Sol-Regis Palace Grand Ballroom. 19:00 – The Main Event.
The room was a gaudy manifestation of overindulgence. The white marble floor had been polished until it mirrored the ceiling, reflecting five massive crystal chandeliers that held thousands of flickering candles. Hundreds of nobles packed the hall, dressed in attire that was... aggressively loud.
It was a chaotic sea of clashing neon hues, towering powdered wigs, and hoop skirts with two-meter diameters. Gold jewelry hung so heavily from necks it seemed a miracle they could still stand. They looked less like royalty and more like a flock of peacocks competing for dominance during mating season. The cloying scent of baby powder and heavy rose perfume choked the air, creating a stifling, oppressive atmosphere.
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" the Protocol Officer bellowed, striking his golden staff against the floor. Thud! "Announcing... Duke Lucian Sudrath and his family!"
The massive mahogany doors swung wide. The orchestral music, which had been a lively cacophony, suddenly slowed as if the conductor himself had lost his rhythm. Every eye in the room turned toward the threshold. Most expected a band of barbarians draped in moth-eaten bear furs and smelling of wet earth.
What strode in instead were figures who looked like nobility from another dimension. The Black Parade.
Duke Lucian and Duchess Aurelia led the way. Lucian wore a slim-fit black military suit, devoid of excessive medals—save for a single silver House Sudrath pin on his lapel. He looked sharp, clean, and dangerous. Beside him, Aurelia was breathtaking in a black velvet mermaid-tail gown that hugged her curves perfectly, paired with elegant long white gloves. No gaudy necklaces; only a pair of diamond teardrop earrings that caught the light with every tilt of her head.
Behind them, Sir Rianor and Sir Roland were a matched set in modern black tuxedos and bowties, their hair swept back in sleek, subtle pompadours.
And in the center of it all... Lady Rhea.
Her midnight-blue silk gown draped over her form like liquid moonlight. The front was modestly high-necked, but as she turned, her back was revealed to be entirely exposed, showing off flawless skin and well-defined muscles born of rigorous training. On the right side, a slit ran dangerously high, revealing long legs clad in elegant, sheer stockings.
"Look at them," Roland whispered out of the corner of his mouth, his smile fixed in an artificial mask. "They're staring at us like we're aliens. Their clothes are hideous—they look like overdressed circus dolls."
"Just keep smiling, Roland," Rianor hissed beside him. "We're here to set a new standard. Let them feel underdressed in their own home."
They descended the marble staircase with perfect, synchronized strides. The stunned silence was gradually broken by a low hum of whispers that sounded like a swarm of bees.
"Is that truly the Sudraths? Why is their clothing so... different, yet so stunning?"
"Look at Duchess Aurelia... that cut makes her look ten years younger."
"Who is the girl in blue? That's Rhea, the wild girl? Impossible!"
The Social Battlefield.
The moment they reached the ballroom floor, Aurelia launched her strategy. She didn't approach the main crowd immediately. Instead, she stood poised near the refreshments, slowly fluttering her lace fan.
Then, the scent began to drift. A custom fragrance crafted by Rumina: Jasmine & Sandalwood. It was elegant, deep, and sophisticated—a far cry from the cheap, cloying rose scents of the Capital. A curious Marchioness finally mustered the courage to approach.
"Duchess Aurelia... your gown... it is quite unique. And this fragrance? It's remarkably soothing," the Marchioness asked, hiding her mouth behind her fan.
Aurelia offered a warm but authoritative smile. "Oh, this? Just a small blend from our private gardens in the North. As for the gown... we call it Minimalism. In the North, we believe a woman's beauty shouldn't be drowned by mountains of unnecessary fabric."
In less than five minutes, Aurelia was surrounded by noblewomen who were suddenly insecure about their own attire and desperate for the Duchess's beauty secrets. Mission: Success. Across the room, Roland had already vanished into a flock of giggling young debutantes, disarming them with his diplomatic charm. Mission: Success.
The Corner (Rianor's Zone).
Rianor took a glass of champagne and retreated behind a massive pillar to observe the room with an analytical eye.
"This party is dreadfully boring, isn't it?"
The flat voice came from beside him. Rianor turned to find a girl in a simple grey gown leaning against the same pillar, her round spectacles glinting. Elara.
"Elara?" Rianor raised his glass in greeting. "You were invited to something like this?"
"I'm representing the Academy. Under duress," Elara replied, her gaze sweeping the room with bored indifference. "Your father caused quite the stir at the hearing this morning. Morvath looks like he's been forced to swallow a rotten lemon."
"That was the plan," Rianor took a slow sip. "By the way, my offer still stands. I need your mind."
"For what?"
"To create the impossible. Carriages without horses. Light without fire. Weapons capable of piercing Mithril plating."
Elara's violet eyes sparked behind her lenses. "That sounds incredibly illegal and dangerous."
"Extremely," Rianor replied with a thin smirk.
"I'm in," Elara said instantly. "I'll stop by your manor tomorrow. Have good coffee ready."
Mission: Success (Recruited a Magic Engineer).
The Main Event: Rhea vs. Cedric.
The music shifted into a grand Waltz. From the crowd, a handsome young man in gold-embroidered silk and a small circlet crown strode onto the dance floor. Crown Prince Cedric. He had the classic looks of a fairy-tale prince, but his eyes were filled with a nauseating arrogance. He marched straight toward Lady Rhea.
"Lady Rhea," Cedric greeted her. His voice was loud, intentionally drawing every ear in the hall. "You've... changed. The last time we met, you looked more like a stable hand than a noblewoman."
The audience held their breath. It was a sharp, calculated insult. Rhea looked at Cedric without even a hint of a bow. She merely gave a curt, formal nod.
"And you haven't changed at all, Your Highness. Still so fond of wearing clothes that are brighter than the street lamps."
GASP. Several nobles covered their mouths in shock. Cedric's face flushed crimson, but he forced a hollow laugh.
"A sharp tongue. Let's see if your footwork is as nimble as your speech," Cedric extended his hand. "Shall we dance, Lady Rhea? Consider it a small reunion for former fiancés."
It was a trap. If Rhea refused, she would be insulting the Crown Prince. If she accepted, Cedric would likely try to humiliate her with difficult, rigid Waltz patterns.
Rhea's lips curled into a smirk, a dangerous glit in her eyes. "Certainly. However, I will be leading the tempo."
Rhea snatched Cedric's hand before he could react, pulling him forcefully to the center of the floor. The music flared, and Cedric tried to start a boring, classic Waltz step. Rhea didn't follow.
Her muscle memory as a fencer and her soul as a modern woman who loved the Tango took over. She transformed the dance into something aggressive and passionate. Her steps were sharp, cutting across Cedric's movements. She spun with blinding speed, her backless gown flashing and making the men in the room catch their breath.
"What... what are you doing! Follow the rhythm!" Cedric hissed in panic, his toes nearly crushed multiple times.
"The rhythm is too slow, Your Highness," Rhea whispered into his ear, her voice dripping with mockery. "As slow as your judgment when you broke our engagement through a cowardly letter."
Rhea spun Cedric with sheer force. Spin. Then she performed a dip—dropping her body back while Cedric struggled to hold her—and swept her long leg high through the air.
"Look at me, Cedric," Rhea hissed.
Cedric looked into her eyes. Once, they had been filled with adoration for him. Now? They were cold, powerful, and... terrifying.
"You threw away the 'Uncouth Girl from the North'. Yet look at us now—the entire room is watching me, not you."
The music ended with a final drum strike. Rhea let go of him abruptly. Cedric stumbled, gasping for air, his perfectly coiffed hair now a mess. Rhea stood tall, her breathing steady, without a single drop of sweat on her face.
"Thank you for the dance, Your Highness," Rhea said loudly enough for the whole room to hear. "I suggest you work on your leg strength."
Rhea turned and walked away with a perfect catwalk stride, leaving the Prince standing there like a fool in the middle of the dance floor. Roland let out a soft whistle from the sidelines. "Damn... Fatality."
The King's Gaze.
From the second-floor VIP balcony, King Aethelgard IV watched the entire scene as he sipped his wine. Beside him, Morvath whispered spitefully, "Look at them, Your Majesty. So disrespectful. They are a threat."
The King offered a mysterious smile. "They are indeed dangerous, Morvath. A hungry lion is always dangerous."
The King looked down at Duke Lucian, who stood calmly below. "But sometimes... one needs a lion to hunt the rats that have grown too fat in this palace."
The King turned to leave. "Invite Duke Lucian to my study tomorrow morning. Only him. Without you, Morvath."
Morvath clenched his fist. His position was now truly in jeopardy.
The Carriage Home – Midnight. Family Mode: ON.
The moment the carriage door was bolted shut and the vehicle began to move, the masks of noble dignity crumbled.
"AAARRGGHH!" Rhea immediately kicked off her high heels with a groan. "My feet are killing me! Cedric is absolutely pathetic—he stepped on my toe twice!"
"But seriously, that was incredible!" Roland cheered, leaning back. "The look on his face when you left him in the middle of the hall... he looked like a sick chicken!"
"I'm so proud of you, Rhea," Aurelia smiled, helping to massage her daughter's calves. "That was a perfect Power Move. Tomorrow morning, every newspaper in the Capital will be talking about your gown."
"What about your talk, Rianor?" Lucian asked, loosening his suffocating bowtie.
"Done," Rianor showed Elara's metallic card. "A genius mage. She's coming to the manor tomorrow. And I also got a contact for a major grain merchant interested in buying our soap in bulk."
"Good," Lucian said. "But tomorrow, I am summoned by the King. A private audience."
The carriage fell silent for a moment.
"The King is a smart man, Dad," Rianor analyzed. "He knows Morvath has become too corrupt, but he lacks the leverage to move on his own. It seems he wants to use us as the 'blade' to excise Morvath."
"So we're going to be the King's official hitmen?" Roland asked.
"More or less," Lucian stared out the window at the receding lights of Sol-Regis. "But that's fine. As long as the pay is right... and as long as our family is protected."
"We'll play this game to the end."