast swan, lamprey pies stewed with complex spices and wine, assorted game platters piled into little mountains... delicacies that exhausted the imagination were served and cleared away one after another.

One group of dancing girls replaced another, their skirts like flowers in bloom. Cask after cask of chilled wine and rum was opened, filling the air with the strong smell of alcohol.

Wave after wave of praise for Boer nearly elevated him to godhood. Their words were so cloying that one might think a single stamp of his foot would make the entire West Blue tremble.

Finally, when the last dessert, built from sugar sculptures and cream like a work of art, was cleared away, all the dancing girls, musicians, bards, and most of the attendants quietly withdrew from the banquet hall like an ebbing tide.

The heavy doors closed once more.

Inside the hall, the flushed, tipsy eyes became clear almost instantly, deep and sharp.

The pervasive luxury and clamor dissolved and shattered like a dream, replaced by a silent, taut solemnity.

The nobles adjusted their postures in unison, their flattering smiles gradually fading into more complex, more cautious expressions.

They knew the revelry of the palate was over.

Now the real "main course"-negotiations concerning power, interests, and the shape of the future-was about to be laid upon the long table before them, covered in its spotless white linen cloth.

Only the faint crackle of burning candles and their clearly audible, restrained breathing remained in the air.