Chapter 60: Chapter 60: Nothing but Eating and Drinking

The banquet hall was brightly lit, resplendent with gold and jade.

The tall dome above was illuminated by hundreds of magic crystals, lighting up the entire hall.

The walls were adorned with tapestries woven with golden threads, each embroidered with the emblem of the Forrester Clan.

The long table was covered with a silk tablecloth, with silverware and crystal glasses neatly arranged.

Servants stood by the walls, carrying plates in and out.

The air was filled with the aroma of meat and the scent of wine.

The dishes were outrageously extravagant.

Roasted Snow Mountain Demon Deer sizzled under its golden skin, and a whole rack of Snow Rock Bear ribs was served, the thick meat piled on a silver plate like a small mountain…

There was also the wine beloved by Southern Nobles, almost unseen in the North, yet here it was continuously poured into crystal glasses.

Such extravagance, not to mention in the Northern Territory, is not commonly seen even in Southern nobles’ castle banquets.

The Forrester Clan’s foundation as an old nobility of the Northern Territory is evident from this.

Yet this opulence, in the harsh and resource-strained Northern Territory, appeared particularly glaring.

The banquet hadn’t even begun, yet many local Northern nobles were already frowning.

Count Fos sat at the main seat, his entire being like a round ball of flesh.

A robe woven with gold threads enveloped his corpulent body, the collar slightly open, with his oily sheen extending from his forehead to his chest.

His hands casually rested on the armrests of his chair, all ten fingers adorned with magic crystal rings, the knuckles reddened from pressure.

He was giggling, like a drunken pig, his laughter echoing through the hall.

“Count Fos, you are naturally wise and brilliant; the Northern Territory will surely flourish because of you!”

“Without your guidance, we minor nobles would be utterly lost!”

Said the Pioneer Nobles from the South.

Each of them dressed in extravagant attire, their hair impeccably groomed, their words filled with courtly manners.

But they had no military achievements and no foundation in the Northern Territory.

Besides flattering and bootlicking, they were utterly worthless.

They surrounded Count Fos, lavishing praise on him.

Someone said he had “the demeanor of a crown prince,” another patted his chest and praised him as “more graceful than the late king.”

Some even claimed he would “make the Northern Territory great again.”

Count Fos laughed so hard he couldn’t close his mouth, even his hand holding the wine glass trembled.

He laughed while returning the compliments, but ended up choking on his drink, spraying half of it out.

Most pleasing to him was Zachary Diaz’s commendation.

“Count Fos, your organized and orderly conduct of this Snow Eagle assembly is exemplary for the Northern Territory. Even my father would likely feel ashamed if he were here.”

This sentence made Count Fos feel elevated.

Zachary was a member of the Diaz Clan,

one of the Eight Great Clans of the Empire, alongside Edmond!

With someone of such noble birth praising him, how could he not feel elated?

“Hahaha! No, no, I’m merely fulfilling my duty!”

He waved his hand, yet was so delighted that his mouth was crooked with joy.

In one corner of the banquet hall, the lights were dim, and the atmosphere was much colder.

A few nobles wearing uniforms of the Northern Army sat quietly, watching the group at the main table flaunting and bootlicking, their faces as dark as the sky on the eve of a snowstorm.

They were all former subordinates of the Forrester Clan and among its earliest vassals.

They had once followed the old master to campaign across the Icefield, fight magical beasts, and hunt down the Barbarian Race.

Now they could only sit here, watching their clan’s position occupied by a rotund fool, surrounded by a group of bootlicking southern sycophants.

“… If the old master were still here, he’d have kicked over this sordid scene long ago,” the oldest general murmured, eyes cold.

The unshaven man beside him sneered, “Besides eating, drinking, defecating, and babbling in some useless southern accent, have you ever seen them wield a sword?”

“Never,” another replied bluntly, “Their armor is as shiny as an actor’s costume, and there’s not a single scar on their bodies. If they went to war, they’d probably have to clean off a single drop of blood first.”

Their whispers mingled the smell of alcohol and cold air, clashing starkly with the lively banquet hall.

“The Forrester name was won with the old master’s life.”

“Not to be used for hosting some Southern cabaret.”

The more they spoke, the more silent they became, eyes filled with suppressed anger and disappointment.

They had tried to advise the new Count, teaching him to train soldiers, handle military and political affairs, even willing to take the initiative themselves.

But that fatso simply wouldn’t listen.

If not hosting a banquet, he was taking perfumed baths.

At most, a house servant was sent back to brush them off with a few perfunctory “The Count is busy.”

Quietly, they all knew that if this continued, the Forrester Clan would be in a bad shape, especially since the Northern Territory had been particularly turbulent lately.

The corner’s stifling atmosphere seemed strikingly conspicuous in the banquet hall.

Yet Count Fos paid no heed.

He was being flocked by the Southern Nobles, laughing so hard his eyes were nearly invisible, the flesh on his face trembling.

Even if someone reminded him that those Northern veteran nobles were in a foul mood, he would just wave dismissively.

“Them?” He curled his lip, “A bunch of old fogies, still stuck in the fighting and killing from decades ago.”

In his view, these people were not only useless but a hindrance to his affairs.

Dressing shabbily, their words unpleasant, they kept a stern face all day, as if someone owed their family thousands of Gold Coins.

He complained publicly more than once: “My grandfather accompanying the former emperor to overthrow the Snow Country had already finished all my life’s work!

The Northern lords are just lords, eating and drinking all day, nothing else!

What’s the point of aimlessly doing anything? Who is it for? Risking life and death? Stop fooling around!”

Midway through the banquet, the music intensified.

Magic Crystal Lamps shimmered brilliantly, nobles exchanged toasts, laughter never ceasing.

Just as everyone was in high spirits, Zachary approached the main seat, holding a wine glass.

His demeanor was casual, his tone light: “By the way, I wonder if Count has heard of… ’Louis Calvin’?”

Count Fos’s eyebrows twitched, his mouth still stained with meat residue, he mumbled an unclear response: “Who?”

“Oh?” Zachary feigned surprise, “It seems he hasn’t personally visited you or sent an invitation.

Almost every noble in Snow Peak County is here, yet there’s not even a glimpse of him. Could it be he thinks this assembly unworthy of his presence?”

Count Fos’s smile slightly faltered.

Zachary squinted: “It is said that despite his youth, he was sent to the Northern Territory to ’temper himself,’ but in reality, he neither handles military affairs nor trains soldiers, with his troops merely there for family façade.”

He lowered his voice, as if telling a secret, yet deliberately ensured the surrounding nobles could hear:

“Said to be a banished outcast by his family, yet after arriving at the Northern Territory, he remains in the castle drinking tea and writing poetry, even complaining that horse riding is a pain in the butt.”

The surrounding Southern nobles all showed amused expressions, someone quietly agreeing, “Noble scions tend to be aloof.”

Someone chuckled, “Could Louis be planning to appear only after the banquet to save himself the courtesy?”

“Hmph, who on earth would dare disregard me, the prefect of Snow Peak County?” Count Fos snorted, setting his wine glass heavily on the table.

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