The Baron's face burned a terrifying, apoplectic purple. He forcefully swallowed the boiling rage clawing up his throat. He plastered a painfully stiff, diplomatic smile across his sweaty face, smoothing the wrinkles in his gold-laced doublet.
He stepped away from his velvet-cushioned chair and walked toward the carving station, adopting the graceful, measured strides expected of a ruling noble.
Lexel stabbed a thick slab of peppered beef with a serving fork. He slapped the heavy cut onto his porcelain plate.
"Welcome, Lexel Torga," the Baron said, stopping just a few feet away. His voice dripped with rehearsed, artificial warmth. "It is a profound honor to host the undisputed victor of the Battle Royal in my humble home."
"Thanks," Lexel mumbled. He reached past the Baron, ripped an entire roasted hind leg off a wild boar, and dropped it heavily onto the beef.
The Baron's thick brow twitched. He kept his stiff smile perfectly in place.
"I trust the accommodations and the spread meet your expectations?" the Baron asked, gesturing to the lavish ballroom. "We spared absolutely no expense for tonight's celebration."
"Sure," Lexel replied flatly. He grabbed a pair of silver tongs and scooped up a staggering mound of dripping, grease-soaked venison, dumping it unceremoniously over the boar leg.
The sheer volume of pure animal fat and heavy red meat piled on the single plate was enough to give an old man a heart attack just by taking a glimpse at it.
"You possess remarkable strength for a Level 15," the Baron pressed, stepping slightly closer. His beady eyes locked onto the young man's face, searching for any hint of weakness or anxiety. "Tell me, where exactly did you train such... unique martial arts?"
"Around," Lexel answered. He carefully balanced a whole roasted quail at the very peak of his towering meat mountain, making sure it wouldn't slide off the venison.
A few paces away, Anthierin pinched the bridge of her nose. The ruling lord of the city was attempting a high-stakes, calculated interrogation to gauge his enemy. Lexel was treating him like a mildly annoying tavern waiter blocking the buffet line.
The wealthy merchants and minor lords watching the exchange exchanged bewildered, terrified glances. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a broadsword.
Lexel successfully balanced the roasted quail at the very peak of his towering meat mountain. He turned away from the carving station, scanning the crowded ballroom for a place to eat.
He spotted a single empty velvet-cushioned chair at a long oak table currently occupied by a dozen wealthy silk merchants and minor lords. Lexel strolled over, the massive porcelain plate in his hands completely eclipsing his torso.
"Mind if I sit here?" Lexel asked lazily.
The merchants froze. Their faces drained of color. The young man who had just dismantled a Champion and single-handedly bankrupted the city was casually asking to join their dinner conversation.
Panic erupted instantly. The nobles scrambled out of their chairs, practically tripping over their expensive robes to escape. Within three seconds, the entire long oak table was completely deserted.
Lexel shrugged. "Thanks."
He set his heavy plate onto the silk tablecloth and dropped into the chair.
He completely ignored the expensive silver cutlery. CHOP.SCHLUCK. He tore into the peppered beef with his teeth, ripping off massive chunks of meat.
The Baron of Einjaar approached the table, his face a rigid mask of strained diplomacy. He desperately needed to identify the anonymous backer who had placed the catastrophic fifty-thousand gold wager. Finding the backer was his only hope of neutralizing the crushing debt.
"Lexel Torga," the Baron said, keeping his voice low and carefully measured to avoid causing a scene. "A rather staggering wager was placed on your victory today. I merely wish to inquire about the identity of your generous benefactor."
CRACK. Lexel snapped the roasted thigh bone of a wild boar cleanly in half with his bare hands. He sucked the rich marrow out with a loud, obnoxious slurp.
"Don't know," Lexel mumbled, entirely focused on the bone.
The Baron's thick brow twitched. He stepped slightly closer, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the oak table. "Surely you have an associate, a wealthy patron who funded your entry—"
Lexel swallowed a massive chunk of venison without chewing. "Don't know."
The Baron fumed silently. The boy was a brick wall of absolute gluttony. His authority and subtle intimidation held zero weight against a man completely consumed by roasted poultry. The Baron took a deep, steadying breath and stepped back. He caught his daughter's eye across the room and gave a sharp, commanding nod.
Mera understood the assignment perfectly.
She smoothed the front of her imported silk dress and glided gracefully toward the deserted oak table. She had successfully wrapped Kain, a proud and arrogant Champion, entirely around her little finger. A peasant boy with a bottomless stomach would be incredibly susceptible to her charms.
Mera took the empty velvet-cushioned chair directly to Lexel's right. She leaned in close, ensuring the plunging neckline of her dress was perfectly angled in his peripheral vision. She let her expensive, heavy floral perfume waft over the greasy aroma of roasted boar.
"Lexel," Mera purred, her voice dripping with honeyed sweetness. She rested her delicate, manicured hand on the tablecloth, just inches from his plate. "You must forgive my father. He is terribly focused on business. I, however, am much more interested in learning about the man who captivated the entire arena today."
Lexel paused. A half-eaten roasted quail hung loosely from his mouth.
He blinked his golden eyes, slowly turning his head to look at the noblewoman sitting next to him.
Across the ballroom, Kain stood perfectly still by the marble pillar. His arrogant blue eyes narrowed in deep confusion. He watched his beautifully dressed, devoted fiancée leaning intimately across the oak table, her posture aggressively inviting toward the very man who had just shattered his worldview. A sour, uncomfortable knot tightened in the Champion's stomach. Why was Mera actively courting the attention of a peasant?
At the table, Mera fluttered her eyelashes. She fully expected the boy to blush, stutter, and completely unravel under her practiced gaze.
Lexel paused. A half-eaten roasted quail hung loosely from his mouth.
He blinked his golden eyes, slowly turning his head to look at the noblewoman sitting next to him. He chewed twice and swallowed the bird whole. He wiped his greasy mouth with the back of his hand.
Then, he looked entirely past her.
"Rin," Lexel called out, his voice carrying clearly over the tense murmurs of the surrounding merchants.
Anthierin, who had been standing a few paces away scrutinizing a silver candelabra, turned around. She pointed a finger at her own chest, her perfectly arched eyebrows knitting together in genuine confusion.
Lexel's lazy, bored demeanor vanished. His golden eyes hardened with a sudden, heavy flash of absolute authority. He raised his heavy hand and slapped the empty velvet-cushioned chair to his left three times.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
It was a commanding, undeniable gesture. To finish it off, Lexel flashed a quick, utterly brazen wink directly at her.
Anthierin's breath hitched. A rush of sudden heat hit her cheeks. The sheer dominance radiating from him left absolutely zero room for argument. She smoothed the front of her crimson silk gown, walked purposefully to the oak table, and took the seat directly beside him.
Mera sat completely frozen. Her painted silk fan hovered uselessly in the air.
Her perfectly calculated seduction had crashed headfirst into a solid wall. Lexel completely ignored her plunging neckline and expensive perfume. He summoned the blacksmith right in front of her face, casually placing Anthierin on his other side as if establishing his own royal court at the dinner table.
The noblewoman's jaw tightened dangerously. This development was entirely outside of her script.
Anthierin sank into the plush velvet chair directly to Lexel's left. The deep crimson silk of Aunt Heriot's gown rustled softly against the polished oak table. She leaned in close, keeping her voice pitched to an urgent whisper.
"Lexel," Anthierin hissed, glancing warily at the fuming noblewoman sitting on his other side. "What exactly is your plan here? You are intentionally driving the entire ruling family to the brink of murder."
Mera smirked behind her painted fan, fully expecting the brute to grunt out another single-syllable answer. She waited for him to embarrass himself and the blacksmith in front of the entire ballroom.
Lexel set down the heavy silver carving fork. He reached across the table, picked up a pristine white linen napkin, and elegantly dabbed the grease from his mouth.
The shift in his demeanor was absolute and terrifyingly sudden.
"Forgive my earlier lack of decorum, Anthierin," Lexel murmured.
A pristine, aristocratic cadence completely replaced his previous lazy drawl. His voice was smooth, cultured, and laced with the effortless, unshakable confidence of highborn royalty.
"The physical exertion of the arena left me somewhat famished," Lexel continued, turning his golden eyes entirely upon her. He spoke with a poetic, fluid grace that instantly put the surrounding merchants to shame. "I fear I allowed my appetite to temporarily eclipse my manners in your presence. Tell me, are you finding the evening's ambiance to your liking, or shall we arrange for a swift departure the moment our financial matters are thoroughly concluded?"
Anthierin stared at him, her lips parted in utter shock. Her brain completely stalled. The crass, meat-inhaling peasant had vanished into thin air. Sitting beside her was a polished, dangerous prince perfectly fluent in the highest dialects of courtly politics.
He was elevating her to the status of a queen while simultaneously reducing the Baron's grand banquet to a minor, tedious chore.
On Lexel's right side, Mera's painted silk fan slipped from her trembling fingers. It clattered loudly against her porcelain plate.
The noblewoman's jaw hung completely slack. Her mind violently rejected the reality playing out in front of her. The boy possessed the raw, monstrous strength to break a Champion, yet he also commanded the refined, eloquent tongue of an emperor. And he was currently using that breathtaking eloquence to shower a lowly, soot-stained blacksmith with absolute, undivided devotion, entirely ignoring the beautiful aristocrat practically throwing herself at him.
Mera felt a hot, humiliating flush of genuine shame burn up her neck. Her seduction attempt was entirely dismantled. She had been utterly outclassed.
A few paces away, standing rigidly by the marble pillar, Kain watched the entire exchange. The Champion's knuckles turned stark white as he gripped his crystal goblet.