Break (4)

The dining hall, once filled with battle cries and the scent of burning flesh, now stood in suffocating silence.

The air was thick with tension.

My father, Lord Cedric Vaelorian, stood at the head of the table, his expression carved from stone. His piercing blue eyes bore into me with something between fury and disbelief. My siblings sat around the table, still processing what had happened.

Adrian looked composed as always, though his eyes lingered on me longer than usual, calculating. Lysandra's usual amusement was nowhere to be seen. Instead, her sharp gaze studied me with something akin to curiosity—like I was an entirely different person from the Julius she had always known.

Blake, however, was the easiest to read. His expression was one of pure shock, mixed with something else.

*Fear.*

I leaned back against a chair, arms crossed, Hellfire still faintly flickering around my fingertips.

Joseph stood at my side, silent, ever-watchful.

The elven princess—Mathias's sister—was on her knees, restrained by two Vaelorian guards, her silver hair matted with blood, emerald eyes burning with hatred.

I tilted my head. "Not going to congratulate me, Father? I'd say that went well."

A sharp *bang* echoed through the hall as my father slammed his fist against the table.

"You *fool.*"

The entire room went still.

Adrian's lips pressed into a thin line. Lysandra leaned back, watching. Blake flinched at the outburst.

I met my father's glare with an amused smirk. "You're going to have to be more specific."

Cedric Vaelorian was not a man prone to outbursts. His anger was like ice—controlled, methodical, deadly. But right now, I could see it crackling beneath his exterior.

"You might as well have *openly declared war* on the Windrider Clan," he said, his voice low and seething. "And, by extension, the Sorcerer Kingdom of Albion."

Ah.

So he realized.

Killing Mathias had already been a problem. But killing his brother on top of that? Taking his sister *hostage?* After the original Julius had already disgraced the first Windrider princess?

Yeah. This was bad.

Albion wasn't just another nation. It was the only true mage kingdom, ruled by Merlin Ambrosius himself. The same Merlin who had guaranteed the independence of Hackendor and placed the Windriders under his protection.

To the rest of the world, it wouldn't look like self-defense. It would look like I had *massacred two Windrider princes, held a Windrider princess hostage, and defiled another.*

A diplomatic disaster.

I exhaled. "That sounds bad."

"You think this is *funny?*" My father's voice was cold. "Do you have any idea the lengths I went to in order to cover up your *last* disgrace? The number of favors I had to cash in at the royal capital after you assaulted that elf girl?"

Lysandra raised an eyebrow at that, but she didn't speak. Adrian glanced at me, unreadable. Blake looked smug, as if waiting for me to be torn apart.

I shrugged. "Not my problem."

Cedric's fingers dug into the table.

"Not your problem?" His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "You think the Kingdom of Lovina will stand against Albion for *you?* The king will wash his hands of this the moment Albion demands your head."

Blake grinned, leaning forward. "Maybe we should hand him over, then. Julius has always been a disgrace. At least this way, he'd finally serve a purpose."

I gave him a side glance. "You seem awfully confident for someone I slapped into a wall some time ago."

His grin faltered.

Adrian sighed, rubbing his temple. "Enough." He looked at me, expression unreadable. "Julius… What *happened* to you?"

I tilted my head. "Elaborate."

He gestured vaguely at the wreckage, the bodies, the lingering embers of Hellfire still smoldering in the corners of the room.

"You were weak," Adrian said simply. "Barely competent. Now you move like a trained warrior. You wield magic you shouldn't have. Even your demeanor is…" He paused, searching for the right word. "*Different.*"

I met his gaze, my smirk widening.

"People change."

Adrian's eyes narrowed. He didn't believe that. Not for a second.

Neither did Lysandra, judging by the way she was watching me—studying me, like I was some kind of puzzle.

My father exhaled through his nose. "This is not something I can clean up, Julius." His voice was colder now, more controlled. "Even if Albion does not move *immediately,* the Windrider Clan will not let this go. They will hunt you down. And this time, they won't send six warriors. They will send an *army.*"

I sighed. "So what do you want me to do? Apologize?"

His glare could've frozen fire.

"I should exile you," he said. "Disown you completely and cast you from the family. That would be the only logical option."

Blake's smirk widened, as if he had already won.

"But," my father continued, "doing so would not erase the problem."

I raised an eyebrow. "So what's your solution?"

His jaw tightened before he finally spoke.

"The royal banquet."

I blinked. "What?"

Cedric exhaled, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "Once every five years, the royal family of Lovina hosts a grand banquet at the academy. The most powerful figures in the world will be in attendance."

A pause.

"Merlin Ambrosius will be there."

I stilled.

And then—

I *remembered.*

The *banquet arc.*

I almost laughed.

*Of course.*

I had written that arc as *filler.* A pointless social event before the real story picked up again. It was supposed to be an excuse to introduce important political figures, raise tensions between factions, and—most importantly—make Alex, the protagonist, look good in front of the nobility.

But now?

Now, it was a political minefield.

Cedric's gaze hardened. "The head of the Windrider Clan will also be there."

I stayed silent.

"You have one chance, Julius," he continued. "If you can somehow convince Albion that you are more valuable alive than dead, then they *may* reconsider demanding your execution."

Adrian folded his arms. "Or they could kill him at the banquet and be done with it."

Lysandra hummed. "That *would* be dramatic."

Blake grinned. "He won't even make it past the front door."

I ignored them, processing the situation.

The *banquet arc.*

A filler event. A *party.*

And yet, it was my best chance to *survive.*

If I played my cards right…

I could turn it into something *more.*

A slow smirk tugged at my lips.

"Well," I said, stretching. "Guess I should find something nice to wear."