SOTBW - 196

The Knights’ year-end party was held at the mansion of Curis, the commander of the Eschus Knights.

Ordinary people had no idea the year-end party was happening until they heard about a sudden surge in noble reservations near Noctis Fortress. Only then did they belatedly realize the day had arrived.

Curis’s servants bustled about tirelessly. Though the year-end party began at noon, an ant-like swarm of guests was expected, requiring extensive preparations. Most of the guests were nobles, so the decorations and food had to exude extravagance.

Preparations that had begun two nights prior were only just completed on the day of the event. Since food had to be replenished until sunset, the butler and head maid double-checked the stock of wine and meat, while the servants swept the snow-covered paths clean.

The maids stacked firewood generously in the banquet hall’s hearths and placed beautifully crafted iron kettles atop charcoal braziers scattered around. After ensuring guests could warm their drinks whenever they pleased, they meticulously wiped the banquet hall floor to prevent any shoe marks from marring its pristine surface.

Since it was winter and flowers were unavailable, the ceiling and window decorations were replaced with corsages painstakingly crafted from thin fabric. While the lavish spread of meats and expensive wines alone hinted at the opulence of the year-end party, the corsages—crafted over countless sleepless nights by the maids—were truly the highlight of the event.

On the bridge dividing the affluent and impoverished districts of Noctis Fortress, starving and ragged children often begged for coins. If all the fabric used for the corsages were gathered, it could have made clothing for a dozen children.

But no one raised such questions. The guests attending the Knights’ year-end party took such extravagance for granted, and those who didn’t were never allowed entry in the first place.

Though most of the nobility in the Bastronia Kingdom supported the knights out of obligation, not all attended the year-end party. Those who did had their own reasons.

After most nations were decimated by the Serith, the king banned private parties altogether. As a result, social debuts and coming-of-age ceremonies were canceled.

For the nobility, parties were both playgrounds of pleasure and arenas of subtle political maneuvering. Over food, drink, and entertainment, they could discreetly scout for potential allies or gather hints about events in the royal court or other territories, as well as the king’s current mindset.

Above all, forbidding young people from attending parties was particularly harsh. Even the average nobleman fought in Noctis Fortress under the king’s watchful eye, though most eventually bribed their way to safer locations like the Holy City or nearby towns after fulfilling their required service.

Most knights fighting in Noctis were second or third sons, spared the pressure of producing heirs unlike their elder brothers. But battling Serith daily and surviving each day inevitably filled even the most indifferent souls with profound fear and loneliness.

Thus, unmarried noble knights often sought partners at the year-end party.

What parent would willingly give their daughter to a knight fighting Serith? Surprisingly, many nobles sought husbands for their daughters at this very event. Particularly those with only daughters needed subtle ways to curry favor with the hypersensitive king.

For instance: “My son-in-law, so-and-so, is bravely fighting for our nation as a knight of such-and-such order, and I am generously supporting that order for his sake…”

Whether their daughters became widows didn’t matter; remarriage was always an option.

Other nobles wore jewelry crafted from the Eyes of Serith to flaunt their family’s continued prominence. They also prepared hefty sums for the public donation segment at the end of the party.

Sponsoring the knights was crucial for the nobility. While supporting the knights was ostensibly for the sake of defending the nation, it was also a deeply political tool.

With the king’s heightened sensitivity due to the Serith threat, he constantly nitpicked and harassed the nobility. To avoid being targeted and forced to send their children to Noctis Fortress, nobles had to outdo one another in generous donations.

And someday, when the war ended, the commanders of the knights would inevitably be hailed as heroes, wielding immense power whether they wanted it or not. Though peace couldn’t be guaranteed even for tomorrow, jockeying for influence was instinctual for nobles who had lived their entire lives navigating such politics.

By midday, the mansion’s party venue was teeming with countless nobles. Pretending to exchange pleasantries, they carefully scanned the attendees.

Their goal was to speak with Maximón Elgort as much as possible. But no matter how they scoured the venue, Maximón was nowhere to be seen.

Disappointed, the nobles instead mingled with other knights and waited until the afternoon. Knights who could embellish tales of valor—whether their own or others’—were always popular at parties. After eating, drinking, and reveling, exhausted nobles retreated to their assigned rooms for a nap, returning to the party sluggishly as the sun began to set in the west.

One bloated nobleman, his face puffy from excessive drinking, felt a severe thirst but reached for a glass of champagne instead of water. By now, the number of attendees had grown even larger, leaving no room to squeeze into the dance hall.

Collapsing onto a sofa, he sipped his drink absentmindedly when the sharp scent of cinnamon suddenly wrinkled his nose. Frowning, he glanced around curiously.

Could someone be bringing in a large quantity of cinnamon chocolate? But there were no servants carrying desserts nearby. The nobleman hesitated to pinch his nose, glancing around to avoid drawing attention, and then cleared his throat awkwardly. Perhaps cinnamon perfume had become fashionable without him realizing it.

Just then, a sudden commotion erupted at the entrance of the party hall. Most of the attendees turned to look. A strikingly handsome man with jet-black hair and dark green eyes entered the venue dressed in a black uniform. Beside him, appearing almost like a partner but wearing the same uniform, was a woman.

There was no need to ask who they were. It was Maximón Elgort, the commander of the Romsoa Knights, and his knight, Najane Schnicks.

With the long-awaited figures now present, the atmosphere of the party shifted subtly. The nobleman was seeing Maximón for the first time. Though he had often heard about him, encountering a figure so legendary in person felt strange. 

Was there anyone in the Kingdom of Bastronia who didn’t know this man?

Pretending disinterest, the nobleman sipped his champagne but couldn’t tear his gaze away from Maximón. He had heard rumors that Maximón’s appearance was as flawless as his skill in slaughtering Serith, but he assumed the bards had exaggerated the truth as they often did.

Yet, all the rumors proved true.

Though the uniforms made for the knights appeared shabby compared to the nobles’ lavish attire, Maximón stood out like the brightest black gem amidst the crowd.

As the nobleman marveled at Maximón’s dazzling and refined features, his gaze soon shifted to the woman beside him. Those standing near him also began whispering behind their fans about the woman by Maximón’s side.

“Is that… the one they’ve been talking about?”

“She’s from Kalonosia, right?”

“She’s more ordinary than I expected. I thought she must be stunning since Sir Elgort favors her.”

“But she wields Qi energy, you know. Who knows? She might succeed Elderkerth.”

“Hmm, I heard she collapsed in the field after overexerting herself…”

“She looks perfectly fine to me.”

“Have you all heard the rumors about those two?”

“You mean how that knight lives with Sir Elgort? Is there anyone who doesn’t know about that?”

“How brazen, approaching a man with a fiancée. People from Kalonosia seem to care little about such things.”

“But it’s strange that the Rochelles are staying silent.”

“If Lord Rochelle is quiet, maybe it’s just idle gossip.”

“Maybe, but… Look at them. Do you really think it’s just a simple rumor?”

No sooner had the conversation ended than the noblewomen’s gazes fixed firmly on Najane. Even the lounging nobleman found himself inadvertently looking at her.

True to their words, Najane’s appearance was unremarkable. Her hair color was somewhat distinctive, but otherwise, she didn’t stand out physically.

However, the noblewomen stopped chattering about her. It wasn’t that they lost interest—far from it. Their eyes remained fixed on her.

The nobleman began to understand why their chatter had died down. Najane complemented Maximón perfectly. Standing side by side, they looked completely natural together.

If anyone else had stood next to Maximón, their presence would have been utterly overshadowed—or worse, reduced to mere background enhancing Maximón’s beauty.

But Najane remained unmistakably “Najane Schnicks” even beside Maximón. Her unique aura didn’t pale in comparison to his; instead, it shone with a calm brilliance.

Though aware of the whispers about her, Najane surveyed her surroundings carefully and composedly. Each turn of her head revealed her slender jawline, evoking an old-fashioned air of stubbornness and dignity reminiscent of the knights of old—those who valued honor and belief as much as skill.

Yes, chivalry.

Najane exuded the solid, humble demeanor of knights who upheld the code of chivalry.

The nobleman found this oddly contradictory. If Najane truly understood honor, she wouldn’t stand so confidently beside Maximón, who was already betrothed.

Feeling a twinge of misplaced disdain, the nobleman glanced down at the champagne in his glass and clicked his tongue awkwardly. Envious of how Najane stood on equal footing with Maximón, he found himself picking unnecessary fault in his thoughts.

The nobleman emptied his glass and rose from the sofa when his shoulder collided with a passing VIP. Just as he was about to apologize, an overwhelming wave of cinnamon scent hit him so strongly that it made him furrow his brow.

The VIP who had bumped into him walked away without a word of apology. Lowering his hand from his nose, the nobleman followed the man’s retreating figure with his eyes.

The man kept circling around Najane. Did he think Najane would become as great a hero as Maximón and was trying to strike up a conversation with her?

Clicking his tongue in mild irritation, the nobleman decided to lose interest in Maximón and Najane, turning his steps toward a table where new dishes had been set out.