Two guards in iron armor pushed the giant teak door inward. Its iron hinges that were maintained without sound revealed the sparkling magnificence of the Main Hall of Castle Romario.
The warm light from hundreds of candles hanging from rows of crystal chandeliers reflected captivatingly over long tables covered in white silk cloth. The aroma of expensive seasoned roasted meat and the fragrance of decades-old wine merged in the air, creating an intoxicating atmosphere of luxury. The laughter of the nobles and the subtle clinking of crystal glasses originally filled every corner of the room.
However, as my figure stepped past the threshold, that noise suddenly withered. The harp music that was softly playing stopped, and an awkward silence crept quickly across the entire hall.
Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned toward the door, staring toward me.
I walked calmly upon the thick red carpet that stretched in the middle of the room. My faded black velvet jacket, its fabric slightly frayed at the edge section, as well as its sleeves hanging somewhat short looked extremely striking among the sea of lavish silk dresses and the gold-thread-embroidered clothes of the banquet guests. These old clothes looked like a dirty stain intentionally placed on top of a beautiful painting.
However, my footsteps were upright and orderly. There was no hesitation in my footing, and my ankle that was once broken now supported my body flawlessly.
Sharp whispers began to emerge among the clan elders and subordinate nobles standing on the sides of the room.
"Is that really Benedict?"
"Look at his clothes... Goodness, does he not have a mirror in his tower?"
"Why is that broken bastard allowed into a hall as beautiful as this? This is an insult to our eyes."
I ignored every single one of those poisonous words, letting them pass by like a meaningless night wind. My eyes swept toward the main table located on the highest stage of the hall.
There, Duke Alistair Romario sat on his throne chair. His sharp-angled face filled with cold lines only stared at me briefly. His eyes were flat, apathetic, and did not radiate the emotion of a father at all—as if my existence was merely an insect that accidentally flew past his field of vision before he returned to sipping his wine.
Beside him, Duchess Eleanor smiled extremely gracefully. Her fingers adorned with gem rings held the stem of the crystal glass very elegantly. Her sharp eyes stared at my old jacket with satisfaction hidden tightly behind the mask of politeness of a noble stepmother.
And right next to Eleanor, Raymond Romario was leaning back in his chair. A broad smile full of victory and insult was carved clearly on his lips. His eyes radiated naked malice, waiting for me to lower my head and tremble as usual under the gaze of hundreds of people.
I did not bow my head. I stared straight into Raymond's eyes, returning his gaze with a cold and empty gray stillness. The smile on Raymond's face wavered slightly, held back by a lack of understanding over the courage I had newly displayed.
A young servant approached me with an awkward face, pointing toward the darkest corner of the hall. "Young... Young Master Benedict. Your place is over there."
He directed me to the end of the rearmost table—a position thrown far away from the main table, a place usually reserved for low-ranked distant relatives or serving personal guards. The table was located near the back door that had a cold wind.
I did not protest. I nodded slowly to that servant and walked toward my seat.
As I sat on the hard wooden chair, the people around me reflexively shifted their seating away, as though the sense of misfortune and poverty attached to my old jacket could infect them. On top of my table, the servant placed a silver cup that was already dull and a piece of roasted meat that was hard and cold—a form of structured insult that clearly had been arranged beforehand.
I adjusted the collar of my narrow black jacket, sat upright, and reached for the knife and fork with extremely neat and graceful movements.
My absolute silence and composure began to make the nobles around my table feel uncomfortable. They expected a terrified young man, a coward hiding his face out of shame, or an outcast who would explode in anger due to being treated unfairly. But I did not give a single one of those.
I cut the hard meat on my plate with quiet precision, chewed it slowly, and stared toward the main table.