6 P.M.
Edward and Dubois arrived at the luxurious Roselle residence. Edward walked in front, while Dubois followed two steps behind, carrying a bottle of red wine worth 58 Felkin—
According to Dubois, that price was just right: not too cheap, not too ostentatious.
Truth be told, even though Roselle hadn't yet entered politics—or the military—his reputation as the Son of Steam carried quite some weight in Trier.
The guests they passed along the way were, for the most part, high-ranking nobles. The atmosphere was in no way inferior to what the Hall family's banquets would later become.
Speaking of which, this was Edward's third noble banquet:
The first—Vice Admiral Hurricane's attempt to assassinate Duke Negan.
The second—the near-annihilation of the New Party in Backlund.
And today, the third…
Emperor Roselle, you'd better keep it together this time.
"Hahahahahaha!"
An arrogant, mocking laugh rang out. Roselle strode over in a lavish suit, chin raised high, eyes full of scorn. "Dubois, who told you you could freeload at my banquet?"
Expression calm, Dubois stepped forward and shoved the wine bottle into Roselle's hands. "A gift."
"A cheap wine? My dog wouldn't drink this swill."
Roselle's ridicule ignored Edward entirely—giving Edward a much clearer picture of this so-called Emperor. Rather than the protagonist of some heroic tale, he was more like one of those brainless villains, written purely to be faceslapped down by the real main character.
Dubois' lips curled slightly. He said lightly, "It's an aphrodisiac."
"…?"
Roselle froze for several seconds, mouth half open, before exploding, "My body's perfectly fine! I don't need garbage like that! Don't you dare slander me, Dubois!"
Yet even as he raged, he discreetly handed the bottle to Grimm, who was standing behind him.
Dubois sniffed. "Hmph. I just hope what's down there is as hard as your mouth."
"You bastard—!"
Edward quietly observed, somewhat surprised. So Dubois' relationship with Roselle was this close? That kind of barefaced trash talk—right from the first moment of meeting—only ever happened between true "brothers."
But then…how had things broken down between them? And honestly, from the look of it now, had they even broken down at all?
"Hm? Haven't we met before?"
At last, Roselle turned his eyes on Edward. He arched a brow, thought for a moment, then said, "Ah…"
"That's right, we met just a few days ago at—"
"At Madame Gris' banquet, wasn't it? You snatched up the most beautiful lady there before I could."
Edward: "…"
"Hahaha."
After a few seconds, Roselle burst out laughing. "Just kidding. Trier Cathedral, of course. I liked the way you looked at me back then. A bit nauseating, man to man, but…somehow, it felt warm, almost familiar."
"Come, come, let's have a few drinks."
He deliberately shoulder-checked Dubois aside, then draped an arm around Edward's shoulder and led him toward the banquet hall.
As soon as they stepped inside, Roselle dropped his voice, "Hey, buddy, I'll introduce you to Trier's nobles. Then you can fire Dubois when you get back. How about it?"
Knew it.
Edward feigned puzzlement, "But why, Mr. Gustav? Didn't Dubois tell me you were as close as brothers? Why would you—"
"Wait!"
Roselle cut him off, eyebrows rising. "Dubois actually said that?"
"Yes."
"Hahahahaha!" Roselle burst out laughing.
"And what else did he say about me?"
"Mm, mostly reminiscing. That you two grew up together—both from declining noble families, neither with much to live on. That you supported each other, helped each other through hardships, and eventually came to Trier together and…"
"You've changed."
"He changed."
Edward and Roselle spoke at the same time.
"Hmm?"
Roselle blinked, stunned, then pointed to himself. "He said I've changed? Please. He's the one who suddenly flipped like he was sick in the head, constantly picking fights with me!"
"And now he dares turn it around on me?"
"Damn it, I should never have arranged people to protect him in secret! Should've let him suffer at the hands of those nobles instead!"
"Shit!"
Edward: "…"
Wait a second. Why does this sound less like a quarrel between brothers and more like…a lover's spat?
Of course, Roselle never truly considered Dubois a brother.
After all, their "bond" had all taken place before his transmigration. Roselle had inherited those memories, yes—but when he reviewed them, it was more like watching a movie that had nothing to do with him.
Still, after crossing over, he had hung out with Dubois for a time. Combined with those memories, Roselle reluctantly acknowledged Dubois as a sort of friend.
So when he rose to prominence, he thought of pulling Dubois up along the way. Unexpectedly, the man acted like he wanted nothing to do with him, as though terrified of owing him anything.
Heh. What a self-righteous fool.
At that moment, Roselle withdrew his arm, face calm again. "Alright, I've got other matters to attend to. Just enjoy yourself tonight. People are curious about my connection to you. Use the chance wisely—you'll make some friends, and through them, work your way into the so-called 'noble circle.'"
Roselle patted Edward's shoulder. "Being a noble is pretty dull, but… do your best."
"Much obliged."
As soon as Roselle left, Edward felt curious gazes settling on him. A few nobles even approached of their own accord.
Edward picked up a glass of wine from a servant's tray and began chatting. To their probing questions, he gave vague, roundabout answers.
The gist of it: Yes, I do have ties to Roselle.
What kind? Well…a very good kind.
How good? Exceptionally good.
The rest? Guess for yourselves.
In short, he played the part of a "man of riddles" perfectly.
Still, the overall atmosphere wasn't bad. With Roselle's name as a shield, no one pressed too hard. The only downside was the heavy stench of cigars and smoke—it was suffocating after a while.
When he'd finally dealt with the last questioner, Edward made an excuse to leave the banquet hall.
The garden was lively too. Long tables were piled with fruit, food, and wine. Edward poured himself a glass of water to soothe his throat.
Turning, he spotted Dubois at the doorway, speaking with Matilda. His expression was helpless as he tried to explain something, while she only smiled faintly. Then, turning her head, her eyes locked on Roselle, who was chatting animatedly inside. Her gaze sparkled.
Roselle's marriage to Matilda may have started without love, and even in old age he only felt guilt toward her. But Matilda—she clearly loved Roselle. Her eyes said everything.
"Ow!"
A little head bumped into Edward's side with a soft yelp.
It was Bernadette, dressed in a sky-blue gown.
She held her forehead, frowned, mumbled an apology, and went right back to sneaking peeks at her mother, muttering under her breath.
…Ah. He'd forgotten to tell her that Matilda and Dubois' "date" was a misunderstanding.
But for now, he was nothing but a stranger to her. That explanation could wait.
"Huh?"
Sensing his gaze, Bernadette turned, only to see the back of a stranger walking away. She clenched her tiny fists. "This house…you must protect it, Bernadette."
When Edward returned to the banquet hall, Roselle had just finished a witty toast, thanking all the guests for attending. Then he pulled a middle-aged man from the crowd:
"Surely, everyone here knows this gentleman. Trier Cathedral's very own bishop. Of course, tonight's banquet is about meeting everyone. But I'd also like to take this chance to host a little fundraiser for the Church."
"…So, everyone—give as much as you can spare."
Roselle pulled out a check.
"I'll set the example—500 Felkin."
He slipped it into the donation box a servant brought over. "Yes, yes! Even as the 'Son of Steam,' I'm only giving 500. So please, don't give too much—otherwise I'll look bad."
Laughter broke out.
For most of the nobles, a few hundred Felkin was pocket change. In no time, donations poured in.
The bishop stood by the box, smiling and offering thanks.
Roselle only smiled. "Bishop, allow me and my men to escort you back to the cathedral later. That box is holding quite a sum."
"Much obliged."
The two clinked glasses and exchanged a smile.
Edward also donated 200 Felkin, polishing his image in the eyes of the Church. Then he stepped out into the garden and found Dubois standing alone.
"I thought you said Trier's nobles had blacklisted you? I haven't seen anyone give you trouble tonight."
"…."
Dubois rubbed his forehead. "Don't you get it? The one who really blacklisted me is none other than Roselle himself…And besides, those nobles aren't stupid. Who would stir trouble at his banquet? No one wants to offend him."
"So those rumours about you sleeping with every noblewoman and lady were false?"
"…."
He coughed lightly. "Half true, half not. But believe me, I'm not dumb enough to risk my life over a few rolls in bed. With those ladies, it was mutual affection—things just…happened naturally."
"…You think I'll buy that?"
"You're my boss. How could I dare lie to you?"
The two held each other's gaze for a few seconds—then laughed.
Suddenly, Dubois leaned in with a mischievous grin. "Come on, let me show you something fun."
He beckoned, then strode quickly ahead.
Soon, they reached the villa's darkened backyard. Edward was confused, but Dubois motioned for him to crouch in the bushes. They peeked forward.
A man and a woman were locked in a heated embrace, kissing passionately as their hands roamed freely. Sparks flying, they were a moment away from going at it right there.
Shit!
Roselle had written in his diary that some nobles liked sneaking off during banquets for trysts. Seeing it firsthand was…eye-opening.
Before long, the pair shed their lower garments and began for real.
"Enough. Watch if you want—I'm done. Kinda disgusting."
"Hahaha."
Dubois chuckled under his breath. "Just thought I'd give you a glimpse of the 'noble circle' you're so eager to join. Most of them are just lucky bastards, nothing more."
"Aren't you a baron yourself?"
"Exactly. That makes me a bastard too."
He laughed freely.
But as they turned to leave, a low, muffled cry rang out behind them.
It wasn't the sound of pleasure—but of suppressed agony.
The once-excited nobleman's eyes bulged with pain. He reached out desperately toward the woman—only to be slapped away.
Then, with a flick of her fingers, a transparent thread sliced across his neck.
Blood sprayed forth. His terrified head toppled—yet not a drop stained the woman's body.
Edward cursed immediately, "Dammit! I knew I had some kind of 'Chaos Banquet Physique' that makes me unfit for noble banquets!"
———
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