Solomon hated galas. He hated them even more when he was in a bad mood and still had to attend.
It was rare for the patriarch to throw parties. He wasn't the kind of man who liked partaking in such frivolity.
Zadkiel did, however, understand the necessity of spectacle in high society.
It was important to operate from a position of assumed security.
Sometimes, you had to dangle how well you were doing in front of your enemy's face to prevent them from doing something stupid.
It was a mind game. One designed to give onlookers a lowered opinion of themselves.
This man is openly inviting me into his home and showing off his shiny things, beautiful women, and competent soldiers without fear that I might take them from him. He doesn't put me in his eyes at all.
It was an effective strategy. And almost the entire reason why the heads of the remaining six martial families were invited to attend.
Spear King Jeok. Fist God Ahreum. Chaos Witch Mabel. Scythe Queen Seraphine. Dagger's Edge Mordeau.
Each of these powerhouses had picked out a corner of the room and made it their permanent residence. In the meantime, they stared daggers into each other while they sipped expensive champagne and snacked on finger foods.
There was a visceral tension in the room despite the music and laughter. Everyone was just ignoring it as if they hadn't noticed.
Solomon was the only one people seemed to be actively avoiding. And he preferred it that way.
He and Raizel hadn't spoken since their earlier excursion in the day. Not even to make gruff jokes or complain to themselves about how little they wanted to be here.
They were both at the party, but they had chosen opposing sides of it to frequent. Every so often, Solomon would feel Raizel staring at him, but he wouldn't acknowledge it.
He kept his nose within a glass of champagne as he scoured the room, looking for the one person in the castle he actually wanted to see.
"If that face of yours looks any more sour, you're going to spoil my shrimp. Lighten up, kid."
Solomon turned around and found a seasoned, gray-haired Emmanuel snacking on a seafood plate and giving him a gruff look.
"You've had that same sour look since you were a boy. Who pissed in your oatmeal this morning?" He chewed.
Solomon scoffed. "None would dare."
Emmanuel nodded as he offered Solomon his plate of shrimp. "So, I see your ego is still quite healthy. What's wrong with the rest of you?"
"...Why's something need to be wrong?" Solomon turned away.
"You're really going to make me reference that sour ass look again?"
Solomon actually believed he had been putting on a relatively good poker face so far. He should have known that wasn't the case.
"I know what's going on." Emmanuel finally finished his shrimp.
In the back of his mind, Solomon prepared himself for a forty-five-minute lecture and a set of leathery knuckles to the nose.
In his old age, Emmanuel had gotten preachier on the spirit of brotherhood among knights.
In their teenage years, there was a time when Raizel and Solomon were bickering over whether or not they were ready to be sent on their first field missions. Emmanuel overheard and broke both of their noses.
"You're regretting that you didn't graduate, aren't you?"
"….Possibly." Solomon lied.
Emmanuel shook his head with an arrogant, sage-like expression on his face. "I figured that was the case. But look, what's done is done. Besides, there's still a huge chance for you both to bring glory to the clan even if you step beyond its walls."
Solomon could tell that Emmanuel was actually trying to cheer him up. It was too bad it was completely unnecessary.
Solomon had never once thought about bringing glory to this place.
"The Patriarch is now entering!"
All at once, the chatter in the ballroom seemed to come to a halt.
Everyone turned their heads toward a grand staircase of white and silver.
Ever so gallantly, the man they had all come to see finally made his arrival.
Several people in the room seemed to be awed by his mere arrival. But Zadkiel seemed as though he couldn't have cared less.
He took his seat with commanding authority. Judging by the bored look on his face, he would rather have been doing anything but this.
He rested his chin atop his fist, staring into the crowd without so much as a speech to give.
"Let's get this over with."
It was brief, but not at all unexpected. Everyone who was here already knew what Zadkiel Olethros was like.
Flowery words and smiles weren't his forte. They never would be.
"We, uh… gotta go up there..."
Solomon glanced out of the corner of his eye.
Raizel had approached him at some point, but he wasn't able to make eye contact. All he could do was rub the back of his head awkwardly like a dog who'd peed in a pair of boots.
"Best not keep the old man waiting, so..."
Solomon didn't say anything at all. Instead, he handed his glass to Emmanuel and followed Raizel through the crowd.
Every Olethros gala starts and ends in exactly the same way.
Guests pay homage to the Patriarch and wish him long life while showering him with praise for his high societal tastes.
Beginning with the children from oldest to youngest, they are followed directly by the invited guests.
This doesn't exactly serve much purpose other than getting underneath the skin of the other clan leaders. Zadkiel knows full well they aren't very patient.
Raizel and Solomon slipped into the line, waiting to sing their practiced praises to the Patriarch.
It was during this moment that Solomon noticed something amiss.
The young masters and their bi'ans were supposed to go up and pay their respects in pairs.
Solomon could see all of the other descendants and their attendants in front of he and Raizel.
Except Uriel at the very front. He stood alone without Rena at his side.
Solomon had been looking for her this entire evening. The sight of his secret fling in a dress was perhaps the one reason he was still sober.
He knew Rena wouldn't just miss this kind of event.
'…Maybe I was too rough on her last night?'
Solomon harbored his hypothesis for a few seconds before immediately dismissing it.
When he was fourteen, he watched Rena eat lunch after being stabbed in training without so much as a change in expression. Solomon remembered it as the day he had his first 'big-boy thought'.
Uriel bowed deeply in front of his father's throne. Manhood seemed to agree with him as he had grown much more handsome as an adult. Though it was impossible to miss the near-permanent black bags underneath his eyes.
"Uriel." Zadkiel acknowledged his son plainly, without a hint of warmth.
Uriel smiled brightly all the same.
"It's a pleasure to see you in good health again, Father. You grow even more profound in your age-"
"Disappointing."
A chill settled over the room.
Zadkiel didn't elaborate on anything. No one in the room needed him to. At least, not the martial experts.
At twenty-five years old, and a direct descendant of the illustrious Olethros line, Uriel did not carry himself like a swordsman should have.
There was a clear lack of confidence in his posture and tone of voice.
Some martial artists would come to understand his demeanor very well in their lives. Hitting a wall in advancement happens even to the very best.
…But it's a very poor sign if you reach that point in your early twenties. A martial artist's prime, golden years.
Raizel would have given the boots off his feet to see his brother's humiliated expression. He was positively giddy.
However, when living in this castle, you learn young how to develop a good poker face.
"Where is your Bi'an? Is she perhaps hiding because she also has a shameful progress to report?"
Solomon rolled his eyes internally. Rena was a dedicated swordswoman. There was no one among the younger generation who could outwork her.
"I'm… afraid we suffered a bit of tragedy the day before our return."
It started as a small, barely noticeable sniffle.
From there, the change in tone became more difficult to ignore when a lone tear rolled down Uriel's cheek.
"...It was a death spider. It must've snuck into her tent late at night and bitten her... by the time any of us noticed, half of her body was already rotting... She's dead."