To better suit our purposes, the five of us split up not long after we got into the Ball properly. Each of us had our specialties, our own discussed goals. The announcement of the Polaris Reach had yet to happen, so we weren’t specifically trying to drum up support as of yet. Instead, we were getting a feel for the different groups that naturally differentiated themselves in a setting like this.

  Azarus had volunteered to seek out the crafting-focused among the Ball goers. He was not only the most serious crafter among us, but he had the social training as a High Noble to actually speak to them. The Dwarf may not be interested in furthering his own position in a court any longer, but those skills remained.

  Maria was our business contract, into the mercantile world of not only Blutstein, but Herztal itself. While she had rallied quite a few business owners to our cause before the signing of the charter, they were only a small fraction of the vast, constantly moving economy of the capital. We were going to need more of them if we wanted to realize the scale of our ambitions.

  On the other hand, Alex got to work trying to feel out the sentiments of those who didn’t quite…fit in, so to speak. He’d spent a long time existing in the underclass of Blutstein, and had a better finger on the pulse for the disadvantaged than any of us. That, sadly, included most of the Sculpted attendees. There weren’t many of them, and they held themselves with a strange mix of caution and hope, but the once and hopefully future Beast Tamer was able to get them to open up.

  None of the royals or the Primector had yet to show themselves, so I, meanwhile, was being left to handle the bulk of the nobility itself. Isolde had been meant to help me navigate these waters, but for now I was having to do so alone. I was discovering that they were mostly…uninteresting. As a Knight, it was acceptable for the truly blue-blooded among them to deign to speak to me. But that didn’t mean most were. For now, I was just a curiosity. Either for my strange, Rhazal cursed features, my slaying of the aforementioned Calamity, or for my public apprenticeship to Grey. However, I believe I was being stonewalled away from the real movers and shakers at the Ball tonight. I’d had ambitions about trying to approach some of the members of the High Asembly, considering they were the people who had the most power in Herztalian society, beyond the Crown itself. But I kept getting politely turned away by their seeming army of polite underlings, trying to distract me from their bosses. After a bit, I understood what was happening.

  The High Assembly no doubt had already received a copy of our charter by now, or at least been notified of our intentions. They were, for all intents and purposes, the people who ran the nation and the city on a day-to-day basis. Wenzel was the person who decided that direction for now, holding the position until Oskar was ready for it. But it was the High Assembly who did most of the outright governing, and as such, had to know about the Polaris Reach. And if they knew and were keeping away for now, it had to be for one of two reasons. Either they were waiting for the announcement to occur, or they were deliberately shunning me.

  I’d remember who was doing which when I came around again later

  As I result, I was being funneled toward what were essentially the kiddy tables. There were strata to nobility, after all. There were the Knights, who I had already had a few short, pleasant conversations with. All of them had a distinctly military feel to them, rather than the chivalrous expectations I’d, perhaps foolishly, suspected. I couldn’t exactly approach the merchants after them, considering Maria was handling that. And then there were the lower nobility. People who had a distinct bloodline and family history, and maybe owned a bit of land. But, these people were…mostly not what I was looking for when it came to patrons. They weren’t exactly as flush with gold as the merchants or the high nobility were. I had expected some of them to, perhaps, try and get an in with the Headmaster of the Academy, considering that, but no.

  “Everyone knows better than to try and cosy up to old Greycton,” One particularly sloshed, sloppy-looking lower noble told me, standing near one of the tables holding small, handheld appetizers. He gestured with a fluted glass of white wine, nearly spilling it on me. “At best, he’ll just ignore you. But I heard if you press too hard, he’ll turn you into a goat!”

  I furrowed my brow at that. “Is that even possible?” I wondered out loud. For a moment, I foolishly pondered the problem from my limited, neophyte understanding of magic. I…guess Shapeshifting magic was a thing, but from what I understood of the process, it was way more personal than being able to change other people at will.

  The noble blinked dumbly at me. “Well, of course it must be! Otherwise, why would people say it?”

  Blinking, my eyes flickered over to a young human female server, standing off to the side and dressed smartly in the Kyronkar servants' uniform. She met my gaze with a flat, long-suffering look, as if to say ‘yes, he’s being serious, they’re all like that’.

  I stifled a sigh as my Core ring laughed at me.

  Thankfully, I didn’t have to suffer through the wine-drunk stupidity of the nobility much longer. A familiar, magically enhanced voice pointedly cleared its throat, originating from the same staircase I’d descended from nearly half an hour ago now. As expected, I found Hravik standing patiently at the top of them once more, looking ready to announce more people. The man had barely stopped announcing, ever since he’d done so for me and mine, letting in all manner of different Lords, Ladies, and dignitaries. They’d been of little interest to me, with the exception of a few notable differences. However, considering my connections to them, I had pointedly refrained from rushing over until later in the evening. I didn’t want to tip my hand too early, after all.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  But no. Judging by the procession of soldiers streaming through the opening at the top of the stairs to line the bannisters, it looked like it was time for the main event.

  Finally.

  “My Lords and Ladies!” Hravik called in a strong, clear voice, putting an end to any remaining conversation in the hall. “May I have your attention, please! The tables have been set, the refreshments provided, and the halls of ancient Kyronkar are now full! The doors shall now close, as the time to welcome our guests of honor has come!” He said, gesturing sharply down to the soldiers guarding the lower doors of the ballroom. At his indication, they closed it. Hravik took in a deep breath before abruptly snapping his booted feet together. “I have the pleasure of announcing the Royal House of Eisenherz! His Highness, Lord Regent Wenzel von Steinmark! Her Highness, Princess Isolde Eleonora Therese Mathilde Eisenherz! And finally His Highness, the High King in Waiting, Prince Oskar Ottowitz Theodor Sigismund Eisenherz!”

  I joined the rest of the hall in clapping politely, as Hravik bowed out of the way, letting three sharply dressed figures appear through the doorway to stand at the top of the stairs. I had to give it to them.

  They cut a striking image.

  Wenzel stood in the center, wearing, as usual, all black. It may have been higher quality clothing than he typically donned, but it was still monochrome. The tall, slim, knife-like figure of the man stood utterly still with his hands folded at the small of his back, staring down dispassionately at the gathered crowds of the ball, utterly at odds with the two younger royals at his left and right. A thin silver crown, small and unadorned enough to look like nothing more than a twined length of wire sat above his impassive gaze.

  Our future king looked to be trying to court the military, to my eyes. He cut a striking figure in an all red version of a Herztalian officer’s uniform, with a green sash draped across his hip and a saber belted at his waist. Other than that, our future High King looked…better than he had been. Last time I’d seen him, he’d been on the verge of a mental breakdown. Now, though, he was all smiles and polite waves to the crowd, the light from the illuminated chandeliers glinting off of the golden circlet on his brow.

  Isolde, though…I’d never seen her like this. My commander was dressed in a sober, dark green dress, with a distinctly conservative cut to it. Her shoulders were bare, but that was the only amount of skin visible above her neck. While her brother was all smiles and enthusiasm, she was serious. I’d almost say she was trying to emulate her cousin, if not for the hard glint in her eye.

  Wenzel sometimes came off as emotionless and apathetic, though I knew that wasn’t true.

  Isolde, though…she was trying to project intensity.

  Judging by the uneasy looks on the faces of some of the softer nobles around me, it was working.

  The applause continued as the royal contingent descended the stairs, while a squad of soldiers cleared the path through the crowd before them. As they passed me, Isolde was the only one to catch my eye and acknowledge me with a slight nod.

  That didn’t go unnoticed, by the considering looks I was thrown by everyone around me.

  As the royals ascended the stairs to the dais and came to a stop before their thrones, I noticed that my Captains had all migrated back to me. We exchanged short nods as we all realized what was likely soon, and then focused back on the stage was Wenzel cleared his throat pointedly. The Regent of Herztal waited patiently for the applause to die down, and then, when it did, allowed the silence to drag on for a moment longer. His black gaze passed over the whole of the crowd as he did, and I noticed more than one person shuffling uncomfortably under it.

  And then he spoke.

  “Welcome, friends and countrymen,” Wenzel said stoically, his voice projecting with surprising strength throughout the entire hall. “To this most joyous of occasions. I thank you for accepting mine and the rest of the royal family’s invitations. I know that many of you are extremely busy with your own…activities. As such, I shall not keep you overtly long before the Ball can truly commence. However, there is a purpose to our meeting here this night. We gather here, to greet a most esteemed guest who has journeyed here all the way from the dunes of Roricia. Please, join me in welcoming them. Citizens of Herztal, I give you…Primector Aurelius, of the Gyreite Faith.”

  As the Regent Lord raised one arm to point back up to the stairs he had only recently descended, hundreds of heads followed it.

  And standing at the top of them was a man who had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

  I had to say…he cut an impressive figure.

  The Primector was a man of advanced age, visibly of Rorician descent. His skin was dark enough that I was reminded of the smooth, polished obsidian the Orcish warriors of Tlatec fashioned into deadly weaponry. And yet, it seemed soft and wrinkled from the passing of centuries, bearing the mark of his years. From his head flowed a wave of carefully maintained, pure white braids, intricately woven through with what seemed to be golden wires, cascading all the way down to his mid-back. The man was tall, seemingly more so than I, and stood completely straight-backed, clad in the green and white robes of the Gyreite faith, their spiral etched on the front in gold. The only thing that differentiated him from the rest of his priesthood seemed to be a stole of mingled black and gold that trailed down past his knees, draped over his chest. From a distance, it was hard to make out, but I believe the markings upon it were runes, but not in any Spell form I was familiar with. Rather, I think they might be prayers, if I took the time to translate them. The Primector stared out at the crowd with what seemed to be patient eyes, but it was hard to tell.

  Because I think he was blind.

  Aurelius’s eyes were a cloudy, milky white, unfocused on the world. And yet…I think he must be seeing something, from the way he easily descended the steps.

  The hall was quiet as he did so, in a complete inversion to how the attendees had welcomed the royals. Yet, I don’t think they were shunning him. Frankly, it seemed more like a matter of respect to me. Heads were bowed at his passing, while I saw more than one person making the sign of the Gyre upon their palms, two fingers stretched horizontally over an upright palm. He nodded with a placid smile on his wrinkled lips to many of these people, and more than one was moved to tears, having to be supported by others near them. Honestly, the Primector’s presence was so attention-grabbing that I barely noticed the two junior Preceptors who followed in his wake.

  But I certainly noticed it when his blind eyes fell on me, as he passed my position.

  Because I felt it when something deep inside of my soul, something that I couldn’t even pinpoint, twitched under his regard. Not out of fear, or any kind of avoidance.

  More…recognition.

  Even as Aurelius passed my position, I somehow knew, without a shadow of a doubt…

  Aurelius wasn’t Rorician. He wasn’t even from Herztal.

  He was a Precursor.

  And judging by the ghost of a smile on his lips, he had recognized me too.