Inside, the Tygore Sky Tower glittered like a palace. Walls and pillars were inlaid with gold, jade, and gemstones. Massive oil paintings and crystal chandeliers adorned the spaces, and wide corridors led to even more rooms. Works of art cast from gold and silver sat alongside ornate mirrors, all gleaming under the countless flickering candlelights.
The guests were all dressed in formal attire. The women, in particular, wore extravagant and elegant gowns with long, trailing skirts held up by attendants—like the folded tails of peacocks. These noblewomen were graceful, poised, and stunning, their features perfectly aligned to the golden ratio, their skin milk-white and supple, and their movements full of charm.
"Thank goodness that bastard Tychus isn't here. He'd probably strip naked and start dancing," Raynor said with relief.
"Tychus would never do something that outrageous," Augustus replied. "He'd act like a proper English gentleman… if he'd ever received that kind of training."
There were far more servants than noble guests—hundreds, perhaps thousands—standing at attention or gliding through the vast corridors and halls with practiced grace. Each one was striking in appearance, clad in perfectly tailored uniforms, every movement neither crude nor rushed.
"I heard that the big noble families all use mechanical servants… These look just like real people," Raynor whispered to Augustus.
"They are real people," Augustus replied as he strolled leisurely across the red carpet. The rented black tailcoat fit him remarkably well—as if it had been made just for him.
"The most prominent and ancient of the Old Families still employ human servants rather than machines," Augustus explained. "Only nouveau riche families who rose through fringe trade or opportunistic ventures rely on cheap mechanical servants—because they can't find competent stewards or proper household staff."
As he spoke, he smiled at a young noblewoman who happened to glance his way. Her face flushed red at once.
"The main banquet hall is on the top floor. Let's take the maglev elevator."
"That girl smiled at me," Raynor said with a grin.
"Maybe you should go talk to her," Augustus teased, giving Raynor a tug to keep him from bouncing in place. Their voices remained hushed, making it seem like they were quietly admiring the surroundings, not gossiping about the people around them.
"My mom always told me that men who flirt around are nothing but trash," Raynor muttered, barely shaking his head.
"Like you, for instance," Augustus said with a smirk as they turned a corner and approached the elevator doors. Only a handful of people were waiting here—access to the top floor was restricted to members of the Old Families or nobles with business or marriage ties to the Tygore family.
"My gut tells me you're the one she meant. Folks back in my town always say the private lives of nobles are a mess. All those political marriages force people together without love. As long as they secure the right genes and bloodline, they don't care—some even fool around with servants or drifters," Raynor whispered.
"Are you saying the Mengsk family is like that?" Augustus looked visibly displeased.
"Of course not. But old folks are rarely wrong," Raynor said, shaking his head again.
As they waited, Augustus noticed that Tarsonis nobles placed great emphasis on their family crests and grooming—perhaps even more so than the nobles of Korhal IV. Each formal outfit was meticulously crafted; not a single gown or tuxedo looked like another. Some guests had brought their children along, and even the children's clothes were styled like those of princesses and princes.
In an age of rapid technological advancement, the aesthetics of nobility still seemed stuck centuries in the past.
"When we reach the top floor, try to talk less," Augustus warned him. "Otherwise, they'll think you lack proper upbringing."
"I'll try to focus on eating more," Raynor replied dryly.
As Augustus stepped into the elevator, a noble family joined them. He conversed politely with the patriarch and learned they were from Tarsonis's Eastern Continent. Their family business specialized in high-energy gas and refinery operations.
Upon learning that Augustus was from Korhal IV, the well-groomed, mustachioed middle-aged man merely smiled. But when Augustus mentioned the surname 'Mengsk', the man took two subtle steps back, putting distance between them, and offered a strained, awkward smile.
Augustus wasn't surprised. He simply smiled and wished the man good health.
The elevator rose steadily with a near-silent hum, so soft it felt like the buzz of a mosquito. As the doors opened, Augustus was greeted by a breathtaking view of Tarsonis's deep blue sky and the clouds glowing with the colors of dusk. Streaks of light crossed the sky now and then—ships reentering the atmosphere from geosynchronous orbit.
The top floor of the Tygore Sky Tower was built beneath a dome that opened to the heavens. Arched walls were adorned with floral carvings, and the banquet tables were made from the wood of the long-extinct Tyrador joytree. Silver tableware gleamed with exotic alien fruits and French cuisine prepared with the most expensive ingredients. The rich aroma came from rare spices imported from Chau Sara.
Hundreds of nobles were present. The men dressed with restraint, while the ladies and young noblewomen spared no effort in trying to become the center of attention.
There were still nearly thirty minutes before the banquet began. Representatives of lesser nobility engaged in lively conversation, while members of the Old Families sat like emperors, conversing calmly with their partners or rivals.
No sooner had they stepped off the elevator than the nobleman who had earlier spoken so warmly with Augustus quickly scurried away, as if terrified that Augustus might suddenly snap his neck.
Augustus didn't mind. He and Raynor walked directly toward their assigned seats.
The guest of honor, the birthday celebrant—Andrea Tygore, now 140 years old—had yet to make her appearance. In the meantime, servants regularly rotated the glassware and dishes on the tables, replacing them with fresh ones, even though not a single guest had taken a sip or a bite.
Raynor felt a wave of anger rise within him, but he managed to restrain himself. If it had been Harnack, he probably would've grabbed a noble by the collar and demanded to know why the people of Shiloh were still starving while they indulged themselves here in luxury.
As Augustus waited for the guest of honor to arrive, a few young noblewomen seated among the Old Families began whispering to one another, while the young men cast glances filled with hostility and envy.
Augustus Mengsk had already become famous across half the Terran Federation before the age of nineteen. He was heralded as a hero—one of the most outstanding of his generation among the Old Families. A documentary about Augustus and the Heaven's Devils had been airing for two weeks now, and he had become an idol for many young people.
Rumor had it that UNN Studios was even planning to produce a feature film about him—though whether he'd play himself was unclear, and no one knew what liberties the screenwriter might take.
"Jim, look over there," Augustus said suddenly, his gaze fixed on a tall man in a white formal suit. "That's Edmund Duke—and the man beside him is probably his brother."
Despite the designer's best efforts, the white suit looked utterly out of place on Duke's massive frame. He still resembled a muscular silverback gorilla more than a refined nobleman.
"I knew that bastard would show up," Raynor muttered, watching Duke chat with another noble. "Mark my words, he's going to embarrass himself before the night's over."
Amid a wave of minor commotion, a few noblewomen from the Old Families rose from their seats and made their way toward Augustus.
"You're Augustus Mengsk, the man who killed a thousand Kel-Morian soldiers?" said the first to speak—a girl with long dark brown hair, styled in an elaborate updo like many others present.
"I'm Augustus Mengsk," he replied, standing up. "But I've never killed that many people."
"Really?" The girl appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen. She wore a deep blue, off-shoulder evening gown with a low neckline and open back. Accentuated by the dress, her curves—both bust and hips—were especially eye-catching.
"Then what about the stories of you single-handedly capturing a Kel-Morian labor auxiliary company, or shooting a field commander dead from two thousand metres away, or descending from the skies with the Heaven's Devils to rescue thousands of people?"
"We usually call that artistic embellishment," Augustus said with a pleasant smile.
"You must be Miss Clara Annabella Terra, eldest daughter of the Terra Family. I've heard of your beauty."
"You…" Clara's face flushed with bashful delight. She truly was beautiful, though Augustus suspected that at this age, unless a noblewoman was naturally gifted, she had likely undergone some degree of facial laser correction surgery.
"I'm Lyno d'Arbanville," another noble girl interjected, pushing past Clara. Her pale golden waves shimmered like liquid sunlight beneath the gradually brightening lights. "Commander, may I invite you to visit my home sometime?"
"I'd be gla—" Augustus started to reply, but yet another young woman leaned in eagerly and said, "The d'Arbanville throw parties non-stop. Augustus, why don't we take my private yacht to Olsen instead?"
"Oh, damn it! Why did I even come here?" Raynor growled, grabbing a small stack of sliced Planatia strawberries from a serving plate and chewing them furiously.
Raynor realized that Augustus's handsome features, combined with his disciplined military aura, possessed an irresistible appeal for girls of that age. Worse still, Augustus had a natural ease when charming others—something Raynor clearly lacked.
Most of the officers at the banquet came from minor noble families, or were older and less physically attractive. Augustus alone had youth, charm, and status.
More noble ladies began to crowd around him—bright-eyed and sweet-smelling, wearing fragrances with musky undertones. Augustus quickly found himself overwhelmed, and before he knew it, he had already accepted multiple invitations.
When one of the young noblemen, unable to contain his jealousy, stood up and started heading in their direction, Augustus realized that being too popular might not be such a good thing after all.
As he looked toward Raynor, that mischievous Heaven's Devils comrade gave him a thumbs-up—but it didn't exactly seem encouraging.
Just like Lisa Cassidy had once joked to Augustus, it seemed the entire Heaven's Devils squad was hoping he'd cozy up to some wealthy noblewoman, inherit her fortune, and fund the revolution with it.
Wouldn't that be nice.
"Ladies, back to your seats. Clara, you should set an example," said a noblewoman in a blue evening gown, stepping in to help Augustus out of his predicament. Although she clearly would've liked to exchange a few more words with him, the young women sighed and reluctantly returned to their seats.
When Augustus turned to look at the noblewoman, he noticed a small child hiding behind the folds of her wide gown. A little girl with a golden ponytail peeked out, glanced up at him with pale green eyes, then quickly ducked back behind her mother.
"Augustus of the Mengsk family, heir to Korhal," said Annabella Terra. She had sun-kissed, tawny skin and a flawless hourglass figure. She studied Augustus a little longer than etiquette strictly required, her interest plainly visible.
"When Andrea's birthday banquet ends, perhaps we could find a café and share a drink… Just the two of us."
What kind of code was that supposed to be?
Of course, Augustus had no idea that Annabella Terra, the thirty-something matriarch of the Terra family, had a fondness for keeping younger lovers—young men who, in her experience, tended to offer more excitement in certain areas.
Just then, Little Nova poked her head out again. Her tiny nose wrinkled in distaste, and her smooth forehead looked as if a shadow of disdain had fallen across it.
When Augustus noticed her, the two simply locked eyes.
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