I caught my reflection in one of the crystal pillars as we walked down the grand staircase, and for a second, I genuinely had to stop myself from nodding in approval.
Damn. No wonder everyone was staring. I'd stare too.
The suit I wore was black with faint silver embroidery, each line tracing the seams like quiet lightning. It fit perfectly not too tight, not too loose the kind of fit that whispered money and menace at the same time.
The cuffs gleamed under the chandelier light, and my hair, longer now, brushed against my shoulders, shimmered like spilled ink. But the real centerpiece, the thing no tailor could ever take credit for, were my eyes.
Golden, sharp, and faintly glowing under the light, like molten metal waiting to burn something unlucky enough to look too long.
I smiled faintly at my reflection. "Honestly? Perfection's exhausting."
{You know,} Bastard said in my head, his tone far too calm, {for once, I can't even mock you. You actually look disgustingly good.}
That stopped me for a second. 'Wait, are you complimenting me?'
{Don't get used to it. I think I just lost a piece of my soul admitting it.}
'Truly tragic.' I adjusted my collar and smiled wider. 'Still, noted. The inner voice of cynicism approves.'
{Let's not go that far. You still reek of arrogance.}
"I prefer to call it charisma," I murmured.
We reached the bottom of the stairs. The music, once lively, faded into something muted or maybe it just felt that way. The air itself seemed to pull taut around us. Belle walked beside me, each step measured, confident, and calm, her heels whispering against the polished floor.
Every pair of eyes in the ballroom followed her, us, and the sea of nobles that had been laughing, gossiping, and pretending to matter, suddenly looked more like statues.
The black dress she wore shimmered with subtle threads of mana-light, diamonds, and silver folded into the fabric like constellations.
Her dark hair, tied loosely, brushed against the edge of her embroidered blindfold, the silver pattern over her eyes giving her the air of someone who saw far more than she should.
Next to her, I wasn't just keeping up, I was matching her.
I glanced sideways at her and smirked. Maybe half as good-looking as me, I thought. Which, considering the competition, is honestly impressive.
{You're comparing yourself to a living legend,} Bastard said flatly.
'Exactly,' I thought back. 'And I'm winning.'
{Unbelievable.}
"Objectively true."
We moved across the floor in perfect sync, and every step we took sent another ripple through the crowd. Nobles shifted out of the way without a word, generals bowed their heads slightly out of reflex, and I swore even the air felt heavier, charged with something between reverence and fear.
I caught snippets of whispers - names, guesses, questions.
"He's with Belle Ardent?"
"That man—who is he?"
"Did they say Nekros? As in—"
"He's walking beside her. That means something…"
I didn't bother pretending not to hear. The attention rolled over me like warm sunlight, feeding every inch of my ego until I could practically taste the envy in the air.
So this was what it meant to own a room.
Belle didn't hesitate. She strode straight toward the princess, and the small crowd of nobles that had surrounded her — once eager, almost desperate — vanished like smoke.
One moment, they were tripping over their own words to speak with the heir to the empire; the next, they were gone, as if someone had reminded them they valued their lives.
The princess herself stood composed, dressed in all the regality expected of her age and station, but even she couldn't quite hide her surprise when Belle stopped before her.
Belle inclined her head, graceful as ever. "Your Highness."
I gave a small nod beside her. Not a bow. Not even a hint of one. Just enough to acknowledge royalty without bending to it.
An electric silence ensued, followed immediately by whispers that came back, faster, sharper this time.
"He didn't bow."
"He's with her. He doesn't have to."
"Who is he? That man beside the Reaper…"
I could feel the weight of their stares clinging to me, admiration, curiosity, jealousy, awe, and I didn't even have to lift a finger.
I exhaled slowly, letting a faint smile play at the edge of my lips.
So this was what aura farming felt like.
Yeah. I could get used to this.
Belle and I found a table near the front, close enough to the royal section to feel important, but not so close that I had to pretend to care.
The hall around us glittered with light from floating crystals, the air thick with perfume and mana. Servants drifted between tables, carrying trays stacked with enough gold-plated food to feed a city block.
I picked up a fork and stabbed into something that looked like dragon steak. It tasted good enough. Probably worth more than it should be.
Belle sat across from me, perfect as always. Her movements were smooth, elegant - the kind of control that made everyone else in the room look clumsy by comparison. I could feel eyes on us from every direction, though I couldn't tell if they were staring at her, me, or both. Probably both.
She took a slow sip of her wine before asking, "If one of these nobles decides to challenge you tonight, what would you do?"
I looked up. "Depends. Before or after dessert?"
Her head tilted slightly. "Sebastian."
I grinned. "Fine. I'll beat the shit out of them."
Belle sighed quietly, setting her cup down. "That's not very diplomatic."
"Neither is challenging someone in the middle of a banquet." I shrugged. "And let's be honest, diplomacy's just a fancy word for pretending you're not thinking about hitting someone."
That earned me a small smile. The kind that was gone before I could even be sure it happened.
"You really are impossible," she said.
"Comes naturally," I replied.
The night buzzed around us. Nobles whispered, laughed too loudly, and tried their best to look relevant. I was half a bite into my next meal when movement caught my eye, a group of young nobles standing near one of the pillars.
At the center of them was a man I recognized immediately.
The 6th Prince.
Golden hair. Blue uniform with the imperial crest. The kind of face that screamed entitlement. He was laughing at something one of his lackeys said, but his eyes weren't on them. They were on me.
I didn't need Bastard to tell me what was about to happen.
Sure enough, the prince stopped laughing. His jaw tightened, and without another word to his friends, he started marching toward our table. The crowd shifted aside like water parting around a rock.
He stopped right in front of me. The room quieted.
"Sebastian Nekros," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Belle didn't even look up from her plate. I didn't bother standing.
The prince pulled off one of his gloves, turned it in his hand, and tossed it at me. It hit my chest and slid down onto the table.
"I challenge you," he declared, "to a duel."
The entire hall froze.
I stared at the glove. Then at him. Then back at the glove again.
In my head, Bastard chuckled.
{You really should've seen this coming.}
I leaned back in my chair, smiling.
"Perfect."