Chapter 610: Shadows Outside the Banquet

January arrived, bringing with it two significant pieces of news.

Firstly, the Imperial Royal Archmage competition was scheduled as planned.

Secondly, Supreme Patriarch of the Bright College, Odo, withdrew from the competition for the position of Royal Archmage, leaving the choice between Great Alchemist Gelt and the previous Royal Archmage, the head of the Flame College, Sereneus German.

No one knew what had happened, only that Gelt led an army back to Altdorf while Odo seemed to have disappeared. The only known fact was that, subsequently, the positions of Supreme Patriarch and Supreme Light Wizard would both be held by Konrad, with no further news about Odo.

The Imperial Court, Royal Wizards College, and the Church of Justice were all tight-lipped about Odo's whereabouts. Meanwhile, the Emperor praised Gelt for preventing the Chaos army from releasing the ancient dragon demon Kholek Suneater, lauding him for securing another great victory for the Empire under difficult circumstances.

Simultaneously, the Emperor publicly commended Sereneus German for his significant contributions to the Empire's expansion on the island of Albion, stating that the Empire needed pioneers and brave exemplars like German.

The Emperor's remarks left people puzzled, as neither Gelt's nor German's supporters could discern whom the Emperor favored. They could only continue rallying support and observing the situation.

The competition for the position of Royal Archmage was to be held in a week.

To celebrate, the Emperor hosted a grand banquet at the Imperial Palace, inviting Electors from across the Empire. Attendees included Boris Todbringer, the Elector Count of Middenland and Grand Duke of Middenheim; Umberto Corleone, Elector of Toscano and Grand Duke of Averland; Emmanuelle von Liebwitz, Elector of Talabheim and Duchess of Nuln and Wissenland; and Wulfric von Zhukov, Elector of Ostland and Grand Duke of Ostermark, among many other Imperial nobles and generals. Ryan attended as a special guest and Duke of Mousillon.

Notably, Sulia, uncharacteristically, declined the invitation, citing other engagements. Her absence was interpreted as a gesture of deference to Emmanuelle, the Imperial Duchess who had also borne a son for Ryan. This allowed Emilia to proudly accompany Ryan, introducing him as the father of her child.

Ryan could sense the envious and resentful stares, as well as disapproving murmurs, following Emilia's introductions. However, no one dared voice any objections. The child's status was acknowledged not only by Ryan but also by the Emperor, and, crucially, was blessed by the goddess Myrmidia. Opposing them meant facing three powerful factions, including a deity with significant influence in the southern Empire and the Southern Realms. The cunning Electors refrained from acting rashly.

Moreover, Ryan's power was unquestionable. With Mousillon firmly under his control, he stood as an equal to the Electors, no longer seen as an outsider.

Today, the Imperial Duchess wore a chamomile-colored high-collared tea dress coat, under which was a knee-length dress of dark Elven black. Her legs, encased in sheer unicorn wool tights, and her delicate feet were shod in sleek, high-heeled shoes. Though she found such shoes uncomfortable, she wore them to project authority and status. Understanding this, Ryan soon suggested she rest after a brief tour of the hall: "Emilia, you rest here for a while. I'll go have a word with Boris."

"Don't take too long," Emilia replied, kissing Ryan on the cheek. She settled into a corner of the banquet hall, sipping wine slowly.

"Hey, Boris, why the long face again? Come on, cheer up! It's a party, not a battlefield!" Ryan joked with Boris Todbringer, the White Wolf Elector, who smiled upon seeing Ryan: "Ryan, have you brought any of those mixed-blood Elven warhorses? I'll take them all!"

"Not a single one!" Ryan's expression immediately stiffened.

"Well, have you thought about bringing your mounts and your wife, Sulia, to visit Middenheim? I've got many beautiful mares in my stables..." Boris couldn't hide his desire for the prized warhorses.

"I feel like I've heard that line before," Ryan muttered, not hiding his exasperation. Before he could respond, Wulfric von Zhukov, Elector of Ostland and Grand Duke of Ostermark, approached, holding a goblet of wine. This portly Elector, sporting a long beard, smiled: "I think I heard talk of mixed-blood Elven warhorses? Ryan, don't forget your old friend Wulfric. If Boris gets some, I want some too."

"When did we become old friends, Wulfric?" Ryan replied, somewhat coldly.

"Oh? Aren't we already old friends?" Wulfric was adept at ingratiating himself. "Don't you remember?"

"I don't recall," Ryan said, puzzled.

"My son, Boris von Zhukov!" Wulfric exclaimed, clapping Ryan on the shoulder with mock paternal affection. "You fought side by side during the recapture of Mousillon! You dare say we're not old friends?"

Ryan had no choice but to concede. In this world, shared combat experiences forge strong bonds of friendship. Boris von Zhukov had indeed fought bravely in the campaign to reclaim Mousillon. "Alright, let's drink to the recapture of Mousillon!"

"Cheers!" Ryan, Boris, and Wulfric raised their glasses together.

"That's right, Boris is my son, and I'm your father!" Wulfric continued, taking a swig of wine. "As a son, you should show respect to your father. Now, go fetch your father a drink!"

"!!! Wulfric, you Ostland oaf! If you want a fight, just say so!" Boris roared, brandishing his Elector's Sword. "In the name of Ulric, we can duel right outside the palace gates! How about that?"

"I ate too much today and don't feel like fighting," Wulfric replied nonchalantly, taking another sip of wine. "I was talking about my son, Boris. What does this have to do with you? Or do you want to be my son? My son isn't this ugly and doesn't have just one eye. Now, go away!"

"You bastard!" Boris clenched his sword hilt. "You stubborn, ignorant oaf from Ostland!"

Seeing the two Electors about to come to blows, Ryan quickly intervened, changing the subject: "By the way, where's Oleg? I didn't see him."

Ryan referred to Oleg von Zhukov, Wulfric's eldest son.

"He's with his mentor in the northern Kislev, undergoing some kind of 'Mokar Trial' in the Troll Kingdom," Wulfric said, clearly troubled. "I don't know when he'll be back. I disagreed, but Oleg insisted, and his mentor also thought it necessary. I had no choice but to accept it."

Mokar Trial? Ryan's eyes narrowed as he raised his glass again: "He'll return successfully. Oleg is a warrior and a determined individual. He won't let us down."

"Let's hope so. Cheers!"

"Cheers!"

Meanwhile, in a corner of the banquet.

Emilia, adorned with jewels and wearing a full set of enamel jewelry blessed by the Emperor himself, sat gracefully. She was a beautiful sight, though her cold demeanor made her seem unapproachable.

Yet, some dared to approach.

"Greetings, esteemed Duchess," Ivan, Ryan's godfather and the Duke of Griffon, appeared. This centenarian war hero, with long, slightly unkempt hair, clad in full plate armor with a snowy white cloak, addressed her: "It is an honor to see you here."

"Perhaps," Emilia replied coolly, seated comfortably and not offering any courtesy to the Grand Master of the Griffon Knights and Duke of Griffon. "Shouldn't you be at Griffon's Aerie or Hammerfall? This isn't like you."

"Don't be so harsh, my dear Duchess. I thought we were friends," Ivan smiled, understanding the implied tension. "Sometimes, one must attend such events, like banquets or other gatherings."

"Perhaps, for Ryan's sake," Emilia replied without standing, maintaining her composed demeanor, crossing her legs under her dress. "So, what do you want?"

"Oh! Emmanuelle, you're here. Where's Ryan?" Emperor Karl Franz also approached, holding a drink. "Why did he leave you?"

"That's none of your business, Karl. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, don't waste my time," Emilia retorted, her gaze sharp. Karl Franz was Frederick's godfather; what was he planning?

"I have a proposition..."

Meanwhile, on the other side of Altdorf's wealthy district, in a small, courtyarded noble estate.

The midwinter month brought cold, though the skies were clear of snow for now, leaving the courtyard covered in white. The estate was dimly lit, silent.

In the cellar, two women stood beside an ice chamber, examining a corpse.

"This is why you called me out, Olica?" Sulia, fully armed, was dressed in her meticulously crafted Vibranium plate armor, with the Sword of Leonase at her waist, a White Wolf cloak draped over her shoulders, and divine jewelry adorning her. At this moment, she was not the noble and gentle duchess and mother but a valiant knight.

"This is what I discovered, my lady," Olica, in tight leather armor under a cloak, hooded and masked, pointed at the corpse in the ice chamber: "

He was a servant at the Altdorf Royal Hotel. He's been dead for two weeks."

"What did you find, Olica? Tell me everything," Sulia demanded, her golden brows furrowing.

"I found..."

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