Laeral Silverhand recognized every face present; each one was the current head of a hereditary noble family, powerful, distinguished, and, above all, strictly traditional. No surprise, then, that as soon as the ritual ended, they hurried over to see her.
"Ladies and gentlemen, what brings you here?" her voice echoed, ethereal and pleasant. "Are you perhaps dissatisfied with today's ennoblement ceremony?"
A rotund woman rose and bowed slightly, respectful. "Not at all, esteemed Lady of the City. We're actually quite satisfied with the proceedings today, but…"
Laeral's eyes focused on her, recognizing her as the Cassalanter Matriarch—a woman whose origins were humble but whose methods were ruthless and decisive. That was why in all matters of her house, her husband never showed his face. She handled everything herself.
Laeral also remembered: years ago, it was this woman who had presented 'House Sulpharlo's Heretical Relic' as evidence. Now that very 'blasphemed' artifact had resurfaced, proving that her testimony had been false. Laeral's opinion of her was…let's say, extremely poor.
"But isn't the ennoblement of Mr. Nigel Charles a bit excessive?" Ammalia Cassalanter asked. "He was a commoner, wasn't he? To start at such a high title on his very first ennoblement will certainly chill the hearts of other life nobles, and may erode the proper awe that commoners ought to have for the noble title itself."
Laeral stared, momentarily incredulous at what she was hearing. "Excuse me?"
Cassalanter repeated herself, and soon every other noble joined in, voicing agreement—they were all here for the same reason.
Laeral Silverhand stood there in silence for a moment, a powerful surge of anger bubbling up inside her.
They came here… for this?!
How utterly ridiculous. How completely pathetic and shameful!
She hadn't expected Liberl Port's hereditary nobles to have fallen so far, to be so short-sighted!
Her eyes flashed with stormy anger, brows arching like drawn blades. "Not a single one of you has ever witnessed the terror of an Abyssal Lord, yet you feel qualified to pass judgement on Charles's achievements?"
"Let me remind you: from the start, noble titles have always been meant first and foremost for the heroes who defend the mortal world—especially those who banish Demon Lords!"
Her gaze swept over the group. "How many of the people you recommend to me each year are true heroes? Besides Charles, almost none! It's those others who are diluting the dignity of the noble title!"
"I'd advise you all to understand: without him, this entire port would be ashes. Everything you're so proud of would be gone."
"The fact is, it's not Charles who needs this noble title to prove his worth. It's the noble title itself that needs people like Charles to prove its sanctity!"
Her outburst left the nobles utterly floored. They'd come together expecting Laeral Silverhand to back down—never dreaming she'd stand her ground with such unyielding fury!
What the hell? Weren't they hereditary nobles—the most exalted people in the world?
And yet Laeral Silverhand just dismissed them?
They were shell-shocked, but Laeral couldn't care less what was in their heads. Having said her piece, she turned and ascended the stairs, returning upstairs. "I'm done here. You may leave."
With that, she strode away. Downstairs, the nobles stared at one another, still cowed by her presence, not daring to utter a sound until her form disappeared at the top of the stairs.
At last, one of them muttered, "It seems this decision to grant Charles a lifelong countship was entirely Laeral Silverhand's personal will."
Another frowned. "Even if Laeral is a demigod, she shouldn't be so high-handed. She ought to listen to the rest of us with divine bloodlines too!"
A third quickly chimed in agreedly, "Exactly! Nobility is about being noble—how can you give it out based purely on martial prowess? That's barbarism."
Ammalia Cassalanter scowled, "It's clear to me—Laeral's been living in this palace too long. She's lost touch with the real world; only someone disconnected makes such a clumsy decision."
"How about this? Let's nudge things along and show her just what a mess she's made by forcing Charles into a countship. Maybe that'll make her reconsider."
The group nodded, agreeing one after another before standing and leaving together. None realized they were digging their own graves with every word.
...
Meanwhile, at the monastery, in the training hall—
"Come on, that's not enough! Again!"
"You want to hit the battlefield with that sloth of a move?"
"Get up—do it again!"
Charles and Anno stood in the doorway and watched as Nymeria, wielding a wooden magic training greatsword, swept through the advancing battle nuns, shouting taunts as she went. She was winding the girls up, training their bodies and minds at the same time.
The girls, biting back their tempers, pushed on. Two days of harsh battle training had made one thing very clear: the more you let Nymeria's words get to you, the more you lost your cool, exposing yourself to punishment and more of her stinging mockery!
So now, no matter how furious they felt, every nun had learned to grit her teeth and keep it bottled, swearing to herself, Hold it together—hold it, then find a chance to strike back later!
Charles couldn't help but ache a little at seeing their flushed, frustrated faces. He turned to Anno and asked, "Be honest, what do you think of her technique?"
Anno's eyes narrowed appraisingly, and she gave a small nod. "She's good. Even if she's not teaching shield tactics, just drilling the basics, she's more than enough for your battle nuns."
She hesitated, glanced at Charles, and added bluntly, "If it's pure weapon technique, you probably can't beat her."
The assessment stung, but Charles could only nod. "Yeah, well… can't really argue that."
She was right. No sense lying to himself about it.
As he pondered, the wall clock in the training hall chimed. The nuns, still flushed from their exertion, set weapons aside and flopped down to wipe sweat and rest.
Only Nymeria was still bright-eyed, cheeks red, bouncing with lively energy. Her big eyes swept the room and lit up when she spotted Charles in the doorway. "Priest Charles! You're back!"
She scampered over, brimming with excitement.
"Nymeria, let me introduce you," Charles smiled. "This is Lady Anno Amcastra—my girlfriend, Oath of Vengeance paladin, currently working at Blackstaff Tower. She's only seventeen, so watch what you call her."
Nymeria nodded. "Got it."
Beaming, she called out, "sister Anno!"
Charles almost fell over. "Wait, what?! How old are you actually?!"
Nymeria blinked, then stammered, "Uh… well, I reflexively did the conversion. Seventeen for a human is like a hundred-something for us elves. Roughly."
She looked away, flustered. Charles felt even less comfortable—if Nymeria was actually younger than Anno in elf years, then by her own standards she was still a kid, barely more than a child-laborer, and he was having her work for him… and learning her feats…
He rubbed his forehead in silent repentance: "Fine. Let's just ignore that for now."
Clearing his throat, he went on, "Point is, the nuns aren't using their shields properly against you, and fumbling around isn't good for progress."
"So, Anno and I talked it over—she'll spar with you, explaining things as you two go. That should speed up the learning curve for everyone."
Nymeria's eyes sparkled. "So, a match with her?"
Charles nodded. "Exactly. Are you interested?"
Nymeria almost bounced. "Heck yes! Your skills are awful—I never even got to go all out!"
Charles's face turned dark at the jab; Anno just laughed, not at all bothered by her boyfriend getting roasted.
She looked at the elf girl—despite Nymeria's mature build and height, her eager expression made her look maybe thirteen or fourteen at most.
Could she really be younger than me? Anno wondered. No, probably just her personality. No way a kid elf that young would be adventuring solo.
Brushing off the thought, Anno chalked it up to Nymeria's lively character.
Time to seize the break: the two girls changed into their gear, then headed to the center of the training hall—ready for a practical, instructional duel.
Charles joined the nuns with his notebook, ready to jot down any teaching points as the girls fought—and to enjoy the show besides.
And what a show it was. Whether in terms of skill or spectacle, this match was a hundred times better than when Nymeria thrashed the nuns solo.
Nymeria's twin-bladed polearm was lightning fast, but Anno always managed to pull back, or get her shield up for a flawless parry. The ringing of steel on steel was almost musical.
Anno's attacks were far more organized than the nuns'—she'd use feints to bait mistakes, snap back when Nymeria pressed, then surge forward, slamming her shield into the polearm and breaking Nymeria's balance, forcing a panicked defense.
After being on the receiving end of Nymeria's fancy beatings for two days, the nuns now delighted in seeing Anno decisively outmaneuver her opponent—some even cheered out loud.
They'd had no idea how to cope with Nymeria's attacks, but now, as Anno dismantled them step by step, the nuns gained invaluable insight.
Charles diligently took notes. Anno and Nymeria didn't go full intensity all the time—sometimes they stopped to explain a technique to the watching students.
He wrote down every point; Anno, after all, couldn't be here long-term, so the nuns would rely on his notes to continue practicing.
Time flew by. Anno finished her explanation of how to handle a twin-bladed weapon, while Nymeria, still bursting with energy or simply thrilled to have finally met her match, switched to a greatsword, then dual rapiers, sparring Anno again and again.
By the end, Charles's hand ached from note-taking, but even then the girls seemed unwilling to stop. Wiping sweat from their foreheads, they giggled together, discussing what they'd just practiced.
"Wow, sister Anno, you're way stronger than Priest Charles! Let's spar again tomorrow?" Nymeria chirped.
Anno giggled. "We'll see. I visit the monastery pretty often—there'll be other chances."
Charles grinned and handed the notes to Anno. "See if I missed anything. Nymeria, I'm counting on you to keep training the nuns afterward."
Nymeria pouted. "I protest! I need a break too—my schedule's packed enough as it is! I get tired too, okay?"
Charles grinned. "Do well and I'll make you garlic-butter grilled oysters tonight."
Nymeria's eyes went wide. "For real?"
She really was easy to bribe! Charles chuckled to himself and nodded. "For real."
The clock chimed, and it was back to training. The nuns grabbed their weapons and paired off to spar. Charles and Anno sat on the sidelines, Anno keeping a keen eye out to offer tips.
Charles, at a bit of a loss now, stood up. "I'll step outside for a bit—back soon."
Anno, focused on the nuns, just answered, "Mm," not really paying attention.
Charles left and didn't return for nearly half an hour. When he did, he found Anno right in the thick of it, personally guiding a few girls through the finer points.
He wasn't in any rush—just watched from his chair. Soon, Anno ended her lesson and came to sit beside him. "What were you up to? You were gone ages."
Charles didn't answer directly; instead he took her hand and asked suddenly, "Are you planning to go home tonight?"
Anno instantly blushed. "Probably. My dad knows I'm here and—"
Charles hugged her gently. "He didn't try to stop you. If he minded, he wouldn't have let you come, right?"
"So… why not stay tonight? I'm making seafood barbecue. Plus, you promised Nymeria a rematch tomorrow, didn't you?"
It was the perfect excuse. Anno hesitated, but couldn't find a good reason to refuse. At length, she mumbled, "...Alright. But I'll need to tell my driver, and we'll need a place for him to stay…"
Charles nodded, smiling, "No worries. I've already arranged everything—he's got the best suite in the inn beside the South Harbor District Office."
Anno's eyes went wide. "That's what you were doing?"
The more she thought about it, the redder she got. She pinched his leg. "Pervert! You're always scheming!"
Charles dodged her hand, still laughing. "Not my fault you're so cute and sexy—ow…"
Anno blushed even harder, swatting and pinching him, but Charles held her in his arms, refusing to let go.
Their playful banter continued, broken only by the occasional tip for the busy nuns, and soon the afternoon flew by.
Charles had already messaged Hattie to send a noncombat nun out to buy seafood; come dinnertime, he slipped off to the kitchen and grilled up a full hundred garlic-butter oysters.
There was no shortage—everyone got at least two, nun or battle nun alike. The oysters, bought from the Amazon Fisheries Company, were plump, juicy, and cheap—a real treat. The Amazon ladies never lost money, but would always cut Charles a deal… as long as he remembered to visit their house every so often.
Ahem.
Point being: that night, every battle nun got a share. Those who had never tasted garlic oysters were blown away, especially Nymeria, who devoured hers with unrestrained delight—making Charles secretly grin to himself.
~~~
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