It was roughly a week after Eliaria’s audience with King Elias. Inside the Royal Palace’s most expansive Grand Hall, a massive evening party hosted by the King himself was about to commence.
The Grand Hall was divided into six tiered sections. At the highest level sat the hosts—the King and the royal family. The tiers followed in descending order: the Ducal Houses, then the Marquees Houses, followed by designated areas for the Counts, Viscounts, and Barons.
As was custom, attendees arrived in time for the formal commencement. Etiquette dictated that those of lower status arrive early, while those of higher rank arrived last.
Most of the participants had already filed in and were currently waiting for the party to officially begin. In practice, however, the guests had already begun their various pleasantries, and the cutthroat social maneuvering of the nobility was well underway. Yet, this evening’s party held a significance beyond the usual politicking.
The protagonists of the night were the "children" of the noble houses who had enrolled in the Academy this year.
They were gathered here to be celebrated, blessed, and scrutinized as the future pillars of the nation—whether they were conscious of that weight or not.
The children were surrounded by more than just parents concerned for their debutantes. There were fathers and mothers watching like hawks to ensure no faux pas were committed, while others were already scouting for future marriage prospects. The air was thick with a unique brand of tension.
Had Ryoma Takebayashi been present, his Earth-born Japanese sensibilities likely would have led him to describe the scene as an "incredibly awkward parent-teacher meeting."
Another group arrived—the final child and parents for the year.
The ringing of a bell resonated through the room, drawing the eyes of everyone present. After a beat, the official standing at the entrance projected his voice.
"The Head of the Jamil Ducal House, Lord Reinhardt Jamil! Accompanied by his wife, Lady Elise Jamil! And their daughter, Lady Eliaria Jamil! Now entering!"
Due to the tiered structure of the Grand Hall, the three were immediately subjected to the collective gaze of the many who had arrived before them. They paid the stares no mind, however, moving with impeccable grace and poise.
Furthermore, their attire for the evening was adorned with accessories featuring exceptionally large pearls. These pieces, combined with their dignified bearing, sparked an immediate stir among the gathered nobles and their children.
"As expected of the Jamil family. They truly are in a league of their own."
"Lady Eliaria only just enrolled this year. My, how remarkably composed she is."
"Is that the Duke? He’s so handsome... nothing like my father."
"Lady Elise’s crimson gown and Lady Eliaria’s vibrant blue dress are both exquisite. And look at those accessories."
"Lord Reinhardt has a brooch, and the ladies have earrings... to use so many large pearls of that size... only a Ducal House could manage such a feat."
"The quality of the fabric and thread goes without saying, but the design isn't overly revealing or gaudy. It makes the accessories stand out all the more. It’s the definition of refinement—nothing like those lower-tier upstarts who only care about being flashy."
"Father. I want accessories like those, too."
"T-Those? A single pearl of that grade would cost a fortune..."
"Any woman would be enchanted by pearls that beautiful. Wouldn't you agree, dear?"
"Call the jeweler once we return home. We can obtain them if we simply offer enough gold."
"Honestly, do you not understand the value of what you're looking at?"
"They’re just gems, aren't they? We can get them if we place an order."
A path opened through the crowd as the family elegantly proceeded, followed by a wake of voices that rose and fell in their passing.
The evening party was a buffet-style event, allowing for free movement, yet no one dared approach the three. Party etiquette and unspoken social rules dictated that it was a grave disrespect for someone of lower status to initiate conversation with a superior. One had to wait for a person with established connections to mediate, or for the higher-ranking individual to offer a greeting themselves. Stopping a Duke in his tracks was unthinkable.
Unimpeded, Reinhardt and his family reached their designated position. Like the others, they used the time before the formal start to greet the houses they associated with—moving from fellow Ducal Houses to the Marquees, and finally, down toward a Count...
"Pardon the interruption, but would you happen to be Count Bulwanart?"
"Lord Duke. It is a profound honor that someone of your standing would address a man like me."
"Now, there is no need for such stiff formality. I felt I simply must offer my thanks."
"Your thanks, my lord?"
Addressed so suddenly and with the word "thanks," the Count scoured his memory for any possible reason, but found nothing. Reinhardt pressed on.
"Yes. I also intended to thank your friends... but is Count Sandrick not in attendance today?"
"I have not seen Count Sandrick. It seems he has been quite preoccupied of late."
"Ah, I suppose he would be. Well then, what of Viscount Forgotten, Viscount Danietan, and Viscount Anatoma? Are they perhaps further down the tiers?"
"I... I truly couldn't say."
"I see... I simply have so many people I must thank. By the way, do you truly have no idea what I am referring to?"
The Count, naturally, realized that Reinhardt’s "gratitude" was not literal. Yet, as the Count attempted to feign ignorance, Reinhardt increased the pressure with a serene smile.
"That’s odd. In my territory, where construction on the new city is proceeding apace, we have received a great deal of labor from your lands. It has been a tremendous help. Are you truly unaware? The influx reached the scale of several hundred people. It is difficult to believe you wouldn't notice such a massive exodus from your own domain."
Their conversation was not loud, but Reinhardt was a Duke. A man who sat far above the Count had gone out of his way to descend to the Count’s tier to speak with him. This alone drew the rapt attention of those nearby—some curious about the subject, others hoping to find an opening to establish a connection.
The result was immediate.
"What on earth? A scale of hundreds?"
"With that many people missing, it’s as if an entire village vanished. Even for seasonal work, that’s an absurd number."
"If he had sent them to assist the Duke, it wouldn't be strange for them to move... but the Count himself claims to know nothing. What does that mean? Did his people flee?"
"The reason for the migration is secondary. The problem is that the Count claims he didn't even notice. How could anyone be that oblivious? What kind of management is he practicing?"
"If it was a mass escape, I wonder why... I hadn't heard of any particular economic crises in his lands, but perhaps the situation is far worse than we knew."
Around Reinhardt and Count Bulwanart, the eavesdroppers began whispering their own speculations. Based on the fragments of conversation they had overheard, their theories skewed in a direction deeply unfavorable for the Count.
Furthermore, some particularly well-informed nobles began piecing the rumors together with prior intel.
"He obviously knows everything. He’s just feigning ignorance."
"But why? There’s no point in lying now."
"No, he likely realized it would be even more damaging to admit it."
"Oh? Do you know something we don't?"
"Well, I heard a bit the other day... you recall the rumors about the Jamil territory being in a state of chaos?"
"Yes... I thought it was perhaps because Lord Reinhardt is still young."
"Supposedly, those rumors were a fabrication orchestrated by other houses. There’s talk that several families conspired to gather the dregs of the city and dump them in the Duke’s territory. Some even say they hired agents from a Dark Guild."
"My heavens! Now that you mention it, those rumors did seem remarkably well-coordinated."
"Using a Dark Guild... how ghastly. Is that why the Count is..."
Like ripples on a pond, new speculations spread through the gathered nobility. One by one, people began to subtly distance themselves from Count Bulwanart.
No one wanted to be seen as an ally to a man who had earned the Duke’s ire. To be mistaken for his co-conspirator was a risk no one was willing to take. In the cutthroat social ecosystem, proximity to a man under fire was social suicide.
Sensing the atmosphere of abandonment and isolation, Count Bulwanart kept his face neutral, but panic clawed at him from within as he scrambled for an exit.
In that moment, Reinhardt relented.
"Well, it is an evening party. Let us save the business for another time."
Reinhardt ended the conversation right there.
Shock, relief, and a surge of silent mockery toward Reinhardt’s perceived "softness" flooded the Count's mind.
"Then, if you'll excuse me, my lord."
"Thank you for the audience."
With his internal composure restored along with his outward mask, the Count bowed deeply as he watched Reinhardt walk away. The Duke moved with such grace that one would never have guessed he had just delivered a devastating social blow under the guise of a polite greeting.
Following that, Reinhardt continued his rounds with his wife and daughter.
"Count Fatma, it has been far too long."
"Oh! It is a pleasure to see you, Lord Duke Jamil."
"You were a great help to me during my academy days. May I introduce my wife and daughter?"
"The honor is mine!"
"I'm glad. Elia, this is Count Porco Fatma. He was my senior at the Academy."
"I am Porco Fatma. It is a delight to meet you, Lady Eliaria."
"And I am Eliaria Jamil. The pleasure is mine, my lord. I have heard many stories from my father."
After joining up with Porco Fatma, they moved on.
"Mother, over there."
"Oh? You're right. Shall we?"
"Pardon me, Count Wyldan and Baron Clifford. I take it these are your families?"
They next merged with the parents of Eliaria’s friends, Michelle and Riera.
"Lord Duke! Thank you for the honor of your greeting."
"Baron, please, do not be so formal. I understand my daughter has been in the excellent company of your two girls."
"On the contrary, my lord. My Riera has been quite taken with your daughter’s kindness at the Academy."
"My Michelle as well," Count Wyldan added. "She’s a bit of an eccentric, so I was worried, but she’s settled into the Academy beautifully thanks to Lady Eliaria."
"No, no, we are the ones who are grateful," Reinhardt replied. "I hear they are exceptional young women. I hope they will continue to be close with my daughter for years to come. And that we parents might enjoy a similar relationship."
"The honor would be ours."
Once the parents had finished their pleasantries and formal introductions, they chatted for a brief while. In the middle of their conversation, the official start time of the party finally arrived.
An official rang a bell in the corner of the Grand Hall several times to announce the commencement. Simultaneously, the nobles who had been making their rounds—the Jamils included—returned to their designated tiers.
Once the movement subsided, the official by the bell knelt and lowered his head. Following his lead, the entire assembly turned toward the royal seats and did the same.
At the very top of the Grand Hall, from behind a door concealed by thick curtains, the King and Queen entered solemnly, arm in arm. Once they were seated:
"Raise your heads."
At the King’s command, the attendees raised only their faces while remaining on their knees.
"My people. I am heartened to have reached this day safely once again, and to see the faces of our youth—who are, without exaggeration, the future of this kingdom. Now, long speeches are tedious for the young, and I have little stomach for them myself. Tonight, enjoy the refreshments and the company to your heart’s content... Everyone, take up your glasses!"
Servers began distributing crystal glasses throughout the hall. After waiting for everyone to be served, the King spoke.
"To the future of our kingdom and our youth! Cheers!"
Matching the King as he raised his glass, the attendees raised theirs and drank. Thus, the evening party officially began.
In truth, this was where the real destruction started.
"Shall we, Elia?"
"Yes, Father."
The three Jamils returned their glasses to a passing server and headed toward the King and Queen. Every eye followed their movements. Even the most oblivious guest couldn't help but notice the pearl necklace around the Queen’s neck. The fact that all three members of the Jamil household were also wearing pearl accessories was already common knowledge.
The women in the hall, and the men they had been pestering, all reached the same conclusion. That conclusion was solidified by the King’s public acknowledgment—the pearls were a gift from the Duke. From this moment on, every noble desiring royal favor would be flocking to Reinhardt Jamil. His already immense influence was about to skyrocket.
There were, of course, nobles who watched this with nothing but dread. Count Bulwanart was among them. The moment he looked away from the display of royal favor, he caught sight of two men he knew all too well.
They were Viscount Forgotten and Viscount Danietan. The two, who had participated in the same labor-sabotage scheme, were pale-faced and whispering frantically to each other.
The Count approached them.
"Viscount Forgotten, Viscount Danietan."
"B-Baron Bulwanart!"
"A pleasure to see you..."
"Skip the greetings. You two are worried about that matter, aren't you?"
"Eh? Ah, well, it’s not that it’s completely unrelated, but..."
He was irritated by Viscount Danietan’s stuttering, but he couldn't cause a scene. When he pressed them in a hushed tone, Viscount Forgotten finally spoke.
"The problem is... ever since we arrived, everyone has been talking about our reputations."
"What? By 'ours,' you mean..."
"Those of us involved in the plan the Count mentioned..."
Stunned, the Count focused his hearing on the surrounding chatter.
"Say, dear, have you heard? The scandal regarding Viscount Forgotten’s infidelity."
"And speaking of debts, I hear Viscount Danietan is in a truly precarious state."
"My son in the tax office says Baron Rufred is under investigation for evasion."
"Oh, I heard as well. I’m told Viscount Selgeal treats his fief like his personal playground, relying on nothing but gold and coercion."
"It seems Count Sandrick has some rather suspicious ties to a certain merchant guild."
"I hear Baron Jerock spends every single night at the seedier establishments with women."
One after another, the rumors he heard were directed at those who had joined his faction. His own name was surely on those lips as well. They were discussing everything—from embarrassing personal secrets to the very misdeeds they had carefully hidden in the shadows.
"What is the meaning of this? Did you hear nothing from our 'planner'?"
"Nothing. But it’s clear someone is intentionally fanning these flames."
"But look at them... it’s as if everyone is competing to see who can spread the most filth."
Hearing Viscount Forgotten’s mutterings, the Count felt the blood drain from his face as he realized the true horror of the situation.
It was strange for nobles to spread gossip so blatantly. But more than that, it was the "openness" of the conversation that was abnormal.
Noble dialogue was a game of shadows and subtext. They used vague phrasing to avoid making definitive statements. If one openly insulted another house in a public forum, it was an act of aggression that invited a blood feud. Even if the insult was true, it wasn't something spoken aloud in mixed company.
Doing so was unheard of—with one exception.
And the atmosphere in the hall was the exact social climate of that exception.
Count Bulwanart realized the truth, and his face turned the color of ash.
In noble society, that exception was synonymous with the death of a house.
It happened only when a family’s crimes had been fully exposed and their punishment was already a foregone conclusion. In such cases, the usual rules of etiquette no longer applied. Gossip and insults were overlooked because the target was already a social pariah.
Once you were branded as someone who had tarnished the dignity of the nobility, you were no longer treated as a peer. Even if you kept your life, your honor was gone, and you would be ignored by society entirely.
At that point, your life as a noble was finished.
"!!!"
They were being treated as if they were already dead.
The eyes watching them were not gazes of suspicion or curiosity. They were the eyes of predators looking at carrion.
Duke Jamil had orchestrated this. Somehow, without them even noticing, he had finished the "siege" and cut off every possible escape.
Just as the Count began to tremble, the hall erupted in a roar of excitement.
The King’s actual words hadn't reached the Count's ears, but the surrounding nobles immediately began discussing them.
"His Majesty the King has officially given his seal of approval to the pearls presented by Duke Jamil."
The value of the Jamil pearls had just become untouchable. Every noble who wanted to stay in the King’s good graces would now be falling over themselves to court the Duke.
For the Count, this was the final blow.
He scrambled to find a way to save himself, but no path remained. At most, he could throw away every shred of dignity he had left and beg for mercy on his hands and knees. But no coherent plan formed; his mind was a storm of useless excuses.
With a dazed expression, the Count raised his head. By pure chance, his eyes met Reinhardt’s.
"A-Ah... aahhh..."
Reinhardt was smiling.
There was no dialogue between them, but the Count understood everything. Reinhardt hadn't pursued him earlier because there was no need. He was already checkmated.
For the rest of the night, the Count was like a walking corpse. He spoke to no one, and no one spoke to him.
In the days that followed, the scandals of the Count and his co-conspirators would formally come to light. News of their houses being dissolved or their titles stripped would be whispered through the capital... but the nobility wouldn't be surprised. Before long, they would stop talking about them entirely.
An eye for an eye, a rumor for a rumor.
The curtain had fallen on these bit players.