A chandelier encrusted with gold, silver, and countless gemstones hung from the ceiling, scattering light in every direction.
Beneath it, a floor of pure white marble reflected the glow so perfectly that it almost felt like standing atop still water.
Tables stretched across the banquet hall, laden with food and drink prepared from rare regional specialties—dishes whose names alone probably cost more than my monthly pay.
Crystal glasses chimed softly, and the air carried the mixed scents of wine, spices, and perfume.
At a glance, it was unmistakably the domain of high nobility.
For someone like me—whose entire financial experience consisted of a baron’s allowance and a servant’s wage—the scene was less breathtaking than intimidating.
...How much would all of this cost?
The thought alone made my shoulders tense. Instead of admiration, a strange sense of pressure settled over me, as if I didn’t quite belong in the same space as all this excess.
And apparently, I wasn’t the only one feeling out of place.
"Look over there. That’s Alice from the Draken family."
A hushed voice drifted over from nearby.
"Is it really true she defeated a demon?"
"I heard it was a high demon, even."
"That’s absurd. We’re the same age, aren’t we? There’s no way."
The whispers weren’t subtle. In fact, no one seemed to care whether they were overheard or not.
The nobles spoke openly, their gazes sliding toward Alice like curious knives. Doubt colored every word, their disbelief bordering on accusation.
"Everyone’s staring," I murmured.
Alice didn’t look away from the hall ahead of us. "Let them."
Her voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge beneath it.
"Still... it’s not exactly pleasant," I added.
Those bold enough to question her accomplishments clearly hadn’t considered the consequences. Or perhaps they had—and simply didn’t care.
Either way, when Alice’s eyes flicked toward them, the temperature around us seemed to drop a degree.
Her gaze was cold, unyielding, honed by years of training and battlefield experience. The murmurs faltered, some conversations dying outright.
But that only shifted the tone.
"Did you see that look?"
"She’s glaring at us."
"Savage eyes."
"Typical northerners. Always so quick to threaten with force."
"Barbaric. No refinement at all."
I clenched my jaw.
It wasn’t surprising.
Climate shaped temperament. Culture shaped values. And environment shaped perception.
Even within the same Solhaven Empire, the divide between regions was vast.
The North, hardened by cold and constant conflict, valued strength and decisiveness. The Central regions, bathed in comfort and tradition, preferred polish and diplomacy.
The result was predictable—mutual disdain.
’I remember feeling the same when I first came to the North,’ I thought.
Back then, I’d found their bluntness intimidating. Their readiness to draw steel unsettling. Their stares sharp and unwelcoming.
Now, I was seeing the other side of it.
The nobles from the Central regions looked at Alice with thinly veiled contempt, measuring her not by her deeds but by their own prejudices.
To them, she wasn’t a hero—she was an upstart from a rough land, wielding strength she didn’t "deserve."
Alice noticed. Of course she did.
Her posture straightened slightly, back rigid, chin lifted. She didn’t retreat from their gazes—she met them head-on, daring anyone to speak aloud what they whispered behind fans and wine glasses.
The tension around us thickened.
Some nobles turned away, unwilling to meet her eyes.
Others smirked, unconvinced.
And a few—very few—watched her with something closer to wariness than disdain. Those were the ones who understood. The ones who had seen battle, or at least its aftermath.
"This is a political banquet," I muttered. "Feels more like a battlefield."
Alice’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile.
"Banquets have always been battlefields," she said quietly. "They just use words instead of swords."
I glanced around the hall again—at the glittering jewels, the carefully practiced smiles, the whispered judgments hidden behind porcelain cups.
Yeah.
I could see it now.
And somehow, I had a feeling this was only the opening skirmish.
At the same time, I recalled a memory of the game.
There had been a scene like this in a game trailer.
The crown prince sat at the academy’s tea party, a flawless smile on his face, the female protagonist at his side.
Elegant music played.
Soft laughter filled the screen.
And yet—my eyes had never stayed on him.
They were drawn to Alice.
Alice Draken, seated a little apart, sunlight reflecting off the snow beyond the terrace, her presence sharper and brighter than anyone else’s.
She held her teacup with unrefined ease, lifted a fork without affectation, and somehow made every carefully trained noble around her look like poorly painted backdrops.
I remembered pausing the trailer there.
Rewinding it.
Watching her again.
But the scene didn’t stay peaceful for long.
Luciana—who usually swallowed insults with a brittle smile—had finally snapped.
It happened after the whispers started.
—Look at that. The poor Draken girl. Losing the prince to a commoner.
—What can you expect? She’s from the North. A barbarian land. Fits someone who only knows how to swing a sword.
Then—
"...Are you finished talking?"
The tone had been calm.
Too calm.
"I hope you’re prepared to face the barbarity of the North you dare speak of."
Insulting the North was crossing a line.
To Alice, it wasn’t gossip.
It was an act of war.
The twin sisters who had laughed the loudest—minor nobles propped up by faction politics—had challenged her to a duel soon after, confident in their magic and numbers.
They lost.
Badly.
Publicly.
And vanished from the academy not long after, their names reduced to embarrassed footnotes.
That memory resurfaced vividly—
Then Alice’s voice cut through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present.
"I came here with high expectations," she said, standing at the center of the hall, gaze sweeping across the assembled nobles. "I wanted to see the future leaders of the Solhaven Empire."
Her posture was straight.
Her presence unwavering.
As expected.
Our lady didn’t dodge problems.
She crushed them head-on.
"But instead," Alice continued, her voice cool and sharp, "I see cowards who whisper behind others’ achievements and hide behind titles they haven’t earned."
The room froze.
Teacups paused mid-air.
Fans stopped fluttering.
Even the servants held their breath.
No one spoke.
Not because they agreed—
but because no one dared to challenge her.
Alice Draken wasn’t just a duke’s daughter.
She was the sword of the North.
And everyone in that room knew it.
Her eyes lingered briefly on the nobles who had been smirking moments ago. Their confidence crumbled under her gaze, shoulders stiffening, expressions paling.
"You mock strength you don’t understand," she went on. "You belittle lands you’ve never defended, people who’ve bled so you could sit comfortably in halls like this."
Her words weren’t loud.
They didn’t need to be.
"And yet," Alice said, "you call yourselves the future."
A beat.
"If this is truly the level of Solhaven’s nobility," she concluded, "then the Empire’s future is far more fragile than I feared."
Silence pressed down harder than any shout.
Some nobles clenched their fists.
Others lowered their eyes.
Not one of them stepped forward.
----
Author Note:
Thanks for the reading the Chapter.
I hope you liked it.