Chapter 72: Court of Nine
He motioned his neck, gazing at the man who stood directly beside him, passively radiating mana so hot that Maniel’s skin seemed to cry out in fear.
8th-circle.
The man’s arms were folded in front of his chest. His dark coat seemed to flutter. His eyes were grim and gray. And his dark hair stuck out of his scalp like an overgrown bush, tangling allover his forehead.
His piercing gray gaze was fixed ahead, ignoring Maniel.
Maniel felt his breathing seize, heart freeze. The overwhelming cold spreading to his stomach.
He knew today was going to be a bad day.
"Duke Belognia?"
When had the man even come? His presence had not been announced.
Hearing Maniel, the Duke unfolded his arms, regarding the Marquis.
"Marquis Silvester."
They both nodded to each other.
This Duke had always scared Maniel, even more so than the other three. Not even because he was at the epitome of magic, 8th-circle, but because his bearing and every thing about him whispered the word ’threat’ to Maniel.
And Maniel was just a 7th-circle. One who wasn’t even at the pinnacle of his tier. He couldn’t see the way forward, the way to ascend. The insight needed was beyond him.
The powerfully built man took his gaze off Maniel, staring downstairs at the ball, where Maniel had once been.
"High Ball," he said. "It has been a while."
Maniel breathed out slowly, easing his nervousness.
"Truly it has been."
"Your son is truly an exceptional child."
Maniel’s eyes widened.
’My son?’
Shortly after, Maniel heard a sharp ringing sound, like a bell.
He stood up from his seat, gazing downstairs, eyes widening.
"Blood of my forefathers..." Silvester whispered, a cracked grin surfacing on his lips.
His son, Mikel, was downstairs, hitting his spoon to a glass cup, calling the attention of the partying nobles.
With a gesture, Mikel also stopped the musicians, bringing an end to the ongoing music.
Silence.
"He’s about to make a speech," Maniel voiced out.
’When did he even think of this?’
Duke Belognia chuckled. A gravel sound, like a deep rumbling.
"As I said, exceptional."
Maniel smiled, forgetting his tension.
"It would seem so, yes."
Just then, the Duke walked toward him, arms uncrossed.
Maniel’s smile totally faded as he gazed at the tall, powerfully built flame mage who was passively radiating a disastrous heat.
"Your Grace?"
Downstairs, Mikel had begun his speech. Something about how he was happy for them all attending, and how he never expected his ascension to happen so soon. Maniel ignored him. He couldn’t focus on the boy.
The Duke’s already unreadable expression had grown even more cold.
"I do not normally leave my territory unattended, not even when there’s an important event happening in Rindell. I only move when commanded by the Emperor himself, and he isn’t even present today," The Duke began. "But I have come here today. And I have done so for a reason. I didn’t come here for frivolities, Maniel. You and I rarely... no. We do not even talk. And I am not like the others, I do not have the time nor the strength for a guise to build a fake relationship with you to discover what I want to. So I’ll be straightforward with my question here.
"And do not lie to me, Maniel. I have done thorough research. Now, tell me... What is the Court of Nine?"
Maniel’s eyes widened. Now, he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even swallow saliva.
He took a step backward. The Duke took a step forward.
"Wait– the..." How was Maniel supposed to tell him? It was supposed to be secretive, an organization of nobles that didn’t consist of the four Duchal families. An organization that aimed at power that only the Dukes touched.
An organization that aimed at rebellion.
The Belognian man clenched his fists.
"Speak."
Maniel grimaced, the cold in him spreading to his throat.
"The Court of Nine is—"
Vwoom–!
Both Maniel and Duke Belognia’s heads snapped.
The building shook, gravity undulating from high to low. Even the lighting of the building began to malfunction, some bulbs exploding.
Maniel’s heart skip a beat.
Downstairs, Mikel’s speech was caught off.
Nobles began to scream.
"What the bloody hell was that?!"
"That mana! The pressure of that mana!"
Maniel gazed at Duke Belognia.
The man’s grey eyes bore into his silver.
He was sure they both felt it.
That pressure... it exceeded 8th-circle.
Without speaking, and as if their discussion had never happened, both the aging Maniel and the old Duke jumped over the railings, landing downstairs.
The source of that mana was coming from—
Crash—!!
An unnatural sound echoed, like a meteor crashing into a tower of glass.
"What the hell is that?!! Who’s doing this?!" Duke Belognia screamed.
"I don’t know!!!" Maniel screamed back. "But it’s coming from..." Voice trailed off.
Maniel’s eyes widened. He suddenly remembered. Franklin and his daughter. And then, that blue-haired youth.
They were all headed to the same place. To the source of this same building-quivering nightmare.
—The Balcony.
Reaching the edge of the hall and the entrance of the balcony, Maniel and the Duke began to push through the gathered crowds of stunned nobles all gazing outside, trying to get a good look.
The 9th-circle pressure suddenly disappeared, as if it was all a figment of their imagination.
But this was no imagination. It was real. And it had dissolved the cold in Maniel’s heart entirely. And in the cold’s place, something else had occurred... his pathways had frozen...
After pushing through the crowd, Maniel and the Duke froze, gazing at the sight before them.
The balcony was empty.
No, not exactly empty.
There was Franklin, who was lying on the ground, in the middle of shattered ice, blood dripping from his lips, gazing above.
Franklin was smiling.
Where was his daughter? Marg... Margarita?
Where was that blue-haired man?
Seeing his son, Duke Belognia scoffed. And turned.
He put a hand on Manuel’s shoulder.
"We’ll continue our discussion on a later date."
The man was set to leave.
But Franklin suddenly yelled:
"Father!"
The Duke paused.
"It’s real! It’s not a myth! The pinnacle... the pinnacle exists!!"
Maniel’s eyes widened. What was the kid spouting?
Duke Belognia turned, a wry smile on his lips.
"I know," he said. "Get yourself together. We’re heading back west. You have some explaining to do."
