Party-mutual
[Trinda, 23rd of Sun’s Crown, 11th Year of the Fourth Age]
Three days had passed since the grand opening ceremony of the Ludus Magnorum. Now, the world stood poised at the edge of a spectacle unlike any in living memory—a convergence of games, revelry, and glory that would mark the century. The engines of commerce roared to life, sanitation and logistics ran with military precision, and resources flowed like rivers, bolstered by the generosity and alliances of neighboring realms.
All competition categories had been announced. For three days straight, from sunrise to the dead of night, the certified and state-sanctioned gambling houses licensed by the Royal Government of Rosmayne had been bursting at the seams. Official bookmakers barely kept pace with the frenzy; dozens of clerks fell ill under the crushing workload. Smaller gambling halls, unable to anticipate the storm, found their operations stalling and spiraling.
But the great gambling houses—those helmed by the empire’s elite noble families—thrived in the chaos like sharks in bloodied waters. Gold flooded through their vaults. They capitalized on every opening, every whisper of speculation. Some employed more staff than a mid-sized provincial garrison, their halls humming like the engine-rooms of warships before battle.
Among the many making their way toward the wagering halls that day was Viena—accompanied, as ever, by Lisabelle. The pair drew curious glances as they passed, dressed in perfectly coordinated Gothic Lolita outfits in warm, chocolate-hued tones laced with ivory. Each detail—from the corset-stitched bodices to the layered skirts trimmed with ruffles and bows—spoke of craftsmanship beyond the present age. And indeed, it was Lisabelle herself who had designed and stitched the garments from scratch, manifesting a vision far ahead of her time. She was, after all, an ultra-genius of the needle and thread, a prodigy who inherited her grandfather’s legendary talent for fashion and elevated it into something daringly new.
White stockings hugged their legs, and matching chestnut-brown leather shoes—custom ordered by Eleanor months prior—completed the look. Atop Viena’s head sat a bunny-ear headband, which Lisabelle had carefully modified to harmonize with every thread and flourish of the outfit. They didn’t just look like sisters—they looked like characters sprung from the page of a story no one else had thought to write yet.
“Excuse me, young lady.”
A sudden voice interrupted them. A small group of noblewomen in elaborate gowns—most appearing to be in their late twenties—had gathered around Lisabelle and Viena with unmistakable curiosity gleaming in their eyes. Their admiration was evident, and it wasn't hard to see why: the girls’ outfits had captivated their attention completely.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Harriet McAllen,” said one of them, smiling warmly. “I’m visiting from the Duchy of Dublin in Varnaria, along with my companions. Forgive the sudden approach, young lady, but I was utterly enchanted by your attire. I simply must know—may I have the name of the tailor who crafted your garments? Of course, we would never ask without proper compensation.”
“My name is Julie Callwell,” another chimed in with a gentle curtsy. “Please accept this as a small token of our appreciation.”
She presented a brooch set with a delicate pink gem, glimmering softly under the light. A few of the others followed suit, offering trinkets—ornate hairpins, a finely embroidered handkerchief, a small vial of imported perfume. Yet Lisabelle declined each one with grace.
“I thank you for your kindness, honorable ladies,” she said, her voice poised yet honest. “But I cannot in good conscience accept praise that is misdirected. These garments were made by someone dear to me—a girl my own age. She works alone for now, so even a single commission takes time and patience.”
“We were given these outfits for free,” Lisabelle admitted, her tone calm yet modest, “with the hope that perhaps one or two people might take interest in her work as we wander the street such as today.”
“Please—tell us who she is, young lady,” said Miss Harriet, her voice trembling with urgency. “I will pay any price. I’ll bring her to live in my private estate—she’ll be treated like my own daughter.” In her excitement, she had unconsciously crumpled her hand fan.
“To be honest … she’s quite shy,” Lisabelle replied with a faint smile. “But if you insist, you may reach out to Bidau Trading Company—preferably the Neims branch—and let them know you're seeking to commission a set from Lisabelle.”
At once, the noblewomen turned to their attendants, who had been waiting in perfect formation nearby. Without delay, the maids pulled out their notebooks and began jotting everything down with utmost seriousness.
“Ah! I knew it—there must be a connection to Le Roy du Lin!” Miss Julie exclaimed with delight, gently shaking Lisabelle’s hand while subtly brushing her fingers across the decorative lace and buttons of the dress, trying to sneak a closer inspection.
“And for you, little sister—Here. Please have fun and get yourself and your big sister some treats, okay?” Miss Harriet said warmly, handing Viena a pouch that was surprisingly heavy. The soft clinking sound inside revealed that it contained more than just pocket change.
“Thank you, miss! You’re all so lovely and kind—true nobles, in flesh and soul!” Viena said with a bright smile that lit up the room.
“What a clever and sweet child,” Miss Harriet chuckled, gently pinching her cheek. “Your sister has raised you well.”
The women finally took their leave, parting with polite smiles, and Lisabelle and Viena were left on their own once more. The two resumed their walk through the bustling morning streets. It was now 8:00 a.m.—five minutes behind their original schedule.
“Haah … That’s the third time already, Lily. Maybe you went a little overboard with the outfit,” Viena sighed, pouting slightly.
“A little hassle is a small price to pay, don’t you think?” Lisabelle replied, brushing her hair back with a proud smirk. “This is the perfect time to stand out, Vivi. Consider it free advertising. Just imagine—orders are coming in just from a casual stroll. If this keeps up, we’ll have enough to rebuild our family’s name in no time.”
“Hmph. Just don’t let us be too late.”
“Then quit your whining and walk faster. Let’s go.”
Viena and Lisabelle arrived at the Golden Central Club, a gambling house affiliated with the Duke of Tolston. Unfortunately, before they could even set foot inside the building, a large, well-dressed man in an all-white suit stepped forward and blocked their way.
“Are you lost, young ladies?” he asked politely, raising a gloved hand with professional grace. “I’m afraid this isn’t a place for children. Where are your parents? Do you need help finding them?”
“We have an appointment with someone inside,” Lisabelle replied curtly, her tone clipped and calm.
“I see. In that case, I kindly ask you not to wait right at the entrance. Please, if you would, wait over there.” The man gestured to a row of public benches along the roadside, most of which were already occupied by men flipping through newspapers and leaflets.
Just then, a tall, wiry man approached them from behind. He moved like a stick insect, thin and deliberate. He wore a gleaming green suit and an absurdly tall top hat—something straight out of a ringmaster’s wardrobe—yet it somehow suited his lanky frame perfectly.
“There’s no need, good sir,” he said smoothly. “They’re with me.”
The doorman blinked at the man’s tie, and his expression changed in an instant.
“T-That tie... Y-You’re Mr. Hyland! The Phantom Hand himself?! Oh, heavens, what a day—what a blessing to welcome someone of your caliber!” The guard bowed deeply, his smile now wide and brimming with respect. “My deepest apologies for the misunderstanding! Please, come in—all of you. We’re absolutely honored to have you at our humble establishment!”
Without another word, the three of them stepped inside. Beyond the grand doors lay a stunning scene—an uproarious bustle that, oddly enough, had been completely silent from outside. Viena’s eyes widened. This was her first time inside a gambling house.
At the heart of the enormous hall stood a massive circular board, divided into various sections bearing names and numbers. The data shifted mechanically, updated by a complex numeric slot machine that spun with a distinct ding—like a bell at a hotel front desk—every time it hit a new multiplier.
To Viena’s eyes, it resembled some kind of adult playground. The interior was vibrant yet elegant: colorful decorations, rows of gaming tables with glittering chips, spinning wheels, scattered cards, and groups of patrons laughing over drinks or tossing darts. It was like a carnival draped in velvet and whiskey.
Meanwhile, Hyland was speaking to a lovely hostess, discreetly slipping something into her hand. Moments later, she returned and guided them to a private lounge—an exclusive seating area slightly removed from the bustling crowd. Viena followed Lisabelle without saying a word, unsure how to interact with the lanky man named Hyland. Lisabelle herself hadn’t spoken to him since they entered, and Viena chose to mirror her silence.
They sat down, and the hostess handed them a richly illustrated menu—each dish and drink painted in detailed hand-drawn images. It was the first time Viena had ever seen such a luxurious menu, and her eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Miss Lisabelle, please—order anything you like,” Hyland offered politely.
“Go ahead, Vivi,” Lisabelle said warmly. “But no drinks, alright? I’ll choose one for you.”
Viena nodded and eagerly picked the dishes with the prettiest pictures, not having the faintest clue how they might taste—but trusting the art.
Soon after, the hostess left to process their order. With a calm, respectful motion, Hyland removed his tall green hat, then bowed slightly to introduce himself.
"Now then, Miss Lisabelle, and ..."
“Viena! My name’s Viena!” the little girl cut in cheerfully.
“Ah, of course, young Miss Viena,” he replied with a charming smile. “What a delight it is to meet you both today. Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is—”
“Edward Hyland, right?” Lisabelle interrupted this time.
“My, I’m honored you’d know the name of someone as insignificant as me,” he said modestly.
“No need to lower yourself, Mr. Hyland,” Lisabelle replied, her lips curled in a half-smile. “I’ve seen you perform magic tricks at Armes’ birthday parties. I held you in high regard—it’s impossible to figure out your secrets. Especially your ‘Vanishing Blue Queen.’ That one truly left me awestruck.”
“What?! Magic tricks?! Can you show me?!”
Viena nearly leapt onto the table in sheer excitement, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Hyland chuckled warmly and obliged without hesitation. He borrowed a deck of cards from a passing hostess and began to perform—flipping, vanishing, and revealing them in ways that left Viena gasping, giggling, and clapping with delight after every trick. Her joy was so infectious that it began to draw curious glances from nearby patrons.
Before long, whispers began to ripple through the hall.
“Wait—is that…?!”
“No way. That is him!”
“It’s the Phantom Hand! He’s here?!”
“What?! Why didn’t anyone tell me?! Are you kidding me—did the Tolston gambling house hire him? The Duke’s family really has gone mad with money!”
What started as a private show for a little girl quickly turned into a full-blown spectacle. Hyland, feeding off the energy of the room, climbed up onto the table and launched into a dazzling performance. Cards danced between his fingers like birds, coins shimmered out of nowhere, and silk scarves shifted shape midair.
The staff made no move to stop him—in fact, they welcomed the chaos with wide grins. After all, Edward Hyland was no ordinary entertainer. He was the showman nobles paid outrageous sums to see. And tonight, for reasons no one could quite understand, he was performing—for free.
After about an hour of dining, relaxing, and indulging in laughter and spectacle, the trio was eventually escorted into a more private chamber—courtesy of the staff, who offered it as a gesture of gratitude for Hyland’s impromptu performance. It was a quiet room tucked away from the noise of the main hall, lit warmly and lined with velvet drapes.
Sensing the change in atmosphere, Lisabelle took this opportunity to steer the gathering toward its true purpose. After a few casual exchanges, she set down her drink and leaned forward slightly.
“Well then, Mr. Hyland. I believe it’s time we proceed with the registration for our license and initial deposit.”
She made a move to rise from her seat, but Hyland gently raised a hand to stop her.
“No need, my lady. Everything has already been arranged.”
He turned toward a young staff member—clearly a newcomer judging by his stiff posture—and whispered something discreetly into his ear.
“A-Ah! So you’re the one they mentioned. Very well, sir. I’ll return right away,” the young man stammered, then hurried off.
Moments later, he returned with a silver tray draped in an elegant cloth. Upon unveiling it, the contents revealed themselves to be a series of official-looking documents, neatly organized, alongside a luxurious pen with a polished gold nib.
“Please take a moment to read through everything, my lady,” Hyland said with a courteous nod. “If anything appears unclear, we can go over it together and make any necessary adjustments.”
Lisabelle read through the entire stack of documents with unwavering focus. Time passed quietly. Viena, curious as always, climbed onto her sister’s lap to peek at the pages. But alas—the text was a maze of legal jargon, dressed in overly formal language that seemed almost designed to be incomprehensible to anyone without a law degree.
“Lily, are you done yet?” Viena asked, fidgeting with the ribbon on her blouse.
“Not yet. Documents like this can be dangerous if you’re not careful,” Lisabelle replied without looking up.
Viena resigned herself to snacking on the biscuits provided and occasionally tugging at the end of her sleeve, entertaining herself while her sister worked. Finally, Lisabelle closed the last document with a soft tap of her hand.
“Alright, nothing looks out of place... well, except for one thing.” She twirled a lock of her hair absentmindedly.
“Oh? Please, do let me know, my lady. I’ll fix it right away,” Hyland offered, polite as ever.
“N-No, it’s not exactly a mistake,” she replied, her tone slightly awkward. “It’s just... why is the deposit so large? I clearly said we’d provide our own capital and only needed a basic license.”
Hyland chuckled, brushing the cuff of his sleeve as he searched for the right words.
“Well, to be honest... Monsieur Delarre and I thought the same thing. B-But, you see, when it comes to matters involving you, Lady Lisabelle... Master Vincent tends to be rather—how shall I put it—unyielding.”
Lisabelle sighed deeply and picked up the elegant pen that had been provided. With practiced ease, she began writing directly onto one of the forms.
“Uncle Vincent really can be a handful sometimes... Please cancel the extra deposit and adjust it to match the figure I’ve written here. This is the amount we’ll actually be using.”
“As you wish, my lady,” Hyland replied with a respectful nod.
As Lisabelle finished writing, Viena finally broke into a stream of curious questions—asking what exactly they were doing, why they had chosen this particular gambling house over others, whether other places were just as good, and so on. Lisabelle answered each inquiry patiently, her voice calm and reassuring as they waited for Hyland to return with the revised documents.
“Why would Uncle Vincent send a magician to help you with all this?” Viena asked, tilting her head in confusion.
“Don’t mistake him for someone who’s only good at sleight of hand or parlor tricks, Vivi,” Lisabelle replied calmly. “From what I’ve gathered, Mr. Hyland is actually highly experienced in the entertainment business. He’s well-respected among the people in this circle. Uncle Vincent sent him with us because he understands how these people operate—and more often than not, it’s far from pleasant.”
“So you mean... Mister Hyland’s presence is to protect us?”
“Simply put, yes.”
A short while later, Mr. Hyland returned to the room with the revised documents, now properly adjusted according to Lisabelle’s instructions. Once everything had been finalized, he politely informed them that he had other engagements to attend to for the day. The three of them agreed to leave the gambling house together.
Outside, as the afternoon sun cast golden rays onto the cobbled street, Hyland turned to face them and offered a formal bow to Lisabelle.
“Well then, I shall take my leave, Lady Lisabelle ... and young Miss Viena.”
“Thank you for handling everything, Mr. Hyland,” Lisabelle said. “Even though I imagine you gained nothing from getting dragged into all this.”
Hyland chuckled softly, adjusting his gloves with a graceful gesture.
“If I may be frank, my lady—I wouldn’t say that at all. After all, the one I’m serving is the future wife of Young Master Armes, the primary heir to Master Vincent. So, more than anything, I hope to maintain good relations between us, Lady Lisabelle Arbona.”
Viena, hearing this for the first time, was visibly stunned. Her eyes widened, but she managed to hold her tongue—at least until it was just the two of them again. Meanwhile, Lisabelle simply let out a faint sigh and offered a small, wry smile as she waved farewell to the carriage carrying Hyland away.