Chapter 56: The Noble Party

Three days later, I was suffering a fate far worse than fighting a towering Ice Golem in a frozen abyss. At least an Ice Golem had the decency to attack directly; this was a slow, deliberate form of medieval torturous execution.

"Hold still, little lamb!" Victoria scolded, her hands moving with terrifying precision as she forcibly tugged at the suffocatingly tight collar of my brand-new formal suit.

She had spent a staggering amount of her own silver and hard-earned gold buying me a custom-tailored black silk jacket, matching crisp trousers, and a small, ridiculously stiff dark blue bowtie. It squeezed against my neck like a subtle strangulation spell.

"Victoria, I literally can’t breathe," I groaned, squirming uncomfortably on the hard wooden chair as she pinned my shoulders back.

"Nonsense. You are attending a Duke’s grand banquet! You will look like a proper young gentleman if it kills both of us!" she declared firmly, instantly slapping my hands away as I made another desperate attempt to loosen the restrictive bow.

"I am just a locksmith," I protested, my voice sounding tight and strained against the rigid, starch-filled fabric. "Why in the world do I need fine silk? Iron filings, oil stains, and magic dust are going to ruin this whole outfit in five minutes anyway."

"You are not going to touch a single piece of rusty iron tonight," Victoria snapped back briskly, taking a small wooden horsehair brush and furiously sweeping nonexistent dust off my shoulders. "You are stepping foot into a grand palace. Do you have any idea how much this tailored jacket cost me? I had to stand in that shop and haggle relentlessly with the head tailor for two full hours!"

"I could have easily paid for it myself," I grumbled under my breath, thinking of my own hidden coin pouch.

"Absolute, utter nonsense. You keep your copper, silver, and whatever strange trinkets you collect for your little tools," she said softly, taking a damp wooden comb and sternly taming the stubborn stray strands of my dark hair. "A boy your age shouldn’t be worrying about paying for his own high-class clothes. Besides, what would His Grace the Duke think if you showed up at his front gate wearing a plain linen tunic covered in black grease and forge soot?"

"He probably wouldn’t care at all. He’s seen me covered in brick dust and monster filth before," I muttered back.

"Well, I care!" she retorted smoothly, grabbing my chin and turning my face from side to side to inspect every inch for smudges or dirt. "Listen to me carefully: do not chew on your silk sleeves when you get nervous. Do not slide your hands into your trouser pockets like a common street urchin. And if someone offers you food from a silver tray, eat it politely with a fork."

"What if it’s finger food?"

"Then use a linen napkin!" Victoria let out a long, dramatic sigh and finally took two steps back to evaluate her handiwork.

After twenty exhausting minutes of endless torturous adjustments, she finally deemed me presentable to high society.

"There. Look at you. You look just like a handsome little noble master," she whispered softly, her sharp tone melting into genuine, warm pride.

"I feel like a stuffed summer sausage," I replied flatly, pushing myself up from the wooden chair with extreme care so as not to tear a single seam.

"Off you go before you mess up your hair," she smiled, shooing me toward the front door with a quick wave of her hand.

The opulent Voulstridge family carriage brought me straight to the estate’s massive main courtyard. The entire sprawling mansion was blindingly illuminated by hundreds of floating magic lanterns that cast soft, golden light over the manicured gardens and cobblestone paths. High nobles dressed in elaborate velvet gowns, embroidered waistcoats, and tailored coats were slowly ascending the sweeping marble stairs, chatting loudly about regional politics, tax rates, and maritime trade routes.

"Look at the main hall," the private coachman remarked with an appreciative nod as he hopped down from his seat and opened the polished carriage door for me. "His Grace really went all out for tonight’s celebration."

"Thanks for the ride," I said, carefully hopping down onto the smooth cobblestones, making sure not to scuff my newly polished leather shoes.

The second my feet hit the ground, several nearby nobles cast sharp, judgmental glances down at my small frame. Eyebrows twitched and gilded fans fluttered as they openly wondered why an eight-year-old boy was attending such a high-profile gathering entirely unescorted by parents or guardians.

"Is that... a child?" a heavy-set noblewoman behind me whispered behind a lace fan, her eyes scanning my outfit. "Why is a solitary child stepping out of the Voulstridge private carriage all by himself?"

"Perhaps he is some distant relative from an obscure cadet branch," a sharp-faced man in a crimson coat replied, eyeing the cut of my black silk suit with mild intrigue. "Though he certainly looks much too young to be an official invited guest."

I completely ignored their quiet whispers and walked straight past them through the grand double doors leading into the main ballroom.

The interior of the mansion was deafeningly loud, overflowing with expensive perfume, warm air, and crowded bodies. Dressed servants glided seamlessly through the throng, carrying silver trays stacked high with crystal flutes of sparkling champagne and exotic appetizers, while an ensemble of court musicians played sweet string melodies beside a massive, sculpted central fountain.

"Silvester!"

A light, familiar voice called out over the hum of chatter. Arielle came rushing straight through the dense crowd toward me, wearing an impossibly fluffy white dress adorned with layers of fine lace that made her look like a miniature snow princess. If one looked closely at her hair ribbon, they could see the tiny Ice Spirit fairy hiding within the silk folds, peeking out curiously at the surrounding lights with glittering crystal eyes.

She skidded to a sudden halt right in front of me and immediately began inspecting me from head to toe with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Woah," she breathed, blinking her big blue eyes in genuine shock. "You actually look like a real noble today!"

"Don’t start," I groaned, rolling my eyes. "Victoria almost suffocated me to death with this knot just to get me out the door."

"Well, it looks really nice on you," Arielle giggled, covering her mouth. Then, remembering something urgent, her eyes widened, and she cast a quick, nervous glance around the buzzing ballroom.

Reaching into the delicate folds of her fluffy skirt, she swiftly shoved a small, warm pastry wrapped neatly in a cloth straight into my hand.

"Eat this super fast before Father sees us! The head pastry chef made fresh strawberry tarts!" she whispered frantically, leaning in close.

"Why in the world would your father care if I eat a tart?" I asked, looking down at the soft, warm pastry sitting in my palm.

"Because he said we absolutely have to follow strict banquet etiquette rules tonight!" she complained, waving her small gloved hands in dramatic frustration. "He said guests are strictly supposed to wait for the official main dinner service before eating anything! But I managed to sneak into the back kitchen while the head chef had his back turned!"

"You are an absolute menace to household order," I said dryly.

Without hesitating, I shoved the sweet pastry into my mouth. The buttery crust melted instantly against my tongue, bursting with warm strawberry jam. "Thanks, kid. You look slightly less like a wild mountain orc today."

"Hey! I am a refined young lady!" she pouted indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest. "And stop calling me kid! I am technically older than you!"

"You might be older, but you act like you’re five," I replied casually, swallowing the sweet strawberry filling. "More importantly, is the little spirit doing okay in all this noise?"

The tiny Ice Spirit nestled inside her silk hair ribbon squeaked softly in response, fluttering its translucent, icy wings and waving a tiny frost-dusted hand at me in greeting.

"She loves the live music," Arielle whispered happily, her tone softening instantly as she touched her hair ribbon. "She was floating around and dancing all over my room earlier while I was getting dressed!"

"Just make sure she doesn’t accidentally freeze someone’s warm drink," I warned, adjusting my collar slightly. "We don’t need high nobles panicking over sudden frostbite."

"She won’t! I have full control over her mana now, remember?" Arielle puffed out her small chest proudly, standing tall. "Father said I’m doing amazingly well with my daily mana control practice! And it’s all thanks to... well, mostly my own hard work, but maybe a little bit thanks to you too." ℯℯ𝘭.

"A little bit?" I raised an eyebrow, staring at her with deadpan disbelief. "I literally forged a specialized spatial key and traveled to a dangerous, frozen realm just to pull you out of a coma."

"Fine! A whole lot of thanks to you!" she huffed, her cheeks flushing a light shade of pink as she looked away. "Father mentioned you’re here to do important adult business with him tonight, but before you get busy, you have to save a dance for me later!"

"I don’t dance," I said bluntly, nipping that idea in the bud immediately.

"You have to! It’s an absolute noble rule at formal balls!" she insisted loudly, taking a step forward and pointing an accusing finger directly at my chest.

"I am a locksmith, not a ballroom dancer," I argued logically. "My feet were created for walking, jumping off roofs, and standing near heavy iron workbenches."

"Every proper gentleman dances at least once at a banquet!" she declared stubbornly, leaning closer with a sly spark in her eyes. "If you don’t dance with me later, I will go straight to Father and tell him that you sneaked into the pantry and stole three whole strawberry tarts instead of just one!"

"That is blatant, unprovoked slander," I said, narrowing my eyes at her.

"It works, doesn’t it?" she grinned mischievously, showing off a triumphant smile.

Before I could formulate a proper counter-argument to her low-handed blackmail, a gentle, familiar voice echoed softly from directly behind her.

"Arielle, dear. You shouldn’t pester our honored guest the moment he steps through the door."

Lady Silvia glided over gracefully, wearing a magnificent silver gown that shimmered under the magic lanterns, perfectly matching her bright, clear eyes. She looked entirely vibrant and healthy now—a startling, wonderful contrast to the pale, fragile, deathly weakness she had suffered back when her soul was trapped within the ice realm.

"Mother!" Arielle turned around quickly, smoothing down her skirt. "I wasn’t pestering him! I was just telling Silvester about our dance!"

"I see," Lady Silvia smiled softly, her expression brimming with maternal warmth. She turned her gaze toward me and gave me a gentle, deeply appreciative bow from across the floor before placing a loving hand on Arielle’s shoulder. "Thank you for coming tonight, Silvester. Sebastian has been eagerly looking forward to speaking with you in private later this evening."

"It’s entirely my pleasure, Lady Silvia," I replied politely, dipping my head in a respectful, measured bow.

"Come along, Arielle. Your father wants us to go over and greet the Marquis and his family," Lady Silvia said softly, gently steering Arielle away to join the circle of high-ranking aristocrats near the central fountain.

"Don’t you dare forget our dance, Silvester!" Arielle shouted back loudly over her shoulder, waving her hand as her mother pulled her into the bustling crowd.

I leaned back against a tall, cold marble pillar, swallowed the remaining sugary crumbs of the tart, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and narrowed my eyes at the vast, crowded room full of unsuspecting nobles.

Locksmith’s Eye.