The First Puppet ( lV )
Chapter 14: The First Puppet ( lV )
Step Three: The Fall of a Fool
House Aurelian's ballroom gleamed with wealth and power. Gold-trimmed chandeliers bathed the room in warm light, reflecting off polished marble floors. The air was thick with the scent of aged wine, rare perfumes, and the quiet murmur of conversations—each exchange a careful dance of veiled threats and hidden agendas.
Tonight was Cedric Vaelmont's night.
At least, that was what he believed.
Dressed in a regal crimson coat embroidered with gold, Cedric strode through the entrance like a man who owned the room. His shoulders squared, his smirk confident—he had been waiting for this moment.
For the past week, he had boasted of his impending victory over Holstein. He had spoken of deals shifting in his favor, of alliances forming behind him, of cracks spreading through Holstein's once-untouchable empire.
Tonight, he would prove it.
He would show them all.
But the moment he stepped past those gilded doors—
The knives were already waiting.
Cedric approached a familiar group of nobles, the ones who had entertained his claims throughout the week.
He expected acknowledgment.
He expected admiration.
Instead—
"I do wonder where Lord Vaelmont gets his information."
The words were spoken with feigned curiosity, but the smirk that followed was anything but friendly.
A noble, draped in fine sapphire silks, swirled his wine lazily as he looked toward Cedric.
"He speaks of Holstein's collapse, yet from what I hear, his trade remains quite... unshaken."
The smirk was joined by a ripple of laughter from those standing nearby.
Cedric froze.
His confidence faltered, but he forced himself to stand tall.
"What?" His voice was sharp, but there was a flicker of unease beneath it.
A different noble joined in—one Cedric had thought was on his side.
"Oh, have you not heard?" the man's voice was mocking, his smile razor-sharp. "Holstein's shipments arrived precisely on time this morning. There was never a disruption at all."
Cedric felt the ground shift beneath him.
That wasn't possible.
He had seen the signs—the delays, the struggling merchants, the whispered rumors of instability.
Hadn't he?
Hadn't he?
His mind raced, trying to grasp at explanations, at anything that could make sense of this.
And yet—he found nothing.
Because there was nothing.
A third noble chuckled, his voice dipped in false sympathy. "Ah, but perhaps Lord Vaelmont has been... misled. It would be a shame if he had acted on false information."
He let the words linger.
And then, the final strike—
"A man in your financial position cannot afford reckless mistakes, after all."
Cedric's stomach dropped.
Because suddenly, the murmurs in the ballroom weren't about Holstein.
They were about him.
"Speaking of finances… I heard the Merchant Guild is investigating some rather interesting numbers in Lord Vaelmont's accounts."
Silence.
A heavy, suffocating silence.
Cedric turned sharply—and saw them.
A representative of the Merchant Guild.
Flanked by two of the Crown's finance officials.
The representative stepped forward. His expression was calm, his tone smooth—but beneath the politeness lay a quiet authority.
"Lord Vaelmont," he said, inclining his head slightly. "There are matters we must discuss. Privately."
A low murmur spread through the room.
Eyes turned. Nobles whispered behind their fans, their glasses, their carefully maintained masks of civility.
A noble being questioned publicly by the Merchant Guild?
A scandal.
Cedric's mouth was dry.
"This... this is a misunderstanding," he said, forcing a stiff smile.
But the Guild representative didn't blink.
"Then I am sure you will have no issue clarifying the discrepancies in your trade records."
A trap.
A cage snapping shut.
Cedric had no response.
His vision blurred as he scanned the room, searching for an ally, for someone to step forward, to deflect attention.
But all he saw—
Were people stepping away.
One by one.
As if he carried a sickness.
"Lord Vaelmont!"
A new voice.
This one—he recognized.
His private lender.
Cedric turned, his heart plummeting.
The man was no longer friendly.
No longer the accommodating financier who had once assured him that credit was always available to a noble of his standing.
The look in his eyes now?
Cold. Impatient. Merciless.
"I believe we had an arrangement," the lender said smoothly. "Your debts were to be repaid this evening."
A hush fell over the room.
Cedric could feel it.
The whispers curling at the edges of his hearing.
The weight of every gaze.
"I—this is not the place—" he began, his voice tight.
The lender scoffed.
"Then perhaps you should have paid in private before attending a ball you could not afford."
Laughter.
Mocking. Sharp.
Cedric's face burned.
He whirled, looking desperately at the faces surrounding him, at the nobles who had once flattered him, at the allies who had once smiled at his jokes.
And he saw—
Nothing.
No support.
No defense.
Just cold amusement.
Just distance.
Because a noble drowning in scandal?
Is already dead.
The Shadow in the Corner
And then—he saw him.
Across the ballroom.
A figure standing just outside the golden glow of the chandeliers.
A glass of wine in hand.
Watching.
Expression unreadable.
Noctis.
Cedric's breath hitched.
And in that moment, he understood.
This was no accident.
He had not miscalculated.
He had not simply been unlucky.
This had been arranged.
Step by step.
Piece by piece.
Someone had led him here.
Someone had fed him false victories.
Someone had ensured he was ruined at the peak of his arrogance.
And the worst part?
He didn't even know who had done it.
Cedric's hands trembled.
His pride—the only thing he had left—was being stripped away.
The night that was meant to be his greatest triumph had become the night of his public execution.
He was drowning.
Sinking.
And as the weight of his downfall crushed him—
As his name was whispered not in admiration, but in mockery—
As he realized he had nothing left to stand on—
He looked again toward the shadow in the corner.
And he saw it.
The ghost of a smile.
Because Noctis?
Noctis had already won.