At the manor, children around Lucian's age were running around, enjoying the event with their parents and guardians.
The atmosphere was lively. One area was set up for shows and games, and tables were filled with food for the younger guests. For the adults, a well-stocked bar gave them space to talk while keeping an eye on their children.
Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time, especially his sister, who was happily eating and laughing with the other children, while Lucian stood beside his mother, assisting her as she greeted the guests.
Mr. George Goldhart arrived with his wife and their daughter, Mary. All three were dressed in formal, elegant attire. They waved warmly as they approached, their smiles bright.
"Congratulations, Lucian. May the Mighty Sovereign be with you on your journey," Mr. George and his wife said together, their tone genuinely warm.
"Thank you," he replied, returning their smiles.
Though he really hoped not.
Mary peeked out from behind her father and lifted her hand in a small wave. "Happy birthday, Lucian," she said shyly.
"Thank you, Mary," he answered. "I'm glad you could come."
They chatted briefly before a servant guided them to their table and made sure they were comfortable.
Mother then turned to him. "Go play with the other children. I will handle the guests."
"But I also like greeting them," he said with a small smile, using it as an excuse to stay by her side.
Most of the guests were merchants from Linberg, well acquainted with his family, along with a few nobles who had traveled the difficult mountain roads to attend. He tried to memorize as many faces and names as he could.
Suddenly, a servant near the door hurried forward and stood stiffly as he called out in a loud, nervous voice, "The Duke of the South, Lukas Von Lockewood, has arrived!"
The room fell silent. The announcement startled the guests. Many rushed toward the entrance and prepared to greet the duke.
"Uncle?" Lucian murmured, glancing at Mother. She looked surprised but pleased.
"I invited the duke," she said quietly, "but I did not expect him to actually come."
Through the doorway stepped a man who bore a striking resemblance to his father, though he was noticeably taller and broader. His presence made the air feel heavier. His sharp eyes swept over the room, and his aura alone was enough to make the crowd uneasy. A boy around Lucian's age followed a step behind him.
"We greet Duke Lukas," the guests said in unison, bowing.
Mother stepped forward and bowed respectfully. "Welcome, Duke Lukas. Thank you for visiting our estate."
The duke waved a hand.
"No need for formalities, Arian. We are family," he replied, his deep voice resonating through the room. He glanced at her. "Is my brother treating you well?"
Mother smiled politely. "Yes, we are doing well."
He then gestured to the boy beside him. "This is Ceil Von Lockewood, my son." Turning to Lucian, he added, "And you must be Lucian. I have heard a great deal about you."
"Thank you, sir. It is an honor to meet you," Lucian said, nodding.
Ceil barely glanced at him. He looked Lucian over once, clearly uninterested, then walked away as if he were not even there.
The main door swung open again, and his father stepped in, slightly out of breath, his armor stained with blood and dust. It looked as if he had rushed here straight from the operation.
He scanned the room before his eyes settled on the duke.
"Did my brother cause any trouble here?" he asked, his tone calm but edged.
The duke's expression grew serious as he approached. "And if I did? What would you do?" he replied, a faint challenge in his voice.
The room fell silent once more. The air felt heavy as the two brothers faced each other, as if they were on the verge of clashing.
. . .
"Stop that. You are scaring the guests," Mother said sharply, her voice cutting through the tension.
The two brothers held each other's gaze for a moment, then both smiled.
Father let out a short laugh. "Good to see you, brother," he said, stepping forward and giving the duke a firm pat on the shoulder.
Mother stepped to Father's side and began checking his armor, her hands moving over the dents and bloodstains.
"You should change. Come, I'll help you treat your wound," she muttered.
"It's nothing serious," he said lightly.
"It is still bleeding," she replied, giving him a look.
Father sighed in defeat. "Fine, fine. We will be back shortly," he said.
They excused themselves and left the hall together so Father could change into formal attire and let Mother tend to his wounds.
Meanwhile, the lively atmosphere slowly returned. Music picked up again, and the hall filled with soft chatter and children's laughter. Servants moved between tables, refilling drinks and bringing out fresh plates of food.
Lucian drifted away from the main walkway, watching the crowd. Belle ran past Mary and a few other children, laughing as they chased each other around the tables.
When Father returned, now dressed sharply in his formal coat with his wound bandaged and his hair tied back, he joined the duke at a nearby table. They sat with drinks in hand, speaking in low voices, their expressions shifting between serious and relaxed. From time to time, their laughter drew curious glances from nearby guests.
Lucian stayed close enough to listen without interrupting, pretending to watch the hall while keeping his ears on them.
"What brings you here, brother?" Father asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Lady Arian invited me. You did not know?" the duke said with a grin.
Father cleared his throat. "Well, I have been busy lately."
"Well, I also wanted to see your children. They seem to be doing well," the duke added.
"Of course," Father replied proudly.
Father's eyes shifted across the hall. Ceil stood some distance away, already talking to a group of girls his age. They laughed at something he said, clearly enjoying his attention.
"Seems like your son has your charm with girls," Father remarked.
The duke laughed. "Yes. He is more of a troublemaker than his older sister."
"Well, as long as he does not set anything on fire like you did before, we will call it a success," Father said.
They shared another laugh, remembering that incident, but the duke's expression gradually turned more serious.
"Anyway, the northern border attacks have worsened," the duke said, his voice steady.
Father's smile faded.
"The royal family has requested reinforcements before things grow further out of control," the duke continued.
Father's expression darkened. "Those annoying lizards are behind this, aren't they?" he said.
"You could say that," the duke replied calmly. "But you know we cannot openly act against them because of the church."
"What about that crazy Northern Duke? What is he up to now?" Father asked, his tone sharp.
Mother, who had returned and taken a seat beside Father, noticed the shift in mood and spoke up. "This is not the time or place for such discussions," she said, her voice firm but gentle.
Lucian guessed they were talking about the Hator Empire. From what he had picked up in books and rumors, Valeria and Hator had clashed in small skirmishes over the past decade but never escalated to a full war. Recently, Hator's rapid expansion has destabilized the northern regions, leading to rebel groups and raids along Valeria's borders.
Father gave Mother a small smile. "It is fine, dear," he said in a casual tone. Then he looked back at the duke. "But I suspect that is not the only reason you are here, right?"
The duke's gaze sharpened. "You are right," he said quietly, swirling the drink in his hand.
"Since we are all here, and your child has come of age, I will get straight to the point. I want your children to come to the main family under my guidance."
Mother froze, her shock plain on her face. Lucian felt a similar jolt inside. Father, however, remained calm.
"I see," he said evenly.
"You know I can offer them far greater opportunities," the duke continued. "Power, influence, and the training they will need for the future. Besides," he added, giving Father a pointed look, "you remember what Father said, do you?"
Father's gaze hardened, but his tone stayed controlled. "I do. But this is not a decision we can make lightly. We will need time to consider it."
The duke nodded slowly. "Fair enough. I will wait for your answer."
Before their conversation could continue, a loud, confident voice rang out across the room.
"I challenge Lucian to a duel!"
All heads turned toward the source.
Ceil Von Lockewood stood at the center of the hall, his expression smug and his eyes locked on Lucian. The sudden challenge left the room in stunned silence for a moment.
Father and the duke exchanged amused glances, while Mother looked visibly worried.
"Told you, a troublemaker," the duke said under his breath, smirking at Father.
"This is not the place for a duel," Mother protested. "And Lucian has never even held a sword before."
What was this about?
Lucian had not even spoken to him. Was he just some spoiled noble brat trying to show off in front of everyone? Though dueling was common entertainment here, he still could not figure out his reason.
Father placed a reassuring hand on Mother's shoulder. "Let Lucian decide," he said softly. His eyes moved to Lucian, curious, as if he wanted to see what he would do.
Lucian hesitated, caught off guard by Ceil's boldness and the attention of the room.
He took a slow breath, cleared his thoughts, and stepped forward, meeting Ceil's gaze.
"I accept," he said firmly.
Ceil's smirk widened, clearly pleased. "Good," he said simply, turning toward the open space in the hall.
Guests began to move aside as murmurs spread through the crowd, some excited, others uneasy.
Mother stepped closer to him, her voice low and urgent. "Lucian, you do not have to do this. He is trained, and you are-"
"I will be fine, Mother," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "It is just a kids' fight."
. . .
They were each handed gray swords and guided to the center of the hall. The crowd formed a loose circle, their excited murmurs filling the air.
"Don't worry," Ceil said, smirking. "I'll go easy on you."
This reminded Lucian of moments from his past life. Whether he won or lost, he felt like this situation could put him at a disadvantage later.
As soon as they assumed their stances, Ceil charged him with a swift, confident strike. Lucian barely managed to block, but the force of the attack sent him stumbling back.
A trained brat. His weak, small body wouldn't hold up for long if he kept defending like this.
Ceil didn't let up, swinging powerfully as he closed the distance again. Lucian dodged to the side just in time. Ceil's strikes were forceful and relentless, his frustration mounting with each missed hit. Using his speed, Lucian ducked and sidestepped, keeping just out of reach.
"Stop dodging!" Ceil shouted, his voice sharp with irritation.
His attacks grew more aggressive, his blade slicing through the air with even greater speed. Lucian kept retreating, weaving around the edge of the crowd, all while scanning his surroundings for something or someone.
After creating some distance, he took a deep breath. Ceil wasn't giving him time to think, and he had to act. He charged at Ceil, swinging with quick but aimless strikes, hoping to force him onto the defensive.
"That's all you've got?" Ceil sneered, effortlessly parrying his attacks.
His confidence was unwavering, his smirk growing wider.
Then, with a sudden kick, he sent Lucian flying backward into the crowd. Lucian crashed against a sturdy table. The impact was jarring but not serious. His sword slipped from his grip and clattered to the ground.
Ceil approached slowly, his expression brimming with arrogance. "Ready to surrender?" he asked, towering over him.
Lucian pushed himself up and grinned, despite the ache in his ribs. "Not a chance."
Ceil scoffed and charged again, certain of his victory. But Lucian had been waiting for this moment. As Ceil lunged, Lucian crouched low and stepped in, grabbing his collar with all the strength he could muster. Using Ceil's momentum against him, he twisted and shoved him forward with all his weight.
Ceil stumbled toward another table where Belle sat, calmly eating her dessert as if the duel weren't happening.
Lucian fell back against the table behind him, feigning unconsciousness, while Ceil was thrown directly toward Belle.
Belle barely looked up. Without a hint of concern, she raised her fist and delivered a perfect punch to Ceil's face. The blow sent him crashing to the floor, toppling chairs and scattering food from the table.
The room went silent as every guest froze, processing what had just happened. Ceil lay sprawled on the ground, dazed and struggling to stay conscious.
Before the darkness took him, he muttered one word: "Angel."
Belle didn't even blink. She frowned at him briefly, brushing crumbs from her dress. "How rude," she said simply, before returning to her dessert as though nothing had happened.
For a moment, the hall remained awkwardly quiet. Then, the duke's hearty laughter rang out, breaking the tension. His booming voice carried across the room as he turned to Father, clapping him on the shoulder. "Well, that was unexpected."
The crowd relaxed. Some guests even clapped, clearly entertained by the duel's unexpected result.
Meanwhile, Mother hurried over to Ceil, kneeling by his side to check on him. "Are you alright?" she asked, with concern.
Ceil winced, rubbing his back. "I am fine, Lady Arian," he muttered.
Then she turned to Belle, her tone sharp. "What were you thinking?"
Belle shrugged nonchalantly, wiping her hands on a napkin. "He was coming at me. It's Lucy's fault," she replied casually.
Mother narrowed her eyes. "Go check on your brother."
"Ahhh… fine," Belle groaned, dragging out the sound as she turned away.
. . .
A few minutes later, Lucian stood and brushed dust from his coat as the celebration picked up again. The musicians started playing, and servants cleared the broken plates and decorations as if nothing had happened.
Children clustered around him, buzzing about the duel with admiring eyes.
"That was amazing!"
"I thought you were going to lose for sure."
"How did you move like that?"
He managed to smile despite the ache in his side and answered a few questions, keeping his replies simple. Nearby, some parents watched with interest, a few of them giving small smiles and subtly nudging their daughters forward in hopes of an introduction.
One girl stepped closer, then retreated when their eyes met. Another shyly greeted him before her mother called her back. He bowed his head politely, feeling more tired than proud.
A little while later, Mary appeared at his side and held out a small wrapped book.
"Here's the present," she said. "It is about merchant trade and business. Father uses it. I thought you might find it useful."
He took it, turning it over once. "You remembered what I said in the carriage."
She smiled. "You asked about trade routes. I thought this was better than trying to explain it."
"Thank you," he said, and meant it.
She nodded toward the dance floor as the music shifted. "Can you dance?"
"Poorly," he said.
She took his hand anyway and led him onto the dance floor. She moved with effortless grace, her cheerful laughter bright in the crowd.
He wasn't used to dancing. On the second step, he stepped down on her foot.
Mary flinched.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly, looking down.
"It's fine." She smiled like it meant nothing. "Not bad for someone who just got thrown into a table," she teased, her eyes shining.
He grinned. "I just got lucky. I guess."
"Lucky?" She laughed softly. "I saw you out there dodging like your life depended on it. Maybe you're a better fighter than you think."
"Maybe," he said, still smiling.
Her grip tightened a little, steadying him before he could step wrong again. "Just follow me," she whispered, like it was a secret meant only for him.
He nodded and focused on her feet, on the rhythm, on the count. One, two, turn. The music filled his ears, washing over the murmurs and the watching eyes.
Mary spun lightly as the music began to slow, and he managed not to stumble. She looked pleased, like she'd won something.
He took a moment to look around the hall, watching the lantern light, the moving crowd, and the way the night slowly settled in around the manor.
As he watched, Mother slipped up beside him and offered a quick squeeze to his shoulder. "You did well tonight," she said softly.
"Thanks, Mother," he replied, returning her warm smile.
"Keep your head up," she added. "There's more to come."
The night was far from over, and he planned to take every opportunity to be seen.