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The Dame drummed her fingers, scarred from years of contact with paint and axes, on the table, stopping Lady Westerling as she was about to apologize. She wasn't sure if this was a pre-arranged farce to humiliate the Hearthheart family, and she didn't bother to argue with anyone about social etiquette.

Ms. Tira spoke calmly, without even a hint of anger in her tone: "I've heard of your name, Ms. Judith."

Judith looked up with joy, unable to believe that she had already been known by the high-ranking nobles. However, Ms. Tira's next words made her feel as if she had fallen into an icy cave.

"This song is too serious. I don't like it. Sing your best song. I heard it's called... 'Milkmaid'?"

The poet looked at the nobles in bewilderment. Singing such a song before the noblest of men in Emerald Harbor? Was this noblewoman mad? But to her disappointment, not a single noble stepped forward to stop it.

Lady Westerling was about to rise again when she was startled by Lady Tira's eyes, which were much larger than a human's. Perhaps it was the firelight, but her pupils seemed to be blazing. The dwarf said to Lady Westerling indifferently, "Lumia, you won't disappoint your guests, will you?"

The Speaker's face twitched, and his wife quickly tugged at his sleeve to stop him from raging. Lady Westerling looked as if a lemon had choked her throat, but she spoke with a nonchalant and proper tone, "Of course, my dear Tira, your wish shall be granted."

"Sing, poet," the dwarf ordered, and then, as if suddenly remembering something, he added, "And don't forget to perform your classic performances as well."

Author's words: I have already burned out, reduced to snow-white ash~~

never again

Chapter 113 Night Banquet V

Judith felt her blood rush to her head, her eardrums buzzing. She was confused. She hadn't done anything offensive, so why did this dwarf target her like this? She couldn't understand why the Westerling family allowed this dwarf to run wild at their carefully planned banquet.

She breathed rapidly, trying to calm herself. She desperately tried to calm herself. She knew the nobles were known for their arrogance and that asking her to sing such a song might not be a big deal. But the key point was that this dwarf shouldn't have made such a request. She had been invited by the Westerling family, and for this noblewoman to act like this without their host's permission was more than just disrespectful; it was a blatant offense.

She noticed Lord Westerling's cold gaze, a mixture of anger and humiliation, urging her to act quickly. The poet swallowed hard and trembled as she sang the first line.

In truth, Lord Westerling had no time to think about her. The rage he had finally suppressed flared up again. His foolish wife had invited a foolish poet, who had sung a foolish song, and this had given the foolish dwarf an opportunity to lash out.

However, his anger faded just as quickly as it had come. He glared at his wife fiercely, then fell into deep thought. He knew full well that Lady Westerling couldn't have done this on purpose. Peter always loved listening to music and watching performances, and she most likely simply wanted to invite a recently famous poet to liven up the party.

Is all this just a coincidence? Is that masked, furtive poet deliberately stirring up trouble, collaborating with the ulterior motives of the nobles nearby, or is he simply foolish? If someone is truly pulling the strings, who is this hidden hand?

Could it be Monte? Lord Westerling immediately dismissed the idea. Monte was stubborn and arrogant, and because of that, he disdained to use covert tactics.

Could it be the potato from Gonzaga who licked Eichmann's feet? It was he who had just suggested listening to the poet sing; or was it the shorty Tila Hearth who had staged a farce of her own?

The Speaker felt his head slump. He'd drunk too much Winter Beauty wine today, and his mind wasn't as sharp as usual. All the clues seemed tangled together, impossible to sort out. But he already knew that the nobles in the parliament didn't have a favorable view of Peter, and many privately criticized him for being indecisive. Otherwise, Monte wouldn't have chosen today's banquet in Peter's honor to launch his attack.

"Hmph, if your ancestors, those peasants, slaves, and starving sailors, were able to build Ryadan, then how could my carefully nurtured son be inferior to them?" Lord Westerling pondered, his heart filled with pride. "The nobles are always greedy. Even if the Seven Wise Kings were resurrected to be my sons, they would still find a thousand reasons to say he is incompetent."

Westerling thought about this and simply put the previous incident behind him. The milk had already been spilled, so what was the point in blaming the cat? The most urgent thing was to clean up this mess.

"Although this poet's singing isn't top-notch and she has a bandaged face, her voice is youthful and clear. She might not be much older than Peter, and she has a certain mysterious charm," the Speaker thought to himself. "Since little Peter likes poetry, I'll have her explain it to him tonight. He doesn't usually hear folk songs like 'The Milkmaid'."

"The Milkmaid" wasn't long, and it quickly drew to a close. The nobles weren't entirely unfamiliar with this kind of music; they knew exactly why Lady Tilla was furious. If a cheesy ditty like this could appease her, the nobles wouldn't mind listening to it. After all, it was the Speaker who was being embarrassed.

However, the nobles clearly underestimated Lady Tira. The dwarf snorted, interrupting the poet who was about to finish, and said, "Lady Judith, I heard that you always have a special performance when you sing this song. Why, don't you want to show us?"

Judith clutched the lute tightly, her knuckles white from the strain. She couldn't understand why this woman insisted on holding on to her, and she cursed her most viciously. But in the end, all she could say was two words of submission: "As you command."

The poetess placed the lute on the small table, then put one foot on her chair and shouted, "Everyone, please open your eyes and take a closer look at Judith, a Judith you have never seen before!"

After that, she suddenly pulled off her headscarf, exposing her face to everyone.

A chorus of surprised gasps and puzzled murmurs echoed from the chief court. Most of the nobles had heard of Lady Judith, knowing that she often used her ugly face as a sign, and some had even seen her in person. But none of them had expected to see something like this.

The face beneath the turban had neither disgusting pustules nor hideous scars. It was just an extremely ordinary, featureless face.

Lumya Westerling loosened her grip on the table. The poet's face wasn't beautiful. Aside from a pair of bright eyes, there wasn't anything else memorable. She breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't know why the poet's face had suddenly become less ugly, but at least she didn't have to worry about rumors circulating tomorrow about someone in the Westerling family liking ugly women.

Knight Aaron came closer again, regaining his usual uninhibited demeanor, and whispered to Hopper, "Beautiful herbalist, is it your credit that Ms. Judith's appearance has been restored?"

Hopper turned his head and saw that although Knight Edim was still standing upright, sweat dripping down his armor and soaking the floor, he didn't move. But he was obviously quite interested in this topic, and his eyes unconsciously glanced over here, waiting for her answer.

"Of course." Hopper didn't think there was anything to hide. After all, Judith had broken into his home, and letting the two knights know would only deepen their impression of him.

Sparse applause came from the chief's side, attracting Hopper's attention again.

Lady Westerling led the applause, determined to put an end to this disastrous episode. She smiled beautifully and said to Judith, "That was a wonderful performance, Ms. Judith. You can go and rest now. Thank you for your hard work."

She addressed the poet, but her eyes remained fixed on Dame Tira, a look filled with warning, prompting her not to go too far. Dame Tira scoffed disdainfully, unwilling to continue arguing over such a trivial matter in front of everyone. She folded her arms over her chest, looked away, and stopped arguing.

The Speaker's wife secretly breathed a sigh of relief. She would have to visit Ms. Tila later to apologize. Fortunately, today's incident was over for the time being.

Judith bowed her head, saluted, and then stood up to pack up her lute, but every step she took was extremely slow, as if she were under a spell of slowness.

Finally, she heard the words she had been waiting for. The bald Lord Gonzaga was sitting next to her. He looked at Judith carefully for a moment and suddenly said something shocking:

"Lord Westerling, Lady Judith looks very much like you."

Chapter 114: Night Banquet VI

Lord Westerling tightened his grip on the knife and glared at Gonzaga, ready to hurl it at his bald head. The air seemed to freeze for several seconds before Lord Westerling slowly released the knife and said calmly, "This is a lame joke. I don't see any resemblance."

Gonzaga hurriedly took out a handkerchief and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. He said in a trembling voice, "I'm sorry, Lord Westerling. I just want to ease the tense atmosphere..."

"I don't think there's anything wrong with the atmosphere," the Speaker interrupted him mercilessly. After all the bad things that had happened tonight, he felt that he had fulfilled his duty as a host by not throwing this idiot headfirst into the harbor. There was really no need to be polite to him.

The Speaker turned to the poet, his tone as cold as the wind on the wasteland: "Miss Green Harbor, do you need me to find a waiter to help you pack your things?"

Judith gritted her teeth, her heart filled with resentment and helplessness. Everything was completely different from what she had imagined: the atmosphere of the banquet, the meeting with the Speaker, his attitude, and even the entire process. She knew that if she didn't leave quickly, Lord Westerling would have her forcibly removed. But things had come to this point today. If she didn't finish what she wanted to say, she might never set foot in this mansion again.

"My lord, I..." Before she could finish her words, she was rudely interrupted by the Speaker.

"Miss Green Harbor," the Speaker emphasized her last name almost word for word. The humiliation implied in it made Judith's face flush red. "Don't worry, the Westerling family has always been generous. You can go down and collect your reward."

Two guards wearing coats emblazoned with the Westerling crest stepped forward from behind the Speaker. At this moment, Lady Tira, who had been watching with her arms folded, suddenly spoke in a sarcastic tone:

"Don't be angry, Lord Westerling. You are not the only one to be made fun of tonight. I find the joke quite amusing. Look up, my lady, and let us see your face."

Judith obeyed subconsciously. She didn't understand why this dwarf, who had been targeting her all night, suddenly spoke up for her. But at this moment, she still had the courage to risk everything. She trembled and slowly raised her head, exposing her face completely to the bright light.

Hopper studied Judith with interest. This was her first glimpse of the poet's restored face. From her perspective, Judith bore no obvious resemblance to the Westerlings. She didn't have the wife's signature hooked nose or her father's smooth gray hair, but she did have the same bright red lips as her brother Peter.

"Child, your last name is Green Harbor, which means you're a native of Emerald Harbor." Perhaps wanting to protect Lady Westerling, Mendez directly pointed out Judith's illegitimate status. "Then who are your adoptive parents? Do you still remember your biological parents?"

The poet took a deep breath, knowing this was the most crucial step. She gathered herself and spoke slowly, "My adoptive father was a small businessman in Nongyin District. Both he and my adoptive mother have passed away. I have never met my biological parents. But my adoptive father told me before he died that my parents abandoned me simply because I was ugly."

Lord Westerling frowned. He and his wife exchanged a glance, a flicker of fear in both eyes, clearly contemplating that horrifying possibility. However, to stop the poet from continuing would only appear more suspicious.

"What a shame," Lord Mendes said, his voice devoid of regret. Hopper felt as if he had already prepared his response before the poet even spoke. "Without any leads, it will be difficult to find your biological parents. Gentlemen, in my opinion, Miss Greenhaven bears little resemblance to Lord Westerling."

"I have a clue!" the poet shouted, recklessly. She quickly pulled the piece of cloth Hopper had seen from her cloak, shook it open, and displayed it to everyone. The pattern of crossed swords beneath the anchor was faded, but it was like a sharp blade, piercing the eyes of everyone present. "This is my swaddling clothes."

After she finished speaking, she looked at the Westerlings hopefully, her lips moving as if she was about to call out those two names.

A dead silence fell on the main hall as all the nobles recognized the noble family crest. Lady Westerling clutched her chest in fear, her other hand gripping the armrest of her chair. She looked as if she might faint at any moment. Even Peter, who had been absent-minded, suddenly stood up.

"Nonsense!" Dame Tira was the first to break the dead silence. Her expression shifted from a gloating schadenfreude to icy anger. She didn't look at Judith lying on the ground, but instead at the bald nobleman, sternly accusing him, "Lord Gonzaga, you've crossed the line. This joke is an offense to all of us."

Her words were instantly recognized by all the nobles. Regardless of their previous attitudes, disgust now filled the faces of everyone at the long table (or of any race). If disgust could be transformed into a sharp spear, Judith would have been stabbed into a hedgehog by now.

The poet obviously did not expect such an outcome. She looked around in panic, only to see all the nobles glaring at her with a common hatred, as if she were a beast who tried to defile their own purebred horse.

Judith subconsciously reached out her hand, as if trying to summon the last bit of love left in her parents' hearts, or as if she were praying hopelessly to some almighty being. However, all she got in response was Master Mendes's rebuke:

"How shameless! You dared to blatantly attempt to confuse noble bloodlines at Lord Westerling's banquet. I have not seen such a shameless person in many years. If you were under my jurisdiction, I would wash away the family crest you have sullied with your blood. It is a pity that you come from the Shady District, Lord Monte. Please fulfill your sacred duty of judgment to atone for your failure to detect this evildoer sooner."

Hopper, the sensual demon, almost stood up and applauded the nobles' wonderful performance. She didn't care about Judith's fate at all. At this moment, she was concentrating on observing the expressions of each noble, trying to find out who was behind the foolish poet's actions and what his or her purpose was.

Monsignor Monte's face darkened. Archbishop Eichmann spoke before he could even begin. "Please allow me to be fair. Monsignor Mendes, Monsignor Monte has been so busy dealing with the orc intrusions that he may have been negligent. This is not his fault."

"This child has not committed any unforgivable crime. It is just a little girl's unrealistic fantasy." The gorgeously dressed archbishop stood up. His white robe embroidered with gold thread made him look extremely fair and holy.

He turned to face Lord Westerling, who was clearly displeased, and spoke gently, "Besides, today's banquet is to celebrate our heroic Peter's coming of age. There is no need to shed human blood. Of course, I am only making a suggestion. You are the host and judge of the banquet, Lord Westerling."

Lord Verinster's gaze first moved from Monte's face to the Archbishop's face, and finally fell on Judith, who was trembling and looking desperate.

His voice was filled with undeniable authority. "You should be thankful, poet. Archbishop Eichmann is my guest. I follow ancient etiquette and am willing to meet my guest's request. I will not execute you, but you must leave my city. I hope that before sunrise, you will completely disappear from everyone's sight. Do you understand?"

The poet just looked at him in despair, tears flowing from her wide eyes and sliding down her numb cheeks.

"Knight Edim!" the Archbishop called out. The knights at the corners stepped forward and saluted everyone. "Could you please escort Miss Greenhaven away? We must ensure that Lord Westerling's orders are carried out. She must leave the area surrounded by the city walls alive before sunrise. Can you do it?"

Edim clashed his heels together, making a resounding sound like armor clashing. He saluted once more to the Speaker and his wife, who were looking at him. Having not spoken for a long time, his voice was a little hoarse, but his voice was firm and powerful:

"Your wish is my mission, and I will live up to it."

Chapter 115 Night Banquet VII

Edim grabbed Judith's arm and whispered, "Let's go, lady. I'll take you out of the city. Any further stalemate will only embarrass you."

The knight's grip was like a vise, clenching painfully, yet she seemed to have lost consciousness and offered no resistance. Silently, Judith allowed him to drag her, step by step, out of the magnificent hall. As the cold, deep darkness completely obscured all the glitz, she finally realized that everything had been shattered. The grievances she'd endured growing up, her plan to use public opinion to force the Speaker and his wife to accept her, and her beautiful dream of becoming a superior person—all vanished.

Despair came like a surging tide, along with the darkness, completely drowning her and causing her to faint completely.

Lord Westerling breathed heavily, trying to suppress his anger. He had commanded the flagship, the Ryaddan, for over thirty years and had weathered countless storms. This small disturbance wasn't enough to throw him off balance.

"Beware, you scoundrels," the Speaker thought bitterly, forcing a toothache smile at the nobles in the room. "Westerling has two swords. One is used to kill pirates, and the other is used to deal with rats like you."

"I offer my sincerest and deepest apologies." Lord Gonzaga felt the Speaker's gaze linger on his neck several times. His heart tightened, and he quickly stood up and bent deeply, his head almost touching the table. Only a shiny bald head and a circle of curly yellow hair were exposed to the Speaker. "It's all my fault for being so reckless and frightening Lady Westerling."

Ever since the poet had brought out the swaddling clothes, Lady Westerling had slumped in her chair, her face buried in her hands, perfectly imitating the image of a frightened noblewoman. Upon hearing Lord Gonzaga's apology, she simply waved her hands weakly, unable to utter a single word.

Lord Gonzaga gritted his teeth, produced a bracelet from his belt, and had the attendant present it to Lady Westerling. He then said, "My dear lady, please do not refuse. To express my deepest apology and to demonstrate the deep friendship between the Gonzaga and Westerling families, I implore you to accept this apology."

The bracelet, composed of hundreds of silver leaves interwoven and layered, is light and beautiful. Each layer can be disassembled into a separate bracelet. While the bracelet's materials are inexpensive and possess no magical properties, it utilizes a long-lost elven craft. Even when elves frequently interacted with humans, such exquisite jewelry was rarely seen.

"Very good, Gonzaga. You've even prepared such a comprehensive gift of apology, including Rumia's favorite elven artifact. It's quite a generous gesture." The Speaker thought about this and laughed instead of getting angry.

He smiled at Lord Gonzaga, his white teeth reminiscent of a lion poised to pounce. But her words were dignified and impartial: "Lord Gonzaga, I accept your apology on behalf of Westerling. There is no need to be alarmed by the recklessness and foolishness of lowly men. House Westerling would never harm a friend."

Lord Gonzaga shuddered and glanced furtively at Lady Westerling, hoping she would say something good about him in consideration of this precious gift.

Lady Westerling didn't give him any trouble. Seeing the bracelet, a faint smile crossed her pale face. She patted the back of her husband's throbbing hand and said weakly, "My lord, don't blame Mr. Gonzaga. You know, he's always been a bit rash, but he never has bad intentions."

The Speaker snorted coldly and sat down heavily. Not only him, but even Hopper could see clearly that Lord Gonzaga was at best a pawn in the army; he didn't have the guts to challenge the Westerling family head-on.

By this point in the evening banquet, the chief nobles had long lost interest in continuing. Summer nights are short, and with sunset less than two hours ago, the lesser nobles and the distant knights below were oblivious to the turbulent events above. Amidst the clatter of conversation, the sound of chewing, and the barking of dogs scampering about beneath their feet, few noticed the poet's arrival and departure.

Lady Westerling straightened up with the help of her maid. Although she still looked a little dispirited, she was at least able to host the banquet. At this moment, like her husband, she just wanted to quickly end this unfortunate banquet.

Hopper saw her lean over and whisper a few words to the Speaker, her voice so low that Hopper couldn't hear what they were saying. However, in the end, she seemed to have successfully persuaded the Speaker, who reluctantly nodded.

Two maids helped Lady Westerling to her feet. One of them gently shook the bell in her hand, and instantly, a loud ringing sound, too small to match the bell's size, filled the hall. Everyone stopped what they were doing, stopped eating and drinking, and turned to look at the chief guests.

The Speaker's wife had completely lost her previous frail appearance. Against the backdrop of her elven jewelry, her face radiated a uniquely divine glow. Lady Westerling cleared her throat, and perhaps thanks to the magical effect of the bell, her voice carried like a gentle breeze throughout the hall. "All of you, noble descendants of Ryadan, distinguished guests from afar. Tonight, we gather here joyfully. May you all forget all troubles and indulge in this beautiful moment. Without further ado, the ball officially begins. I wish you all a wonderful time!"

The hall erupted in deafening cheers. Without hesitation, the men and women in attendance rose to their feet. In a flash, fifty servants swarmed the hall, quickly moving tables and chairs, sweeping the floor, and adding wood to the fireplace. And in a corner, unnoticed by anyone, a full band was already lined up, ready to perform.

Aaron took Hopper's hand, lowered his eyebrows, tilted his mouth, and said with a wicked smile, "Beautiful lady, can you give a wounded soldier some special treatment? Dance with me?"

Hopper smiled and nodded. She knew she wouldn't get as high a grade as Vera in Professor Uti's etiquette class. But as a country herbalist, wasn't it normal for her to be a bad dancer?

A hint of fatigue flashed in Lady Westerling's eyes. However, when she saw the many young nobles below, she felt a sense of relief. These people would be Peter's future assistants. She knew that what happened tonight would at most cause the nobles to talk behind their backs for a while, and would not have any substantial impact on Peter or the Westerling family.

She clapped her hands, and the musicians in the corner took the signal and immediately began playing. During the soothing prelude, she announced loudly, "To entertain everyone, the Westerling family has specially invited a dancer from afar to kick off the ball!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the servants extinguished half of the torches in the hall. The door clanged open, and the rapid beat of tambourines erupted like a storm. As everyone held their breath in anticipation, a graceful figure in a veil, dancing to the beat of the drums with an ecstatic energy, twirled and twisted her body, all the way to the center of the hall.

As her dance steps gradually slowed down and her face slowly left the dim shadows and was exposed under the bright firelight, the guests finally saw her appearance clearly.

Aaron couldn't help but whistled loudly.

It was a female dark elf.

Chapter 116 Night Banquet VIII

A deafening frog croak suddenly erupted, nearly causing Hopper to scream. She glanced around, only to find no one around her reacting. Clearly, she was the only one who had heard the croak. She quickly realized that the frog statue Lady Harsh had given her was reacting, and that it had been triggered by the graceful dark elf dancer in the center of the hall.

Hopper narrowed his eyes and looked at the spinning dark elf, trying to find any trace of the bloated demon from her.

The dancer clutched a tambourine, clad only in a veil that matched her silver hair, held in place by a delicate silver chain as delicate as a spiderweb. With her nimble steps, this covering flew up and down, revealing the dark elf's ebony-black skin.

Apart from this, the most eye-catching thing is that her bare, slender ankles were shackled with heavy shackles, indicating her status as a prisoner.

"I'm sorry, Miss Hopper, please don't be angry at my recklessness." Aaron noticed that Hopper was staring at the dancer, and the knight mistakenly thought that this was a sign of her anger and quickly apologized sincerely. After all, whistling at another woman in front of his female companion was somewhat frivolous.

"Hmph, I'm not angry." The succubus knew he had misunderstood, but she loved the feeling of guilt; it was the perfect opportunity to twiddle her words. As she expected, Knight Aaron looked even more guilty.

The demon pouted slightly and snorted. Then he spoke softly, "I'm not angry, Sir Knight. I'm just curious how Lord Westerling managed to invite a dark elf to dance. I heard these charcoal-headed men kill anyone they see and are impossible to communicate with."

Aaron secretly rejoiced that the previous episode was over, and continued Hopper's explanation, "She's no ordinary dark elf. When the Inner City Guard's wizard and several knights took Peter on an underground adventure, they encountered an entire dark elf patrol. They killed dozens of slaves and half a dozen dark elf warriors, and it took a lot of effort to capture her alive. According to her, she is a noble of the underground world."

Hopper wasn't familiar with Dark Elves. Their entire race had been sold to the Spider Queen of the Abyss, so they rarely appeared on the devil's menu. Even when they needed to cooperate with the lower planes, Dark Elves tended to partner with the demons of the Abyss.

But the succubus knew one thing: Dark Elf society espoused a principle of female superiority over male inferiority. If the Inner City Guard's claims were true, then a female Dark Elf commanding an entire patrol was most likely a noble. Those who, based solely on the Westerling family's tonight's tolerance, assumed they were weak and could be bullied would likely suffer a great loss.

The dark elf's tambourine blared incessantly as she danced ever faster, her movements bordering on frenzy, transforming her into a black shadow shimmering with sweat and silver light. Her frantic dancing left beads of sweat all over her body. The faint scent of sweat mixed with the perfume she wore, emitting an ambiguous and alluring aura to the onlookers.