The three of them were still seated, mugs of ale in hand. Balthor looked as if he was still wrestling with himself over whether he should appear and take on the role of Tharvaldur’s new king.
"Hey, drunk dwarf," Noel said, leaning back in his chair. "You’ve been running a business like yours for fifty years. After everything you’ve been through, don’t you think managing a place with just a few thousand people would be easier too?"
Balthor and Noriel both looked at him like he was making fun of them.
"You know holding the lives of thousands in your hands isn’t the sa as looking after three or four, right?" Noriel said.
"No idea," Noel replied with a shrug. "I’m just a guy who’s never had that responsibility, and I hope I never will. But with help, I’m sure you could pull it off. King Alveron IV will be coming, Balthor... and your brother Torwan will likely fall. What they do to him after that won’t be pretty. They’ll want answers."
"I know," Balthor said quietly. "My brother hasn’t done good things."
"No... not if the current king is Torwan’s puppet," Noriel added. "When you disappeared for fifty years after your father’s death, I didn’t speak to you. But he’s been here for a decade now, and we’ve only just uncovered what he’s been doing. You can imagine the rest."
Balthor stared at the table for a long mont. Then he grabbed his mug, drained it in one go, and set it down with a solid thud. "Fine... if it’s sothing I have to do, I’ll do it. But one day, lad, you’re going to have to tell how you knew. Only Noriel knew I was the prince, because he was my father’s right hand."
"One day, if I can, I’ll tell you," Noel said. "By the way, just out of curiosity, how old are you? Do you live as long as elves?"
"No, wish we could live a millennium," Noriel answered with a faint smile. "But we don’t get anywhere near that. We reach about three hundred years, so in human terms... Balthor’s technically your age."
Noel gave him a strange look.
"What, did you think I was just so chubby old man?" Balthor laughed. "Ahahaha!"
"Sothing like that," Noel admitted. "Honestly, I didn’t expect you to actually be my age."
"Well, now you know," Balthor said, still chuckling, he paused a bit and said. "So, are we going back to that restaurant soti soon?"
"No," Noel replied, shaking his head. "Headmaster Nicolas told not to do anything risky. He said he’d co up with a plan, so for now, we just wait."
"Hmm... well, I’ll keep betting against you in the tournant then. You keep making rich."
Noel raised an eyebrow. "Don’t you think a future king shouldn’t be doing things like that?"
Balthor smirked. "I have to enjoy myself while I still can. A little fun never hurt anyone, right? So—who’s your next fight against?"
"Anastasia de Ravienne. Luceria Grand Academy."
"Oh?" Balthor’s smirk widened. "A challenge for our little genius at last?"
"Possibly my toughest opponent so far," Noel admitted. "Yeah... it’s going to be a hard fight."
Noriel didn’t join in the conversation, simply watching the exchange in silence. Seeing Balthor laugh again, seeing a spark of pride in his eyes... it reminded Noriel of the man’s father. For the first ti in decades, he saw traces of a true king in him.
Later that night, Noel returned to his room at the hotel, ready to get so rest before tomorrow.
A sudden knock on the door made him frown. Charlotte, Elena, and Elyra all had keys — if it were one of them, they wouldn’t bother knocking. That ant this was soone else entirely.
He rose from his chair, crossing the room in a few quick steps, and pulled the door open.
Standing there was Professor Daemar.
"May I co in Noel?" Daemar asked.
"Of course, co in," Noel replied, stepping aside.
Daemar walked in and sat down in the seat by the desk. Noir, who had been curled up there, hopped down with a small huff to make space.
Noel sat across from Daemar, curious. "What brings you here, Professor?"
Daemar rested his forearms on his knees, posture straight as always. "I ca to give you encouragent for tomorrow’s match," he said, his voice calm but carrying weight. "It may not have been made public yet, but the top ten competitors in this tournant will receive a reward."
Noel already knew this from the novel’s plot, but he kept his expression neutral. "I didn’t know that."
A faint smile tugged at the professor’s lips. "You don’t sound very surprised... but regardless, I want you to aim for the very top, Noel. The prize for first place is sothing worth fighting for."
Noel nodded. "You don’t have to worry, Professor. I’ll give it everything I’ve got."
"I know you will." Daemar’s gaze softened, though his tone remained formal. "You’ve shown remarkable growth since arriving here — not just in strength, but in discipline and composure. I’ve seen many students with talent, but few who use it with such focus. That is why I consider you not just my pupil, but... soone I’m proud to guide."
For a mont, Noel didn’t answer. Hearing that from soone like Daemar ant more than he expected. "Thank you... that ans a lot, coming from you."
Daemar gave a small nod, then leaned back slightly. "One more matter. Headmaster Nicolas ntioned that Tyria is under my care and that of Instructor Rauk. You were concerned for her?"
"Yes," Noel said. "How is she?"
"She is well physically," Daemar replied. "But she worries for her fellow students. She fears that harm might co to their families or friends to force her withdrawal. It’s possible, but I doubt they would risk such an overt move in public."
"I see," Noel murmured.
The professor rose to his feet. "Rest well tonight, Noel. All of us will be watching tomorrow — and I expect to see a match worthy of your ability."
"You will," Noel said, standing as well.
Daemar placed a hand briefly on his shoulder, a rare gesture of familiarity from the usually composed man. "Good. Now, I’ll take my leave. Rember... fight not just to win, but to prove to yourself how far you’ve co."
With that, he left the room, the click of the door closing leaving Noel alone once more.
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