The inside of the Duke's carriage was a cage of plush, crimson velvet. It was opulent, comfortable, and utterly suffocating. The windows were made of thick, enchanted glass that allowed us to see out but prevented anyone from seeing in. They also, as ARIA quietly informed me, muffled all sound and were reinforced to withstand a direct hit from a battering ram. We were not guests being escorted; we were high-value assets being transported.
The journey to the capital city of Aethelburg was a two-day affair, and it became the most intense, grueling training camp of my life. The carriage, our gilded prison, became our war room. There was no idle chatter, no admiring the passing scenery. There was only preparation.
Elizabeth was a merciless, brilliant instructor. The moment the carriage doors closed, her transformation was complete. She was no longer the conflicted daughter or the reluctant ally. She was a general preparing her troops for an impossible battle.
"The Royal Summer Banquet is not a dinner party," she began, her voice as sharp and cold as the snap of winter ice. "It is the single most important political event of the year. Every major player in the kingdom will be there. Every action, every word, every glance will be scrutinized, analyzed, and used as a weapon. You are not just attending a banquet, Kazuki. You are making your debut on the world's most dangerous stage."
She produced a small, leather-bound book from a hidden pocket in her dress. It was filled with her own neat, precise handwriting. "This is a list of the fifty most important individuals who will be in attendance. We will start with them. You will memorize their names, their titles, their house sigils, their primary allegiances, their known rivalries, and at least one personal weakness. There will be a test."
My INT stat, now a staggering 55, made me a quick study, but the sheer volume of information was immense. It was a complex, interwoven web of alliances, debts, secret hatreds, and political marriages.
"Baron von Valerius," Elizabeth would say, her eyes fixed on me. "His sigil?"
"A golden kraken on a field of blue," I'd recite. "Controls the western shipping lanes. His eldest son is a degenerate gambler, deeply in debt to my father-in-law's associates. A potential point of leverage."
"Good," she'd nod, a flicker of approval in her eyes. "Countess von Eisen. Her primary motivation?"
"Power through industry. She is a Traditionalist but respects strength and despises the 'new money' nobles in the Duke's faction. She sees my 'Ancestral Awakening' as a potential disruption but also a possible tool to curb the Duke's influence. She is a pragmatist. Approach with respect for her family's long history."
ARIA worked in the background, a silent partner in my education. As Elizabeth spoke, my system would overlay data in my vision.
[Baron von Valerius: Financial analysis indicates his shipping profits have declined 12% in the last quarter due to Crimson-backed piracy. He is looking for a new ally but is too cautious to make the first move. Probability of swaying him to our side: 34%.]
[Countess von Eisen: Recently lost a lucrative mining contract to a company secretly owned by Duke Crimson. She is furious but powerless to act openly. She is a potential ally, but her price will be high. Recommended approach: Appeal to her sense of tradition and her hatred of the Duke's disruptive economic tactics.]
While Elizabeth drilled me on the high nobles, Luna provided the ammunition for the ground war. She had excelled at her task. Her report, gathered from the whispers of the servant class, was a treasure trove of scandalous, exploitable information.
"Lady Annabelle, the Baron's young wife," Luna would whisper, her eyes shining with the thrill of espionage, "is having an affair with her stable master. The head of the palace kitchen staff skims money from the royal budget. And Sir Reginald, the captain of the Duke's personal guard, has a secret fondness for elven poetry."
It was a different kind of intelligence, but no less valuable. Knowing a man's secret passions or hidden shames was a weapon as powerful as any sword.
We worked relentlessly. We ate cold rations in the carriage, barely sleeping. We dissected the political landscape of the kingdom until I could navigate it in my sleep. By the time the towering spires of Aethelburg appeared on the horizon on the morning of the third day, I was no longer just a programmer with cheat codes. I was a walking, talking database of political intrigue.
Aethelburg was a shock to the system. After the decaying quiet of the Silverstein manor, the capital was a vibrant, roaring beast of a city. The streets were paved with smooth, white stone, and they teemed with life. Merchants hawked their wares, nobles in fine silks rode on purebred horses, and the air was filled with the sounds of a thousand different conversations, the ringing of blacksmiths' hammers, and the distant chime of the great cathedral bells.
But everywhere I looked, I saw the influence of Duke Crimson. Crimson and black banners bearing his snarling wolf crest hung from balconies. The city guard wore uniforms trimmed with crimson. His power was not just political; it was woven into the very fabric of the capital. This was his city. We were deep in enemy territory.
The carriage did not take us to the palace, nor to a neutral inn. It rumbled through the most opulent district and stopped before a fortress. It wasn't a home; it was a statement of power. A towering structure of black granite, with high walls, crenelated towers, and narrow, defensible windows. This was Crimson Keep, the Duke's city estate. We were his guests, which meant we were his prisoners.
We were led through a series of grand, intimidating halls, our footsteps echoing on the polished marble floors. The guards we passed were not men; they were statues of muscle and steel, their eyes cold and empty. They all bore the Duke's crest. The entire keep was a monument to his power and paranoia.
We were shown to a suite of lavishly appointed rooms. The furniture was carved from dark, exotic wood, the beds were piled high with silk and fur, and a balcony offered a breathtaking view of the city. It was a beautiful, luxurious prison cell.
"He is trying to intimidate us," Elizabeth said, her voice low as she surveyed the room. "To overwhelm us with his wealth and power before we even reach the palace."
"It's a classic boss-room strategy," I agreed. "Make the player feel small before the real fight begins."
"We have four hours until the banquet begins," she stated. "Rest. Meditate. Focus. The battle starts the moment we step out of this room."
The next four hours were a blur of final preparations. Luna helped me into my banquet attire. It was the same silver-and-white suit from the wedding, but now it felt different. It was no longer just a costume. It was a uniform. Luna, with surprising skill, had made a few adjustments, making it fit my new, stronger frame perfectly. She had polished the silver buttons until they gleamed.
When I looked in the mirror, I saw the transformation was complete. The last vestiges of the sickly boy were gone. In his place stood Lord Kazuki von Silverstein. My posture was straight, my shoulders broad. My eyes, with their faint, blue, computational glow, held a confidence that was absolute. I looked like a man who belonged in the halls of power.
Elizabeth's own transformation was no less stunning. She emerged from her room a vision of lethal elegance. She wore a gown of deep, shimmering emerald green, a color that stood in stark defiance to the crimson and black of her father's house. The dress was cut in a severe, militaristic style, yet it accentuated her every curve. Her golden hair was braided into a complex, crown-like arrangement, and around her neck, she wore a single, massive diamond that glittered like a shard of ice. She was not dressed for a party. She was dressed for war. She was not the Crimson Rose. She was the Winter Queen.
Luna, too, was changed. She wore a simple but elegant grey dress, the uniform of a high-born lady's personal attendant. Her hair was neatly pinned up, her elven ears displayed with a quiet dignity. She stood behind us, her expression calm and watchful. She was no longer a servant. She was our spymaster, our aide-de-camp.
The three of us stood there for a moment, a silent, strange trinity. The Glitched Sovereign, the Ice Queen, and the Elf-Maid Spymaster.
"Ready?" I asked.
Elizabeth met my gaze in the mirror, a dangerous, beautiful smile touching her lips. "Let's go make some new friends," she said.
Our arrival at the Royal Palace was an event in itself. The palace was a masterpiece of white marble and gold leaf, a mountain of graceful spires and soaring archways that seemed to defy gravity. As our black carriage, bearing the hated sigil of the Duke, pulled up to the grand entrance, a hush fell over the assembled nobles who were milling about on the steps.
A royal herald, his voice booming with practiced authority, announced our arrival.
"Lady Elizabeth of House Crimson, and her husband, Lord Kazuki of House Silverstein!"
We stepped out of the carriage and into the full glare of the setting sun and the even harsher glare of a hundred pairs of noble eyes.
A wave of whispers rippled through the crowd. They saw Elizabeth, a vision of defiant beauty. And they saw me. The ghost. The monster. The enigma. I stood tall, my arm linked with my wife's, my expression a calm, pleasant mask that revealed nothing. We were a united front, a picture of power and mystery. We were not the broken, mismatched pair they had expected.
We ascended the grand marble staircase, the whispers following us like a tide. We entered the banquet hall, and the full scale of the Duke's trap was revealed.
The hall was a cavern of gold and light. Three massive chandeliers, dripping with thousands of crystals, hung from the vaulted ceiling. Long tables, laden with mountains of food and rivers of wine, stretched the length of the room. Hundreds of nobles, dressed in a kaleidoscope of silks and jewels, filled the space, their chatter a low, buzzing hum of intrigue.
At the far end of the hall, on a raised dais, sat the King.
King Theron IV was a shadow of a man, lost in a massive, ornate throne. He was old, frail, and his eyes, though kind, were clouded with weariness and pain. Beside him, a vision of youthful purity, sat Princess Seraphina. She was as beautiful as the stories claimed, with hair like spun moonlight and large, compassionate eyes. She looked bored and uncomfortable, a gentle soul trapped in a nest of vipers.
And standing beside the King's throne, acting as if he owned it, was Duke Crimson.
He saw us enter, and his eyes, cold and reptilian, locked onto ours. He smiled, a gesture of pure, predatory welcome, and began to walk toward us, descending from the dais to greet his prey personally.
"Kazuki! My dear boy! And Elizabeth, my beautiful daughter!" he boomed, his voice filled with a false, hearty warmth that didn't reach his eyes. "I am so glad you could make it!"
He embraced Elizabeth, a gesture that looked more like a threat than a hug, and then clapped me on the shoulder, his grip once again like iron.
"You look well, son," he said, his eyes searching mine for any sign of weakness. "Remarkably well. The country air must agree with you."
"Indeed, Your Grace," I replied, my voice smooth and untroubled. "But I find I am most invigorated by the stimulating company of the capital."
His smile tightened. My response was not that of an intimidated country boy.
"Excellent!" he said, his jovial mask firmly in place. "Then you must allow me to introduce you to some of the court's brightest young stars."
This was it. The first attack. He gestured to a group of young men standing nearby, all of them dressed in the height of fashion, their faces arrogant and cruel. They were the sons of his allies, the attack dogs of his faction.
"Lord Kazuki," the Duke said, his voice dripping with false bonhomie. "May I present Lord Valerius the Younger, Sir Marcus of the Crimson Guard, and Count von Adler's heir, Erich."
The three young nobles gave me shallow, insulting bows.
Lord Valerius the Younger, a foppish man with a weak chin, looked me up and down with a sneer. "Silverstein," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "I had heard you were... unwell. You seem to have made a miraculous recovery. One must wonder what sort of... folk remedies... you employ in your rustic corner of the kingdom."
It was a classic opening gambit. A backhanded insult disguised as a question, designed to paint me as a country bumpkin dabbling in peasant magic.
I smiled, a warm, friendly expression. "Ah, Lord Valerius," I said, my voice pleasant. "It is a pleasure. And you are too kind to inquire after my health. But my recovery is no miracle. It is simply the result of a happy marriage and a... stable home life."
I let my gaze flicker for a fraction of a second to his own hands, which were trembling slightly. A classic sign of a gambling addict on a losing streak.
"I find that a clear conscience and a lack of... pressing debts... does wonders for one's constitution," I finished, my smile never wavering.
Valerius went pale. I had just, in the most polite way possible, announced to everyone within earshot that I knew about his massive gambling debts. It was a direct, brutal counter-attack, delivered with a surgeon's precision.
The Duke's smile faltered for a second time.
Sir Marcus, a brutish young knight with more muscle than sense, decided to try a more direct approach. "They say you have no skill with a blade, Lord Silverstein," he grunted. "That you have never even held a proper sword. A pity. A man cannot protect his wife's honor with books and pleasantries."
He was trying to bait me into a duel, a fight I would surely lose by conventional standards.
"An astute observation, Sir Marcus," I replied cheerfully. "It is true, my swordsmanship is woefully inadequate. Which is why I am so fortunate to have married the most powerful mage of our generation." I turned to Elizabeth, my expression one of pure, uxorious devotion. "Why would I ever need to lift a sword, when my beautiful wife can freeze an army in its tracks with a single word? I am a modern man, Sir Marcus. I believe in outsourcing my security needs to a more qualified partner."
A ripple of surprised laughter went through the nearby crowd. I had not only deflected the insult but had also turned it into a compliment to my powerful wife, while simultaneously framing myself as a progressive, confident husband who was not threatened by his wife's strength. It was a completely unexpected, and highly effective, response.
Elizabeth, to her credit, played her part perfectly. She placed a hand on my arm, a gesture of wifely affection, and gave Sir Marcus a smile so cold it could have caused frostbite. "My husband is wise, Sir Marcus. He knows that true power lies not in crude steel, but in a well-applied spell. Or a well-placed political alliance."
Checkmate.
The three young nobles were left sputtering, their simple attacks utterly dismantled. The Duke's face was a thundercloud. His attack dogs had been declawed and defanged in less than a minute.
He was about to say something, to escalate the situation, when a sudden hush fell over the entire banquet hall. The buzzing chatter ceased. All heads turned toward the grand entrance.
The Royal Herald's voice boomed, filled with a reverence that had been absent during our own announcement.
"Announcing His Royal Highness, Prince Alaric of the neighboring kingdom of Eldoria!"
A figure strode into the hall, and the collective intake of breath was audible. He was tall, impossibly handsome, with hair the color of spun gold and eyes like emeralds. He moved with the easy, predatory grace of a lion, and he wore a smile that was both charming and dangerous. He was the walking embodiment of a fairy-tale prince.
[Prince Alaric of Eldoria - Level 48 Sword Saint][Title: The Golden Lion, The Perfect Prince][Status: Amused, Assessing, Predatory]
"Prince Alaric," Elizabeth whispered, her voice tight with an emotion I couldn't quite place. "What is he doing here? He was not on the guest list."
The Prince's eyes swept the room, and then they landed on our small group. Specifically, they landed on Elizabeth. His charming smile widened.
He strode toward us, ignoring the King, ignoring the Duke, ignoring everyone else in the room. He stopped in front of Elizabeth, took her hand, and bowed low, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
"Lady Elizabeth," he said, his voice a smooth, captivating baritone. "You are more radiant than ever. A vision. It has been too long."
Elizabeth gently withdrew her hand, her face a mask of perfect neutrality, but I could see a faint blush on her cheeks. "Your Highness," she said. "This is an unexpected surprise."
"I heard there was to be a wedding," he said, his emerald eyes finally turning to me. The charming smile remained, but his eyes were cold, analytical, and filled with an immediate, instinctual dislike. "And I had to come and meet the lucky man who managed to capture the heart of the kingdom's most unobtainable prize."
He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on my simple suit, my lack of military bearing. "So," he said, his voice dripping with a condescension that made the earlier insults seem like child's play. "You are the famous Lord Silverstein."
Before I could respond, a new commotion started. A young noble, one of the Duke's sycophants, who had clearly had too much wine, stumbled forward.
"A toast!" he slurred, raising his glass. "A toast to the happy couple! To the beautiful Lady Elizabeth, and to her... husband." He sneered. "The man who won her hand not with valor or strength, but with a mountain of his family's debt! A true modern romance!"
The hall went silent. The insult was naked, brutal, and public. It was a direct challenge to my honor, to my family's name.
This was the Duke's real attack. A drunken fool to deliver the blow, giving the Duke plausible deniability.
Everyone was watching me. The Prince. The Duke. The entire court. They were waiting to see how the monster, the enigma, would react to being called a pathetic weakling who had bought his wife.
Elizabeth went rigid beside me, her hand clenching into a fist, ice magic beginning to crackle at her fingertips.
I placed a calming hand on her arm.
I turned to the drunken noble, and I smiled. A wide, friendly, and utterly terrifying smile.
"You are mistaken, my lord," I said, my voice pleasant and clear, carrying easily through the silent hall.
I took a step forward, onto the main floor. I raised my hand, and focused my will. I didn't need a complex command. I just needed to show them.
SPIKE.
The polished marble floor of the Royal Palace, a floor that had been trod upon by kings for a thousand years, cracked. And from it, a single, elegant, and impossibly sharp spear of solid granite erupted, stopping a mere inch from the drunken noble's throat.
It stood there, a full meter tall, humming with a deep, terrestrial power. A monument to my impossible magic.
The noble stared at it, his eyes bulging, the color draining from his face as a dark stain spread across the front of his expensive trousers.
I let my gaze sweep across the entire, stunned, silent hall. I looked at the terrified nobles, the shocked Prince, the furious Duke.
"I didn't win her hand with debt," I said, my voice now a low, resonant rumble that seemed to shake the very foundations of the palace.
"I won her hand with power."