Chapter 253: Pendragon Arrives

The thralls moved quietly through the ballroom like phantoms dressed in human skin.

Their silver trays were balanced on their palms, laden with goblets filled with wine, and of course, something more.

They moved exactly like humans, bowing and smiling as they handed the drinks to the nobles.

None suspected the servants’ empty eyes, or the way their smiles never reached their faces. After all, it was a common sight among some servants.

The orchestra’s melody came to a soft halt, signaling the next part of the evening.

A quiet murmur rippled through the ballroom. Heads turned toward the gilded doors at the far end of the room, where two royal guards stood at attention.

“His Majesty, King Cillian Pendragon of Camelot!”

The announcement rang through the hall, and immediately, all conversation ceased.

The grand doors swung open, and King Cillian entered.

His golden circlet glimmered faintly under the light of the chandeliers, his white robes flowing behind him. Though he was older, his presence filled the room with a regal and serene energy.

Everyone bowed. Even Noah inclined his head a bit deeper, only bowing a little. And, of course, the act didn’t go unnoticed.

Cillian smiled gently and raised his hand. “At ease.”

The nobles straightened, their eyes brimming with pride.

The King’s gaze swept the room and his expression softened.

“My friends,” he began, his voice calm yet powerful, “we have gathered here today for not just a celebration of winter’s passing.”

“This celebration is also a reminder. A reminder that even amidst hardship and war, Camelot stands unbroken.”

A quiet murmur of agreement filled the air.

“Hope, unity, and peace. These are not mere ideals. They are the lifeblood of our realm.” Cillian continued.

“While the Demon Lord’s armies march upon our borders, we, the living, the free, the steadfast, must continue to build. To live. To love. So that our enemies may know that Camelot’s spirit does not yield.”

His words hung in the air like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Then, he smiled. “And now, my friends… let us raise a toast. To Camelot, to peace, and to the heroes who will ensure our future.”

Thunderous applause filled the ballroom. The orchestra struck up a triumphant chord.

All around the hall, nobles raised their goblets high.

“To Camelot!” voices roared in unison.

Goblets clinked. Wine shimmered. And hundreds drank.

At the edge of the crowd, Noah raised his own goblet, his expression calm and polite.

He took a simple sip, more interested in observing how the dynamic of the room would change now that the king was in attendance.

Around him, laughter and music returned, and soon, the sound of dancing feet filled the air.

The orchestra shifted to a graceful waltz. Couples began to fill the dance floor, their gowns and suits whirling as they moved to the music.

Noah spent his time sipping his wine and watching the crowd, until a voice broke his concentration.

“Noah Webb.”

He turned. King Cillian himself was walking toward him, smiling kindly.

“Your Majesty.” Noah bowed slightly, unsure what to expect.

The King waved off the formality. “No need for that. You are one of our heroes now. Tell me, are you settling well into the academy?”

“I am, Your Majesty,” Noah said, his tone calm and respectful. “The professors are excellent, and I’ve been given every opportunity to grow stronger.”

The King chuckled softly. “Good. I hope Camelot has been kind to you. I know it must be difficult. Being torn from your world and thrust into ours.”

Noah hid his true thoughts on the matter behind a smile. “I’m adapting. One step at a time.”

Cillian’s eyes glimmered, as though he saw more than Noah’s words let on. “That’s all any of us can do,” he said gently.

Then, giving Noah’s shoulder a brief pat, he turned away to mingle with other guests.

Noah watched him leave.

“Impressive.”

He looked to his side. Princess Ines stood there, a smile on her face.

“I didn’t expect father to speak to you so soon,” she said. “You’ve certainly made an impression.”

“I hope it’s a good one,” Noah replied lightly.

Ines smiled. “We’ll see.” She extended her hand. “Now, will you dance with me, Hero of Camelot?”

Noah blinked, caught off guard. “I’m not exactly—”

“That wasn’t a question.”

Before he could protest, she took his hand and led him onto the dance floor.

The orchestra swelled, and they began to move. The rhythm was slow.

Noah followed Ines’s lead at first, but soon began to match her steps. Her hand was soft in his, her movements graceful as the light drifted around them.

“Not bad,” she murmured as they spun beneath the glowing crystals.

“I learn fast,” Noah replied.

“Clearly.”

Around them, nobles glanced and whispered, the sight of the princess dancing with an outsider drawing quiet curiosity. But Noah ignored them.

For that brief moment, the world narrowed to the sound of music, the warmth of Ines’s hand, and the strange calm that filled him as he danced.

And high above, unseen, Lord Vine watched it all.

From his perch atop the palace roof, his eyes glowed faintly green.

The thralls in the ballroom moved precisely as he commanded, distributing drinks, bowing, smiling, blending perfectly among the ordinary humans. Each spiked goblet found its intended hand.

But now, Vine’s attention turned elsewhere.

Down.

To the palace basement.

He felt the movement of the thralls in the area. They moved in unison, reaching the deepest storage chamber, the one that had long been abandoned and sealed off.

With a gesture from Vine, they broke the lock and stepped inside.

In the center of the room sat a massive barrel, sealed with dark runes.

Vine smiled. “Othello, you brilliant fool. Your legacy lives on.”

This was no ordinary potion.

It was the precursor, the prototype of Othello’s hybrid formula, unrefined, unstable, but powerful.

A liquid created from abyssal blood and human mana. He’d kept it in the safest place it could be. The palace.

He had never really needed it. Until now.

The thralls gathered around it. Vine guided their hands, making them pull off the heavy lid.

A hiss filled the air. The black liquid inside rippled, releasing a faint violet steam.

One by one, the thralls obeyed his mental command. They climbed onto the rim of the barrel and leapt inside.

The liquid sizzled violently, eating away their bodies, devouring flesh and bone until nothing remained. The air thickened with power, dark mana radiating from the chamber.

Vine’s eyes gleamed as he felt the essence changing.

Then, the black liquid began to glow faintly red.

It began to release a subtle and addicting scent that rapidly began to spread far beyond the palace walls.

And outside the capital, in the dark forests miles away, something stirred.

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