House Green.
The family manor was ablaze with lanterns and festoons, its banquet hall echoing with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses.
Representatives of various factions had arrived in advance, their faces plastered with flattering smiles as they clustered around the patriarch of House Green—Doyle Green.
"Lord Doyle—oh no, perhaps soon we should be calling you Lord City Lord instead!"
A tall, thin man raised his cup in sycophantic toast. "Congratulations, congratulations! Under your leadership, House Green is destined to rise to even greater heights!"
"That's right, that's right. House Oberon refused to recognize the times, and now they've brought down the wrath of the Church upon themselves. Naturally, it is only fitting they should yield their seat of power!"
A fat merchant chimed in eagerly. "From now on, all trade in Obsidian City will surely be under your guidance, Lord City Lord. We will rely on your generous patronage!"
"…."
Doyle Green held his wine cup with a composure that could not quite disguise the smug delight swelling inside him.
He reveled in their praise, basked in their obsequiousness, as if he already held the full authority of Obsidian City in his grasp.
"You flatter me," he said with false humility, waving his hand as though brushing aside the compliments. Yet his tone dripped with arrogance.
"All of this is for the glory of the Goddess, for the safety of the Empire's borders. My House Green merely follows the Church's guidance, reluctantly shouldering this heavy burden. As for future cooperation—well, that can certainly be arranged."
The atmosphere soared to its height. Doyle was drunk not on wine but on triumph, already envisioning himself enthroned as the undisputed master of the city.
And then—
A powerful aura swept in from outside, racing closer with terrifying speed.
The next instant, the banquet hall's grand doors were flung wide open with a resounding crash!
Everyone turned in alarm—
Only to see Deacon Marcus, his face so dark it might drip ink, stride in.
In his grasp he dragged none other than Elisa Green, her complexion white as paper.
"Deacon Marcus? You—what is this—?"
Doyle's proud smile froze. He hurried forward in greeting.
But Marcus didn't so much as glance at him. With open contempt, he flung Elisa to the ground as if she were refuse.
He gave a cold snort, then vanished from the hall in a flash.
The bizarre, chilling spectacle snuffed out the lively atmosphere. The once-loud banquet fell into stunned silence. Everyone looked at one another, dumbfounded, unsure what to say.
A cold premonition struck Doyle's heart.
He stumbled forward to lift his daughter. "Elisa! What happened? Where is Father Solas? What—what occurred?"
Elisa, still trembling with fright, choked out her tale between sobs and stammers.
"…They're dead—the knights, both knights are dead—and they… they even murdered Father Solas!"
Her words tumbled incoherently, yet the meaning was plain enough.
The Church's pressure had failed. Two City-Buster rank knights had been slaughtered in an instant by some monstrous assassin. And even Father Solas had his throat cut.
And unbelievably, all of this seemed somehow tied to that useless wastrel Rhine!
Boom!
The news struck the assembled guests like a thunderclap.
House Oberon… had raised hands against the Church? Had even killed a priest?!
Father Solas had been the Church's representative in the entire region. Such a deed was no less than a declaration of war upon the Church itself!
For one suspended heartbeat, silence reigned. Then—uproar.
The tall, thin man was the first to recover, eyes darting with cunning calculation. He quickly raised his voice:
"House Oberon dares desecrate the Goddess, to oppose the Church! They are courting annihilation!"
"Lord Doyle, the Church will surely punish them with righteous severity. The seat of City Lord can belong to none but you! Congratulations, Lord City Lord!"
At his cue, the rest of the guests surged to follow suit, voices rising one after another.
"Yes! Congratulations, City Lord!"
"House Oberon has overstepped, they are finished!"
"Clearly that useless Rhine, when he could not win Lady Elisa's hand, let hatred twist him. Out of jealousy and spite, he lashed out like a mad dog at the Church!"
"No doubt he relied on some underhanded, heretical trick to commit this outrage. A pathetic clown! Did he think he, a good-for-nothing, could stand against the Church?"
"Exactly! Once the true power of the Church's headquarters descends, House Oberon will be nothing but ashes!"
"Congratulations, Lord Green, the new City Lord…"
Their earlier shock transformed swiftly into something else: a jubilant certainty that House Oberon was doomed, and that House Green was destined to rise. Their words dripped with mockery for Oberon, with praise and flattery for Green.
Even Elisa herself, surrounded by such sneers at Oberon and at Rhine, gradually regained color in her cheeks and strength in her voice.
Yes. House Oberon had relied on some uncanny and sinister trick to seize a fleeting moment of defiance. But once the Church's true might came down upon them, they would be utterly obliterated.
The humiliation she had suffered—she would make Rhine pay back a hundredfold!
Hatred rekindled in her eyes, burning bright and venomous.
Yet their drunken dream, their noisy revelry, did not last.
Bang!!!
The ornate, heavy doors of the banquet hall exploded inward with a thunderous crash, splinters of wood flying.
The sound reverberated through the entire chamber, and all merriment was instantly smothered.
"Who dares?!"
All eyes turned in alarm to the entrance.
There, against the flood of light, a lone figure strode in.
Black-haired, golden-eyed, his face carved with cold austerity—Rhine Oberon himself.
Clad in a tailored suit, he stood tall, unaccompanied, surveying the hall with calm detachment. His gaze passed over every astonished guest, and finally came to rest on Doyle Green and Elisa seated at his side.
He took in the wine, the laughter, the air of premature triumph, and let out a soft, derisive chuckle.
"Oh? What a lively gathering. Celebrating already, are we? The glorious rise of House Green, no doubt? In that case…"
His voice dropped into a razor's edge of mockery.
"…I seem to have arrived just in time."
The hall fell deathly silent.
Those who moments before had shouted scorn at Oberon and at Rhine sat frozen, their faces crimson with fear, their voices strangled in their throats.
For they had heard the rumors—that House Oberon now possessed a terrifying killer capable of slaying City-Buster rank knights in the blink of an eye. That somehow, it was tied to Rhine.
And here he stood, alone, unflinching. Who among them dared believe he had come without hidden cards in hand?
Step by step, Rhine advanced. Wherever he walked, the crowd parted like a receding tide.
He stopped before Doyle Green. From his breast he drew a storage pouch, tossing it lightly across the table.
"Lord Doyle," Rhine said with a smile that was anything but warm, "such an auspicious occasion. Allow me to offer a token of congratulations."
Doyle caught the pouch by reflex. His spirit sense probed within—only to find it utterly empty.
He blinked, baffled. "Young Master Rhine… what is the meaning of this?"
Rhine's smile deepened, his golden eyes glinting with frost.
"My meaning is this: on so grand an occasion, surely Lord Doyle should bestow a gift upon the guest who has come to congratulate him?"
"I ask for little. A mere one hundred thousand gold coins will suffice. A lucky sum, for good fortune."
The words fell like thunder.
Reverse gift-giving? Demanding a congratulatory gift in return?
The guests stared, stunned beyond belief. Such a thing was unheard of.
One hundred thousand gold coins! Even for House Green, that was an enormous fortune.
Doyle's face flushed a furious, liver-colored red. This was extortion—no, worse than extortion. It was naked humiliation.
But as he looked at Rhine, so calm, so certain… and recalled Elisa's frantic description of the assassin cloaked in shadow, his fury was doused in icy dread.
He too was a City-Buster rank warrior. Yet even he had not sensed that assassin's presence.
Rhine dared to walk into his hall alone—what could that mean, except that he had absolute confidence?
Resistance might mean instant death.
Doyle's mind roiled, torn between outrage and terror.
At that moment, Elisa found her voice. She stepped forward, face twisting with anger and indignation.
"That's enough, Rhine! Stop this nonsense!"