The Feast

The feast commenced in grandeur befitting the halls of an empire. The spacious banquet hall of the imperial palace was illuminated by countless hanging lanterns, their golden glow casting long shadows across the polished floors. The scent of roasted meats, spiced broths, and fresh fruits lingered in the air, mingling with the incense that burned in honor of the divine. High above, an intricately painted ceiling depicted scenes of gods and mortals, a reminder of the world's delicate balance between the heavens and the mortal realm.

At the head of the table, the emperor stood, his voice resonating with authority as he addressed the gathered assembly. "Today, we give our thanks to the gods for the return of our noble General Joel. May his return strengthen our empire and fortify our bond with the divine realms."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, but it was solemn and restrained. This was no ordinary banquet—it was a ritual as much as it was a celebration. Kale, seated in Joel's place of honor near the emperor, felt the weight of every gaze upon him. He swallowed his unease, his fingers brushing the intricate patterns etched into the goblet before him.

As the emperor concluded his speech, servants began placing lavish platters of food onto the long table. But no one moved to eat. Instead, the emperor raised his hand, and the hall fell silent. The prayers had begun.

"Blessed are the Seven Princes of Worship," the emperor intoned, his voice heavy with reverence. "For they are our prophets and guide our faith."

"Blessed are the Seven Princes of Worship," the assembly echoed, their voices in unison.

"Gratitude to the Mother of Harlots and Abominations," the emperor continued. "For she grants us satisfaction and fulfills our deepest needs."

Kale stiffened, barely concealing his bewilderment. The Mother of Harlots? He glanced around the room, but no one else seemed perturbed. Their faces were serene, devout.

"Thanks to the One Who Spoke First," the emperor declared, his voice rising. "For defending us in battle, for shielding us from the Nether Realm."

The chorus of voices echoed again, reverberating through the hall. "Thanks to the One Who Spoke First."

The prayers continued, naming entities Kale had never heard of. They spoke of the heavens, the mortal realm, and the Nether Realm.

He struggled to keep his composure. He wasn't religious by any stretch of the imagination, but this was something else entirely. The words, the rituals, the fervor—it was madness disguised as devotion.

"Blessed be the balance of realms," the emperor concluded, raising his hands. "May the divine guide us, and may we, the faithful, honor them."

"May we honor them," the assembly repeated before silence fell. Only then did they begin to eat.

As platters were passed around and goblets filled, the atmosphere lightened. Conversations bubbled up among the attendees, but Kale remained guarded. He was painfully aware of the eyes that darted toward him, the hushed whispers that carried his name.

One of the secondary advisors, a man with a thin frame and sharp features, leaned forward, his curiosity barely masked. "General Joel," he began, his tone almost too casual, "how does it feel to return from the dead?"

The table quieted slightly as others turned their attention to Kale. He hesitated, searching for the right words. "It's... disorienting," he admitted.

Another advisor chimed in. "And how did you die, if I may ask? Was it truly as the reports claimed?"

Kale forced a smile, his mind racing. He didn't have Joel's memories—only fragments that seeped in slowly, as if the system was feeding them to him in pieces. Before he could respond, a notification flashed before his eyes:

Mission: Fool the Emperor.

Kale suppressed a groan. Of course, it wouldn't be that simple.

Just as he was about to reply, one man spoke up, his tone sharp and accusatory. "Or perhaps the General's death wasn't real at all. A clever ruse, perhaps? A ploy to abandon his duties?"

The room fell silent. The man, tall and broad-shouldered with an air of arrogance, stood from his chair, his voice growing louder. "We all mourned you, General. We honored your memory. And yet here you are, alive and well, while the empire suffered in your absence. What are we to make of this?"

Kale felt his body move before his mind caught up. Joel's muscle memory took over, his hand raising instinctively. A sharp, cold sensation coursed through him, and before he knew it, a massive sword began to manifest in the air. The blade was enormous, its surface etched with glowing runes that pulsed with an otherworldly light.

The sword hovered for a moment before lunging toward the man, stopping just inches from his face. The man froze, his bravado crumbling as fear overtook him.

The emperor laughed, his deep voice breaking the tension. "Cowardice does not suit you, Advisor Sung."

The others joined in, their laughter masking the undercurrent of unease. Kale lowered his hand, and the sword vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Sit down," he said coldly, his voice carrying a pressure that silenced any further objections.

Mission Completed.

The system's notification flashed again, but Kale barely acknowledged it. His focus was on maintaining his composure.

As the feast continued, a woman approached him. She was dressed in a flowing hanbok of muted colors, her demeanor calm and reserved. Bowing slightly, she spoke softly. "Welcome back, General Joel. The gods have surely blessed us with your return."

Her presence was unassuming, but her words carried a sincerity that momentarily eased Kale's tension. "Thank you," he replied, nodding.

The woman, who had introduced herself as Seo Hye-jin or as lady Violet, did not linger. She returned to her seat, engaging only briefly with those around her. Kale couldn't help but notice how others treated her with quiet respect, though she seemed content to remain in the background.

As the evening grew and the crowd enjoyed each other's company, Stacy excused herself to use the restroom. Kale nodded, his attention still partially on the conversations around him.

As Lillian walked through the quiet halls, the sound of her footsteps echoed against the stone walls. The air was cooler here, the warmth of the banquet hall replaced by a chilling stillness.

Behind her, another set of footsteps began to follow. She quickened her pace, but the steps grew louder, closer.

"Lillian," a voice called out, low and menacing. "Your father thinks he can make a fool of me. I will show him. I will show all of them, even that damned emperor."

She didn't turn around, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," the voice demanded, sharper this time.

Lillian stopped. Slowly, she turned, her hair falling over her face. "Is this better?"

Her voice was different—deeper, darker.

The man hesitated, his confidence faltering. "What... What happened to your voice?—"

She raised her head, and her eyes were black as voids, her mouth twisted into a wide, unnatural grin.

"You were saying something about showing them?" she asked, her tone mocking. "Why don't you show me first?"

The man stumbled back, his arrogance replaced by sheer terror. In that moment, he realized what had happened.

Corruption.