The first thing that hit them was the ceiling, vaulted nearly ten meters overhead.
Then the chandelier. Crystal, enormous, refracting the lamplight into a thousand points that scattered across the hall like a sea of captured stars.
At the center of it all, a gilded staircase commanded attention down to the smallest detail. Marble inlay on each tread, brass edging along the lips, silver acanthus scrollwork winding up the handrails, miniature bronze candelabras standing sentinel at every step.
Nothing else in the room even needed mentioning. The chandelier and the staircase alone said everything there was to say about aristocratic excess.
Felt and Subaru were still drinking it in, caught in that particular speechlessness that obscene wealth tends to produce, when Gojo's gaze drifted past all of it and fixed on the landing where the staircase turned.
Soft footsteps echoed down. A tall figure rounded the corner and descended into view.
The outfit was... something.
A purple tailcoat paired with a deeper violet cape. The high collar was layered with cascading lace ruffles, the sort of thing that should have looked elegant. On anyone else, it might have. But the face above it made elegance an impossibility.
That face was chalk-white. A curtain of blue hair drooped over one eye, half-concealing it. The other eye was ringed in exaggerated lavender shadow. Lips painted the same pale purple curved into a smile that didn't sit right, the angle just slightly off, like something borrowed from a different expression entirely. Against that bloodless skin, the whole effect was less nobility and more circus performer, but with a chill underneath that no circus act would carry.
Even now, wearing that thin, pleasant smile, something about him felt deeply wrong.
"Is this the entertainment?"
Subaru craned his neck left and right, searching for the rest of the troupe.
Gojo was more direct.
Ignoring the startled reactions from both Ram and Rem, he strode up to the figure, studied the painted face with genuine interest, and then reached out and gave the man's cheek an experimental squeeze. Satisfied, he walked back to Subaru's side with the air of someone who'd just completed important fieldwork.
"Based on my observations, this is not, in fact, a performer."
"Judging by his bearing, their reactions, and the power coming off him, this should be the master of the estate. Margrave Roswaal."
"You idiot!"
"You knew he was a count and you still did that?!"
Felt grabbed Gojo by the arm and yanked him back, shooting a wary glance at Roswaal before dropping her voice to a hiss.
"How was I supposed to know without checking?"
Gojo shrugged, utterly unrepentant.
"That's not the point! This isn't some Bowel Hunter you're messing with. He's the strongest mage in the kingdom..."
An ordinary noble would have been dangerous enough with just wealth and political clout. But the man standing on those stairs had real, tangible power to go with it.
If he decided to take offense at what just happened, they were finished. It didn't matter that Gojo was strong too. Win or lose, the best outcome would be exile to another country.
No other possibilities. That was what authority meant.
"It's fiiiine, it's fine."
A voice drifted down the staircase while Felt was still lecturing, each syllable stretched lazily.
The strange figure Gojo had correctly identified descended the remaining steps, one hand trailing along the banister. Ram and Rem moved to the foot of the staircase and curtsied, fingers pinching their skirts.
"Allow me to introduce myself."
"I am Roswaal L. Mathers, Margrave of Lugunica's borderlands, and master to both Rem and Ram."
"Welcome, brave souls who came to Lady Emilia's rescue. It is a pleasure to have you here."
"Ram has prepared dinner for our guests. I do hope it will be to your liking."
Ram straightened from her curtsy and turned to face Gojo and the others, extending one hand in a graceful gesture.
"This way, please."
They'd spent the midday hours in the Dragon Carriage, where lunch had amounted to little more than picking at whatever was on hand. The promise of a proper dinner stirred a quiet anticipation in all of them.
Felt noticed that Roswaal seemed entirely unbothered by Gojo's stunt, and relief escaped her in a long breath.
"See? Told you it was fine."
"You're way too tense."
Gojo ruffled her hair, grinning.
"Knock it off!"
"Pull something like that again and you'll get us killed one of these days."
She batted his hand away, glaring.
"If I die, I don't have to pay back my debt. Subaru told me that."
"Don't even think about it!"
"I die, Old Man Rom takes over collections!"
The bickering chattered on behind him. Ahead of the group, Roswaal's pace slowed by a fraction. He tilted his head just slightly, and a faint smile touched his painted lips.
They walked for several minutes through a wide corridor laid with red carpet before arriving at a spacious dining room.
A rectangular table, easily seven or eight meters long, dominated the center of the space. A white tablecloth lay beneath an array of dishes, each one arranged with precision, colors and textures composed like a still life.
Ram and Rem moved to the head of the table, drew the chair out for Roswaal, and waited for him to sit before taking their positions on either side behind him.
"Not bad at all."
Felt had kept her guard up since they'd set foot in the manor, but the spread before her now loosened something. The words slipped out almost involuntarily.
Everyone found their seats.
"The hour is late, and you've all traveled a great distance. You must be exhausted." Roswaal's strange cadence filled the room. "After dinner, Ram and Rem will show you around and see you to your rooms. As for other matters, let us save those for tomorrow, once you've rested. Would that be agreeable?"
The moment he finished, both Subaru and Felt turned to Gojo.
"Fine by me."
Already locked in mortal combat with a creme caramel, Gojo raised one hand without looking up.
He went right back to the dessert with single-minded focus, leaving everyone to wonder whether he'd given the question any real thought at all.
Felt sighed.
But there wasn't much else to do. They'd come together, and they'd move together. That was the deal.
"No objections here."
"Same."
"I appreciate your understanding."
Roswaal dipped his head with exaggerated courtesy, that odd drawn-out inflection coloring every word.
"Please, do enjoy Ram's cooking."
"Rem handles most of the meals ordinarily, but Ram's skills are quite impressive in their own right."
He smiled warmly, praising his maids with obvious fondness. And he wasn't wrong. The pink-haired maid's cooking was genuinely good.
There was just one thing nobody could quite figure out.
Why so many of the dishes involved steamed sweet potato.