The banquet hall was even more grand than the last time Michael saw it.
Golden chandeliers burned above the tables heavy with silverware, fruit, and wine. Nobles smiled widely, their laughter echoing amongst their chatter. Musicians played softly near the far wall. The atmosphere was light and festive.
At least, it seemed that way at first—but to Michael, it was nothing but fake.
He sat at the long, elevated table reserved for honored guests. His goblet was full and his plate practically untouched. His eyes wandered across the room—not in awe, but in quiet calculation.
Training his senses had a use outside of the battle. He could hear things when others thought he couldn't. He could see things others thought were hidden from his sight.
The short glances in his direction, quiet whispers containing his name. They were easily noticed by him.
"Hey, is it true that someone tried to assassinate hero Michael?"
"Assassinate? I heard he just killed someone in cold blood and it's just a big cover up"
Rumors about what happened with Eleanor began to spread.
'It's surprising that it took this long' Michael thought. 'It's been days since that night. I suppose Sarah did a decent job keeping mouths shut—but it was inevitable. Someone was going to talk. It was only a matter of time'
He wasn't exactly bothered that he had become a hot topic among the guests but that didn't mean he liked it.
'They spread lies so easily' He noted, eyes drifting from face to face. 'They take half-truths and overheard whispers, twist them into something fancier, then pass them off like they've uncovered some grand conspiracy'
He watched them with quiet disdain.
'Most of them probably don't even believe the rumors they create—but they don't care. All they want is drama. Something to talk about over wine'
Michael reached for his goblet and took a small sip.
'Let them talk then. Their words are harmless'
At most, Michael found the rumors mildly inconvenient. Those same nobles—so eager to gossip—didn't even have the courage to approach him directly and ask what really happened.
So why should he care what they thought? Does their opinion impact him in any way?
If anything, he was almost thankful for it.
Their gossip gave him something rare—peace.
No one dared speak to him directly, and that meant he didn't have to entertain their empty smiles and hollow words.
'I really hate parties though' Michael grumbled internally. 'Whose brilliant idea was it to hold a celebration that lasts an entire week?'
He glanced around the hall again, idly scanning the crowd. His eyes landed on Roman, who was—as usual—surrounded by people, their attention clinging to him like moths to a flame.
'Well, at least someone's enjoying himself' He mused. 'Wasn't he an actual knight in his past life? Then why is it that every time I see him, he is either buttering up to someone or someone is buttering up to him? Well… to each their own, I suppose'
Michael had doubts about Roman and his motives—but not enough to dwell on them.
'Now where's Helga?' He scanned the room again but with no luck. 'She's got the build of a truck and yet still manages to hide so well. You'd think someone like her would be easier to spot'
He leaned back slightly in his chair, gaze drifting toward the ornate ceiling. For a brief moment, his irritation faded, replaced by a dull exhaustion.
"Sigh… The other two heroes sure are lucky" He muttered aloud, but he wasn't talking about Roman nor Helga.
'Eston had been sent north, to the Five Towers, to study under some of the most renowned mages in the Empire. His gift had resonated strongly with magic after all. Blair, on the other hand…'
Michael frowned. Sarah had mentioned her in passing only once.
'She's undergoing specialized training. Her talents lie elsewhere…'
"She phrased it something along those lines, didn't she?" He murmured under his breath and then, as if summoned by thought alone—
"Speak of the devil"
He spotted her through the crowd.
Sarah was wearing her military uniform. It wasn't uncommon—many officers wore theirs to the banquet—but it still made her stand out among the sea of nobles and merchants especially when she moved straight towards him with her eyes locked right on him.
"We need to talk" She said as soon as she reached him.
***
Away from the prying eyes, out on the balcony, the noise of the banquet became nothing more than a distant hum.
The night air was crisp, the stars barely visible behind thin clouds. Michael casually leaned against the marble railing. His expression was calm—but alert.
"So" He said, glancing at her. "You got something?"
"I'd say more than something" Sarah paused—just long enough to let the weight of her words settle. "I believe I have a name: Cornelius"
"Oh?" Michael perked up slightly.
"The confession you got yesterday" Sarah began. "Combined with a few threads we pulled overnight, helped narrow down the list of suspects. It's highly probable that this man—Cornelius—is directly responsible for the attempt on your life"
Michael tilted his head.
"So it's still not confirmed?"
Sarah's eye twitched, just a little.
"Not confirmed but the evidence points to him and also there were some rumors going around—of him acting weirdly"
"Rumours, huh…" Michael looked back out over the balcony, eyes following the movement of flickering lanterns in the garden below.
"That's still just a theory then"
"A theory with enough weight that when the Crown Prince heard it he immediately authorized an investigation" She added. "Although unofficially. As of now it is in the interest of the Empire to keep things relatively quiet"
Michael's gaze returned to her.
"And let me guess… I'm supposed to help with the quiet part?"
Sarah's brow lifted, a hint of amusement flashing across her face.
"The quiet part?" She echoed. "You jest. If anything, I want you to stay quiet and out of trouble. You're still their target, remember?"
"Then at least tell me" He said, crossing his arms. "When does this so-called investigation actually begin?"
Her expression faltered slightly.
"Once the celebration ends. When the guests begin to disperse. So… in about two days"
Michael blinked.
"Two days?" His voice tightened. "In two days, your Cornelius could flee Edenbrau about a dozen times. Do you even plan to arrest him? Or are we waiting for a written invitation?"
"Sigh… I don't like this either" She admitted.
Her gaze drifted behind her—back towards the banquet hall, the laughter, the music, the illusion of peace.
"But that's how politics work and arresting a bishop of the church without sufficient evidence would be too big of a scandal. We need to find something that would convince people of his guilt without a hint of doubt so for now we will observe him and gather information"
She paused, then turned back to face him. Her voice sharpened and posture stiffened.
"That's why I'm telling you this, Michael. Do not, under any circumstance, involve yourself in this and most definitely do not act on your own. It's for your safety. Do you understand?"
"Tsk… Whatever" He did not even try to hide his annoyance.
"I will take that as a yes" Sarah's tone turned cold. "Anyway, that's all I wanted to say. Why don't you go back and enjoy the banquet?"
She didn't bother waiting for an answer. She just turned and left—disappearing back into the warmth and comfort of the hall, leaving Michael alone on the balcony.
He stared after her for a moment, then looked back out into the night.
"Enjoy the banquet?" He muttered, the words were thick with ridicule. "What a joke"
"Then again…" He whispered to himself. "Why do I even care?"
"Let's just go back and drink more of that disgusting, bitter wine" Michael reassured himself but just as he took one step towards the entrance he noticed Roman through the windows, surrounded by a group of old men, all nodding and praising one another like they were performing for an audience that didn't exist.
His entire body shuddered at the sight.
"I wouldn't ignore Sarah's instructions and risk my life just because I hate this banquet… right?"
He chuckled nervously and then as he got closer to the entrance he spotted Helga hidden behind one of the pillars. She was silently standing out of everyone's sight with half-closed eyes.
Michael hesitated for a moment. There was absolutely no need for him to do anything, however something inside his heart itched. It was a burning question ever since he met Eleanor—why? Why did she make such an expression? Why did she want to kill him so badly? Why was he forced to bloody his hands?
He needed an answer and so he approached Helga with an over enthusiastic smile.
"Heyyy… Can I ask for a small favor?"