The second uncle, the one with the sharp eyes, stood up so abruptly that his chair flew backwards and rolled across the marble floor, the echo of the crash shaking the entire dining room.
His trembling hands rested on the table to propel himself forward, and for a mont I could see the veins in his neck bulging beneath the skin reddened with anger.
The cutlery clattered, and several glasses vibrated with the impact, spilling drops of wine that stained the white tablecloth.
The atmosphere was heavy, as if every word he was about to utter burned in his throat.
Even the servants, who had tried to make themselves invisible in the corners, held their breath, afraid that any movent would make them an unwitting target of his fury.
—"How dare you insult your uncle!" —he bellowed, his voice shaking with indignation as he pointed at —. "His son is dead! Do you have no respect for your own family?!"
The echo of his cry bounced off the walls of the dining room, dragging itself over the chandeliers and windows with genuine intensity.
And then, suddenly, everything around him fell into absolute silence.
No one was breathing.
I could only hear the dripping of wine spilling over the edge of the table and the faint echo of a piece of glass sliding to the floor.
I didn’t move a muscle.
I didn’t even blink at his tantrum.
I simply leaned back slowly against the backrest, as if this whole spectacle had nothing to do with .
I enjoyed the live show that these inept people ended up putting on, letting the tension heat up, each second with greater force, until it beca unbearable for the others.
My gaze wandered to the floor. Hypnotised by the pieces of glass scattered at my feet, I saw a small drop of blood mixed with the crimson reflection of the wine, and without realising it, a barely perceptible smile appeared on my lips.
Only then did I look up with icy calm.
My eyes scanned the distraught face of the older uncle, then that of the one who was shouting, until they stopped on the marquis, who was watching without moving a single muscle, as if he had no interest in intervening no matter what happened.
—"Respect...?" —I murmured, barely loud enough for the entire table to hear as I set my cup back down on the table.
I leaned forward, resting one elbow on the surface, the sound of my movent booming in the oppressive quiet.
—"If respect is what you seek..." —I continued, my tone as cold as steel— "then perhaps you should be the first to show it."
A shiver ran through the hall.
Marie and Lucía looked away, Frederick swallowed hard, and Vivian pressed her lips even tighter, her eyes burning with a silent desire to tear apart.
The uncle’s blood kept dripping slowly, marking the floor like a trono for unresolved tension.
—"Spoiled brat!" —the second uncle roared, his voice trembling with rage—. "How dare you speak that way to your own blood?!"
His shout thundered against the walls, startling even the servants.
His face was so red the veins in his neck seed ready to burst.
I simply stared at him, and for a mont, nausea crept in at the pathetic display.
—"Disgusting..." —I whispered, barely audible, as I rose slowly from my chair.
The movent dragged the chair across the marble with a sharp scrape, and all eyes locked on again.
—"Excuse ..." —I said, with glacial calm—. "I’ve lost my appetite."
I began to turn, letting the sound of my footsteps echo solemnly across the hall.
—"Wait!" —the sharp-eyed uncle roared, lunging toward .
In three strides, he reached , his hand gripping my shoulder tightly.
I stopped.
The air froze.
Even the flas of the candles flickered at the weight of the tension that filled the room.
—"You can’t leave like this!" —he snapped, his grip tightening—. "You will apologize to your elder uncle right now!"
I didn’t answer imdiately.
I turned my head slowly until my crimson eyes t his.
His breathing hitched at once.
The entire hall held its breath.
—"Let go..." —I said in a soft murmur, dripping with venom.
—"No..." —he insisted, his voice trembling—. "Not until you apologize! You can’t go around insulting people like this!"
A cold smile curved my lips.
—"I’ll only say this once..." —my voice dropped lower, each word striking like a thunderclap— "let go... or you’ll never use that arm again."
The uncle froze.
He felt it—instinctively.
The threat was real.
Mana surged through my veins, gathering in my palm.
A dense, pulsing heat coursed through my ridians, and a bluish glow lit my fingers.
Sparks of energy danced in the air like caged lightning, casting flickering reflections across my clothes and the floor.
The uncle’s face drained of color.
His lips trembled.
He imdiately let go of my shoulder.
He stumbled back two steps, tripping over his own chair and crashing onto the floor with a dull thud.
His breathing grew erratic, and the eyes that monts ago burned with rage now glead with unmistakable fear.
No one dared speak.
The only sound that remained was the faint crackle of mana dissipating from my hand, fading with a soft electric snap.
I adjusted the collar of my jacket with indifference and started walking toward the door without looking back.
—What a waste of ti... —I muttered, as the echo of my footsteps faded down the empty hallway and the heavy doors of the dining hall closed behind with a final, resonant thud that seed to seal the end of the banquet.
.
.
.
[Chapter 32 Preview]
After dinner the night before, Daven is summoned by the marquis to his bedroom.
Amidst cold stares and asured words, Daven receives sothing that will change the course of his departure.
A single test that will remind him that his departure for the Academy is irreversible.
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