The Way of Knight
Chapter 29 – The Banquet of Lions
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The Heavy Invitation
That afternoon, a servant arrived carrying a golden-sealed letter.
"Lord Fenrir Eisenwald," the man said with authority, "you are summoned to attend tonight's banquet hosted by Marquis Helbrecht. Many esteemed guests of the court shall be present."
Fenrir took the letter. His heart throbbed faster. So, here it is. Sword fights were only the beginning. The true test lies at the dining table.
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The banquet hall stretched vast and glittering. Chandeliers bathed the room in golden light, a long table lined with roasted meat, fresh bread, and red wine. Banners of the golden lion hung proudly on the walls, watching silently over all.
Fenrir stepped inside. Instantly, gazes turned toward him. Some curious, some admiring, many skeptical.
At the head sat Marquis Helbrecht, tall and composed. At his right and left were minor lords and senior knights, each carrying an aura of privilege. Reinhard sat not far from the Marquis, his eyes burning with the same hatred as the day of their duel.
Fenrir was guided to a seat near the Marquis' left side—a place of honor, but also of scrutiny.
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A plump nobleman, his fingers weighed with golden rings, smirked.
"So this is the swamp boy who caused such a stir in the arena? Let us hope you have not brought mud into this hall."
Laughter trickled along the table. Reinhard grinned, feeding on the insult.
Fenrir, however, did not flinch. He raised his wine glass, voice calm yet steady.
"Mud from the swamps may be filthy, my lord. But from mud rise the roots of the strongest trees. Without it, even the proudest forest would wither."
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then, a thin chuckle escaped an older viscount at the far side.
"A bold tongue," he said. "Not bad for a boy."
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Reinhard banged his cup hard against the table.
"Big words from a child who won a single duel. Do not think for a moment, Fenrir Eisenwald, that such luck places you among the lions here."
Fenrir's eyes locked onto his. Calm, sharp, unyielding.
"Victory is not luck, Reinhard. It is proof. And it is that proof which earned me a place at this very table tonight."
A few smirks flickered across the faces of the courtiers. Reinhard clenched his jaw. Marquis Helbrecht remained silent, observing, as though measuring how far Fenrir would hold his ground.
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System Notification
Ding!
Quest Progress Updated!
[Seeds of Influence] – You have gained one potential ally: Viscount Halwen. (Progress: 1/3)
[Seeds of Influence] – You have earned one sworn enemy: Reinhard. (Progress: 1/3)
Fenrir held back a smile. Every word in this hall is a blade. One misplaced step, and it cuts deeper than steel.
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A noblewoman in a pale blue gown leaned forward, eyes sharp as needles.
"Tell me, young Eisenwald. Suppose you lead a small force on the frontier, outnumbered two to one. Do you surrender… or waste your men in vain death?"
The nobles chuckled knowingly. It was a trap. A wrong word could bury him.
Fenrir set his glass down, voice carrying across the hall.
"Neither. I would use the ground, the fog, the night. I would strike when the enemy least expects it, until fear itself devours their confidence. War is not about numbers. It is about who first convinces the other that victory is impossible."
The hall fell quiet. Eyebrows raised, lips pursed, eyes widened.
At last, Marquis Helbrecht himself chuckled. "A most unusual answer… for a boy your age."
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Reinhard slammed his palm onto the table.
"Enough with your clever words! A true knight proves himself in blood, not in speeches!"
Fenrir turned, voice low and cutting.
"And a true leader knows when to wield his sword… and when to wield his tongue. You only know one side, Reinhard. That is why you lost to me."
The banquet split. Some nobles stifled laughter; others watched with widened eyes.
Reinhard's face burned crimson as he shot to his feet—
But Helbrecht raised a single hand.
"Sit down, Reinhard."
His command sliced the tension cleanly. Reinhard obeyed, though fury shook his frame.
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As the night went on, conversation drifted to lighter topics—hunting, trade, taxes. But Fenrir was no longer distracted by the food or the laughter. He felt it keenly now: every word was a move on a battlefield invisible to most.
So this is their world. His aura pulsed within, molten red like thick lava. A war fought not with steel, but with smiles. This, too, I must master.
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