The Great Hall of Northgard Castle hummed with a subdued clamor, illuminated by colossal crystal chandeliers suspended from the lofty stone ceiling. In the center of the hall stretched an immensely long, rectangular table, crafted from dark oak and adorned with golden engravings that reflected the grandeur of the Oswald family.
At the head of the table, upon an elevated seat resembling a throne, sat Lord Maegor Oswald. His mere presence was enough to make the air in the hall feel heavier. A man of massive build, with a face bearing the scars of countless battles, and eyes like an ancient predator silently watching over its domain.
On either side of the Lord, a cold war was waged in silence. The wives and their sons vied at every banquet to claim the seats closest to him. For in this world, the distance separating one from the Lord's seat determined their status and power within the family.
Not all of the offspring were present. According to the strict customs of the Oswald family, once the heirs passed the "Rite of Adulthood," they were forced to leave the province to forge their own legacies and build their own armies and wealth, in preparation to return and partake in the bloody war of succession for the title of Lord. Therefore, those in attendance today were only those who had not yet undertaken the trial.
Close to the Lord sat the ninth son, Eldric. He was a quiet young man, possessing a sharp, observant gaze, preferring silence and coldly evaluating situations. Beside him sat the tenth son, Jorah, with arrogant features and excessively lavish silken attire. Then came the eleventh son, Colin, characterized by his volatile temper and grating voice. On the opposite side sat the eleventh daughter, Lyanna, a completely silent girl who scarcely blinked, watching everyone as though she were a ghost.
Arian was the last to arrive at the hall.
With steady, calm steps, he entered in his simple black garments. He did not bow in submission as everyone expected; instead, he strode forward, his eyes fixed dead ahead.
Arian made his way to his seat, which was situated at the far right of the table, in the corner furthest from Lord Maegor.
The attention of the sons and wives swiftly shifted to the late arrival. Jorah leaned toward Colin and spoke in a loud voice: "The scent of the hall has suddenly changed... did no one tell the servants to clean their boots before entering the dining room?"
Colin let out a provoking laugh, while Lady Morgana opted for silence. She did not laugh as was her custom; rather, she narrowed her eyes thoughtfully as she sipped from her goblet, observing Arian's suspicious calm. As someone accustomed to weaving schemes, she instantly realized that the boy's coldness was not the chill of a frightened child, but the composure of someone confident in his own power. Deep suspicions began to gnaw at her.
Arian remained unfazed. He picked up his knife and began to carve his slice of meat at an excruciatingly slow pace.
Suddenly, Lord Maegor's silence was shattered by a deep, resonant voice that brought the servants' movements in the hall to a halt: "I have heard some rather interesting news... it is said you defeated one of the castle's veteran knights in a duel to the death."
The fork in Arian's hand paused, and he raised his gaze to meet his father's eyes. Before he could answer, Jorah interrupted him mockingly: "Please, Father! It is obvious that knight was a mere nobody, a weakling."
Colin enthusiastically supported him: "Most likely, he used some underhanded trick! That is what you'd expect from a maid's son. How could a cowardly boy defeat a knight face to face?"
Arian waited until Colin had finished his prattle. Then, he calmly set down his knife and spoke in a tone as cold as the ice of the North:
"That dead knight... uttered those exact same words right before I severed his head from his body."
A sudden silence fell. Arian directed his eyes toward Colin and unleashed a fraction of his killing intent. It was not a magical aura, but a terrifying psychological pressure—the gaze of a man who had trampled over the corpses of millions.
Colin felt as though a hand of ice had squeezed his heart. His breath hitched for a moment, his eyes widened in inexplicable terror, and his hands trembled so violently that he dropped his goblet.
At that very instant, Eldric, the ninth son, was the only one who noticed the subtle shift in the hall's atmosphere. His pupils dilated slightly, and his hand twitched involuntarily toward his waist, where his sword usually hung. He had sensed the danger with the instinct of a warrior, realizing that the boy sitting at the end of the table was a slumbering monster, not a feeble child.
When Colin realized his vulnerable position before everyone, his fear morphed into blind rage to mask his cowardice. He stood up abruptly and slammed his hand on the table, screaming: "You bastard! How dare you stare at me like that? I will gouge out your eyes and feed them to..."
BANG!
A deafening explosion shook the hall. Lord Maegor slammed his massive hand onto the table, and a tyrannical, terrifying aura surged from his body. The air in the hall became heavy as lead. Everyone felt suffocated, bowing instinctively under the crushing pressure. Only Arian remained seated with a straight back, carefully observing his father's power.
Lord Maegor spoke in a voice carrying the promise of death: "Sit down, Colin. Before I break your legs."
Colin collapsed into his chair, terrified. Lord Maegor gradually withdrew his aura, and silence returned to dominate the table. The Lord looked at his sons once more and stated sternly: "Save your barking. The annual Rite of Adulthood is drawing near. There, the strong will be separated from the weak. And whoever loses... will be exiled from the province immediately and stripped of the Oswald family's honor. There is no place for the weak in our family."
The banquet returned to its tense atmosphere.
Just before the feast concluded, Lord Maegor wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and delivered one final piece of news in a dry, unquestionable tone:
"There is one other matter. I received a royal decree this morning from the Capital. The Royal Family will set foot in Northgard Castle tomorrow."
Everyone exchanged looks of surprise, for a visit from the Royal Family to a Lord's castle was a momentous event.
The Lord directed his speech toward the end of the table, fixing his eyes like a hawk: "Your presence is mandatory tomorrow, Arian."
Arian furrowed his brows slightly, entirely unfazed by the prestige of the royal name, and asked in a calm voice: "And what is the reason that makes my presence mandatory?"
One of the Lord's wives, Lady Rowena, laughed with a malicious, mocking tone. She spoke, her eyes gleaming with schadenfreude: "Because it is your future fiancée, my dear outcast. Did you not know? It was agreed upon long ago that the King's youngest daughter would marry the youngest son of our family."
The whispers of mockery multiplied across the table. This type of political marriage was common in this world: disposing of unwanted or weaker offspring from both families by binding them together as worthless political pawns.
Lady Morgana smiled, speaking in a sly voice, her eyes glittering with malice: "An honor you do not deserve, my dear. To be granted a royal princess to someone like you merely to fulfill an ancient pact... I hope you do not disappoint His Majesty tomorrow with your usual weakness."
Arian studied their faces. A royal princess, a political marriage, and a royal delegation... nothing but obligations and tedious political theatrics that hindered his focus on training.
He rose quietly from his chair, delivering his final words before turning his back and exiting the hall with steady steps: "Tomorrow, then... we shall see what happens."