The banquet at the Trizzi Palace was steeped in medieval grandeur. Long wooden tables stretched across the hall, laden with bowls, trenchers, and pitchers, while servants moved briskly to and fro, replenishing the feast. Nobles in splendid attire clustered in groups, conversing in low tones, while the ladies gathered apart, their laughter ringing like silver bells and drawing curious glances from across the chamber.
Before the feast began, the hall was alive with spectacle. Musicians played lively tunes, acrobats tumbled and leapt, artisans displayed their craft, animal tamers paraded their beasts, and poets recited verses. Their performances drew bursts of laughter, applause, and the occasional startled cry from the crowd.
But the moment King Harlaus entered the hall with Richard at his side, all movement ceased. The chatter fell silent, the performers stilled, and every eye turned toward the host of the banquet—their sovereign. And beside him, the young man whose presence needed no introduction.
Richard, led by his grandfather, became the focus of every gaze. His identity was already known to all, yet seeing him in the flesh was another matter.
King Harlaus took his grandson's hand and led him to the high seat. Once seated, he gestured for the assembly to take their places. When the hall had settled, he cleared his throat and spoke with solemn pride.
"My lords and ladies, seated beside me is the rightful heir of the Kingdom of Winster—Richard Stuart, my dearest grandson."
Though they had long been aware of his lineage, the nobles could not hide their surprise. In their minds, the son of Alfonso—the "mighty man" once renowned across the world—should have been a towering, broad‑shouldered youth. Instead, before them stood a slender boy, delicate in frame, who looked as though a single blow might topple him.
Someone was the first to rise and show Richard respect, and soon the others followed. Whether their gestures were sincere or not, at least on the surface no one dared to show criticism.
King Harlaus observed this and nodded in satisfaction. The provocation he had half‑expected did not appear, and the beginning was promising.
After a round of greetings, the banquet moved into its formal stage.
Beep—
At the signal of the court master, servants blew their trumpets, and the great bell rang to announce the start of the meal. Yet before the feast could begin, all were required to pray and offer blessings.
"In the name of Huanlu, each of us belongs to a great collective consciousness…"
The Phantom Deer was the supreme god of the Dali faith, the divine figure worshipped throughout the Kingdom of Ravana. According to its doctrine, all people were fragments of a single vast consciousness, within which the Phantom Deer slumbered. The Holy Scroll of Dali taught that only the "Rotten Tree" could awaken the god. Thus, each year, the priests of the faith organized expeditions to search for the hidden cave where the Rotten Tree was said to dwell.
When the prayers and blessings ended, the nobles finally took up their knives and forks. The tables were laden with dishes in the old medieval style: thick pea soup with bits of meat, fresh herb broth, chicken roasted with fennel, pork leg, and liver crêpes. Though the variety was impressive, the flavors were coarse and heavy, far from refined.
Of course, one could not expect the dishes of the Middle Ages to be particularly refined. The meal itself need not be described in detail. When all had eaten their fill, the court supervisor signaled the servants, who rolled in a great barrel of sweet wine and filled the cups of every guest. From that moment, the rigid etiquette of the feast gave way to the nobles' favorite pastime—free socializing.
Seated beside King Harlaus, Richard quickly became the focus of attention. Seeing how deeply the king cherished his exiled grandson, the nobles set aside their earlier disdain and contempt. One after another, they approached with smiles, introducing themselves and offering gestures of goodwill.
Richard, however, was overwhelmed. Though he had read countless novels and histories in his former life, dealing with real people face to face was another matter entirely. His cheeks flushed red, and his words faltered.
Noticing his grandson's discomfort, King Harlaus intervened. With a firm gesture, he dismissed the nobles who pressed forward with their toasts, sending them away.
When the hall had cleared, Richard rose unsteadily, his head swimming with wine. Muttering that he wished to step outside, he staggered from the crowded banquet chamber.
Guided by guards, he made his way into the palace gardens. The cool night air revived him, easing the haze in his mind. Beneath the bright moonlight, he sank onto a cold stone bench. Though the wine of this world was not especially strong, drinking so much at once had left him light‑headed.
Shaking his head, Richard closed his eyes and tilted his face upward, letting the moonlight wash over him.
Only a few minutes passed before voices broke the stillness. The sound of several youths speaking reached his ears. Richard's eyes opened at once, and he turned toward the source. In the shadows of the garden, a small group of noble teenagers stood together, deep in discussion.
At first Richard thought it had nothing to do with him, so he closed his eyes again. But the teenagers clearly had no intention of leaving him in peace. Their hurried footsteps drew closer, and in the next moment they sat down around him without the slightest courtesy.
"Um?"
Startled awake by their movements, Richard opened his eyes to find several noble boys surrounding him. His heart skipped, and he asked quickly, "What do you want? This is the Trizzi Palace!"
"Are you joking? Who doesn't know this is the Trizzi Palace?" sneered a tall, thin boy, drawing laughter from the others.
"Then what are you planning to do?" Richard pressed, unease creeping into his voice. He counted them silently—five in all.
"Friend," the tall boy said with a grin, "we want to sneak into the Tongtian Tower for a little adventure. Trouble is, we don't know the way. Then I saw you sitting here, and thought—why not ask you to lead us?"
"I don't even know the way…" Richard began, but before he could finish, several of the youths seized him by the arms and pulled him to his feet. Without giving him a chance to resist, they started leading him toward the towering silhouette of the Babel Tower gleaming in the night.
Helpless, Richard fell silent and allowed himself to be dragged along.
As they walked, the tall boy who had spoken earlier gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.
"Hey, friend, my name's Douglas—Douglas Greg. What about you, Riffen?"
"My… my name is Richard. Richard Stuart."
"Stuart? Is there even a noble house by that name in Ravana City?" The youth who called himself Douglas frowned and glanced at his companions. They all shook their heads in confusion. With a shrug, Douglas abandoned the thought and declared, "Then you must be a noble from elsewhere. From now on, you're one of us. If anyone dares to trouble you, just give them my name!"
"…"
Richard's black hair fell over his brow as the corners of his mouth twitched. "Douglas… weren't you in the hall just now?"
"Who would want to sit through such a dull banquet?" Douglas scoffed, his tone utterly matter‑of‑fact. "The lot of us slipped away to find something more entertaining."
Looking at Douglas's expression—so natural, so certain—Richard found himself strangely disarmed. Against his better judgment, he thought that what the boy said almost made sense.