Chapter 29: Royal Banquet [1]
In the heart of Thornhaven City’s central square.
A team of mages moved with practiced precision around the massive circular platform that dominated the plaza.
They were wearing deep blue robes of certified Portal Technicians.
Each of them was focused on their specific tasks.
One adjusted a series of crystalline dials mounted on a control pedestal as her fingers moved quickly across the glowing surface.
Another mage traced a glowing fingertip along the larger runes etched into the stone, checking for any imperfections in the ancient carvings.
A third monitored a hovering display of essence levels, watching for any possible fluctuations.
Teleportation gates were one of the three pillars of travel across the Shattered Continents of Aetheris, alongside the Magi train and Traditional carriages.
But unlike their counterparts, teleportation gates occupied a strange position in the empire’s transportation network.
They were technically available to the public, yet practically restricted to the elite.
The reason was simply economics.
A single activation consumed refined essence cores harvested from monsters, and the cost scaled exponentially with distance.
A trip from Thornhaven to the next city over might require the equivalent of what a small merchant earned in a month.
A cross-continent journey could drain a small noble house’s entire quarterly budget in the span of four seconds.
Beyond the resource requirements, the gates themselves were marvels of ancient engineering that no modern mage fully understood.
They couldn’t be built from scratch anymore.
And they were only maintained.
The original knowledge of their construction had been lost during the Shattering, that cataclysmic event that had broken the continents apart millennia ago.
Now, the existing gates were treated like priceless artifacts, each one carefully preserved and operated by specialists who had spent years learning to interface with systems they could never replicate.
They were also limited by their network.
Each gate could only connect to other gates, and only major cities like Thornhaven, Eldergate, or Lyriandor possessed them.
They couldn’t just teleport you to a random village or a remote forest.
You could only travel to places important enough to have been part of the original network.
The massive circular platform itself was a testament to that lost art.
Two towering arcs of silver-blue metal rose from either side as they curved inward toward each other like the ribs of some enormous fossilized beast.
The metal--Elythium was unlike anything found in nature anymore. It was lost in Shattering. Or perhaps it still existed somewhere--in a place where people could no longer reach.
Elythium conducted essence with near-perfect efficiency, which glowed faintly even when the gates were dormant.
Thousands of runes covered every inch of its surface, interlocking patterns that shifted and reformed constantly.
*Whoosh—*
A gust of wind swept across the square as it lifted the dark strands of Mikael’s hair from his forehead.
He stood a few meters from the platform’s edge, but even then...
He felt the faint hum of gathering essence vibrating through the soles of his boots.
His ghostly grey eyes quietly tracked the movements of the mages as they locked in the coordinates for Lyriandor City--
The capital of the Valerion Kingdom and the destination for tonight’s royal banquet.
It was strange yet utterly captivating to see it in person.
In his previous life, he had watched this exact gate activate hundreds of times through a computer monitor, guiding his character through the loading screen that separated one region from another.
’Eclipsed Realm’ had rendered it beautifully—the glowing runes, the shimmering portal, the dramatic sound effects.
But standing here now, feeling the static charge in the air and the subtle vibration that resonated in his chest, he realized how pale an imitation that had been.
The game had captured the visual spectacle, but it had completely missed the weight of it.
"Huu....."
He exhaled slowly as he watched his breath mist in the cooling evening air.
His right hand twitched at his side, the black leather of his glove creaked faintly as his fingers curled inward in a gesture that was almost muscle memory.
He was craving a cigarette.
The craving had been creeping up on him from the moment he arrived back from Liren’s memories in Forest.
In his previous life as Zen Ashcroft, he had been a heavy smoker.
It all started after his little sister died.
He had been nineteen back then, barely an adult himself, as he was suddenly adrift in a world that felt hollow and wrong.
Cigarettes had given him an anchor during the panic attacks.
The ritual of lighting one, the first drag, the slow exhale—it had been a grounding mechanism for him.
A way to force his body through the motions of calm even when his mind was screaming.
But he had quit eventually.
He had thought he was free of it.
But the afternoon event had brought it all roaring back.
Cigarettes had been his anchor in the old world, a filthy habit that had paradoxically kept him sane.
And now, some stubborn part of his brain kept reaching for that anchor.
He found himself staring at his own empty hand.
"You sure you still want to come to the banquet?"
Jeanne’s cool voice cut through his thoughts, beside him.
He turned towards her to find her sharp emerald eyes on him with a searching gaze.
"You can still say no. I can make an excuse to Father. Tell him you’re unwell after the incident at the inn. I’m sure he’ll understand."
Mikael’s gaze studied her for a moment.
She had changed into a deep emerald gown for the evening, the fabric rich and flowing as it hugged her figure with an elegance that was somehow both understated and commanding.
Her long black hair had been pinned up in an elaborate arrangement that exposed the graceful curve of her neck, and small silver earrings caught the light when she moved.
She looked every inch the heir to a Marquess house.
’....’
’Yeah, she’s going to have a massive headache fending off all those young masters tonight.’
"Yeah. I’m feeling okay now. You don’t need to worry. I’m not going to collapse in the middle of the royal ballroom, if that’s what you’re worried about."
Jeanne’s lips twitched.
"Good. Because that would be embarrassing, the Morwell name would never recover."
"Glad to know your priorities are in order."
"Naturally."
The banter came easily.
It felt almost natural, which even surprised him.
Still, he maintained the careful distance around her.
One wrong move, one slip of the tongue, and he might expose the truth that he was not the real Mikael.
Truthfully, he hadn’t wanted to attend this banquet at all when Jeanne first mentioned it.
The thought of navigating a royal ballroom full of nobles, all of whom had known the original Mikael longer than he’d been alive in this body, had seemed like an unnecessary risk.
But there was something he needed to confirm.
As for Princess Elara, he wasn’t particularly worried.
From fragmented memories he’d inherited from the original Mikael, he had not seen her in over two years. People could change a great deal in that amount of time.
If anyone remarked on how different he seemed, he could shrug and say he’d changed in these two years.
And it wouldn’t even be a lie.
Jeanne seemed to accept his reassurance as she turned her attention back to the platform.
The arcs of silvery metal had begun to glow more intensely as the space between them shimmered with essence.
An attendant approached them--the same silver-haired woman who had been manning the control pedestal as she bowed towards them.
"My lady, young lord. The gate is locked to Lyriandor City’s central platform. The estimated transit time is about four seconds. You may proceed whenever you’re ready."
Jeanne nodded.
"Thank you."
She glanced at Mikael and tilted her head toward the platform.
"Let’s go."
They climbed the short flight of stairs onto the dais together as Mikael felt the massive amount of essence.
Between the two arcs, the air had folded open into a massive blue portal—a vertical disc of swirling light that seemed to pull at the edges of his vision.
It was beautiful yet deeply unsettling.
Mikael felt a little nervous, but he didn’t let it show in his body language, as the original Mikael had used these gates dozens of times.
Jeanne stepped into the portal first, then was swallowed by the blue light.
Mikael followed a heartbeat later without thinking much.
His body felt weightless, untethered from gravity.
For a stretched moment, he was nowhere--floating in a passage of countless colors that blurred and merged and separated again.
*Tap—!*
His boots hit solid stone, and the world snapped back into focus.
Mikael stumbled half a step as his equilibrium scrambled to catch up with the abrupt transition.
Beside him, Jeanne landed with considerably more grace than he did.
Mikael blinked, his vision swimming for a moment before clearing.
He turned to Jeanne with furrowed brows.
"Did you see that?"
Jeanne blinked at him, confused.
"See what?"
"During the transit. The...."
"What are you talking about? You can’t see anything while traveling through a teleportation gate.... At least humans can’t. Maybe Tier 9 Monarchs or Tier 10 Zenith can perceive something, but definitely not Low-Tier Awakeners like us."
As she chuckled.
"....."
"You’re probably just seeing things. It’s been a long time since you traveled through teleportation gates."
"....Yeah, I might have imagined that."
He took a moment to orient himself.
The platform they had arrived on was nearly identical to the one in Thornhaven—the same twin arcs and the team of blue-robed technicians monitoring the controls.
But the city beyond was completely different.
Lyriandor City sprawled around them in a display of imperial grandeur that made Thornhaven look almost provincial.
The buildings here were taller, their facades carved from white marble and pale limestone that seemed to glow in the fading evening light. Wide boulevards lined with flowering trees stretched in every direction, releasing a faint, sweet fragrance into the cooling air.
And everywhere--on banners, on flags, on the uniforms of the city guard--were the deep blue and gold colors of the Valerion royal family.
The royal palace itself was visible in the distance.
Even from here,
Mikael could see the hundreds of lights beginning to flicker on in its windows, preparing for the celebration to come.
As they descended the platform stairs, a middle-aged man with dark brown hair was waiting for them at the bottom.
He was wearing a formal black coat embroidered with the howling wolf insignia of House Morwell on his left upper arm and had a sword attached to his hip.
The moment Jeanne reached the bottom of the stairs, the knight bowed deeply at the waist as one hand pressed over his heart in a formal salute.
"Lady Jeanne. Welcome to Lyriandor City. I trust your journey was uneventful?"
"Ser Aldric." Jeanne inclined her head in acknowledgment. "Uneventful enough. Thank you for meeting us."
"Of course, my lady."
The knight straightened from his bow and turned his attention to Mikael as his eyes softened a little.
"Young Lord Mikael. It is good to see you again as well."
Mikael nodded, keeping his expression carefully neutral.
He searched his borrowed memories for information about this man, but found only fragments.
Ser Aldric was one of the most trusted knights of his father, Marquess Cassius Morwell.
Still, he found himself mildly surprised.
In the novels he’d read back on Earth, the incompetent young master was always despised by his family’s retainers.
The knights would bow because they had to, but their eyes would hold contempt, and their words would be laced with barely concealed disdain.
He’d half expected the same treatment here.
But Ser Aldric’s respect seemed genuine, his gaze free of the scorn Mikael had braced himself to receive.
Perhaps it made sense.
Whatever his failings, Mikael was still the Marquess’s only son.
The knights of House Morwell had sworn oaths to serve the family, and those oaths didn’t come with caveats about only serving the competent members.
"Ser Aldric." Mikael said, inclining his head in a small nod. "Thank you for the escort."
"The honor is mine, young lord."
Aldric stepped aside and gestured toward a sleek black carriage bearing the Morwell insignia waiting at the edge of the plaza.
"If you’re ready, the royal palace is expecting you. The banquet begins within the hour, and traffic near the palace gates is already becoming congested."
As they walked towards the carriage.
*****