Chapter 124: ¹²⁴Banquet At The Highest Tower
The wooden wheels of the Valen carriage rumbled steadily as it climbed the winding marble road. Dusk gradually gave way to night.
Festival lanterns were lit along Astrea’s main thoroughfare. Their soft, blue-white glow failed to penetrate the thick tension inside the cabin.
Ethan Valen sat leaning back in silence. His dark coat wrapped around his shoulders, and his dark brown hair was slightly disheveled from the evening breeze. His eyes were half-lidded, showing not a sliver of interest in the view outside.
Across from him, Kaelia von Ashford sat with a rigid spine.
Outside the cabin, Valera Voss held the reins with a single hand.
The carriage did not stop at the inn. Instead, it carved straight into the heart of the Valois faction’s seat of power.
The road steepened further. The clamor of the common folk receded below, replaced by rows of colossal stone pillars and a suffocating, heavy silence.
At the end of the road, Veylor Castle loomed large. Its spires tore through the twilight clouds, while obsidian gargoyles peered down from the high parapets.
The giant black iron gate stood wide open.
Whoosh.
Valera pulled lightly on the reins. The black horses came to a halt right at the front courtyard. She was the first to leap down.
The cabin door swung open. Ethan stepped out, followed closely by Kaelia.
The moment Ethan’s boots touched the marble, a male servant in gray robes cut off his path. His face was rigid like a mask, displaying a crown-shaped silver brooch pinned to his left chest.
"Welcome back to Veylor, Lord Valen," the servant greeted flatly, offering a brief bow. "His Majesty the King awaits. However, only you are permitted to ascend to the highest tower."
Ethan spared the servant a brief glance before stepping past him, forging straight through the castle’s main grand hall.
Kaelia and Valera were escorted to a luxurious room in the ground floor’s left wing.
Deep red velvet sofas surrounded a mahogany table. Fragrant steam rose from a silver teapot alongside sweet pastries atop a thick wool carpet, yet neither of them had any intention of touching a thing.
Kaelia sank onto the sofa. She sat in mute silence, staring blankly at a painting on the wall with her fingers tightly interlaced in her lap.
Near the closed double doors, Valera chose to remain standing. Her shoulder rested against the stone wall, but her hand never strayed far from the hilt of her sword—looking every bit like a wild wolf caged in a golden cell.
Meanwhile, Ethan ascended a stone spiral staircase that seemed endless.
The gray-robed servant led the way, carrying a lantern that cast a dim, yellowish glow. The staircase in this tower lacked the grand opulence of the lower floors; the stone walls were left plain, devoid of paintings or gold trim. The air was drafty and frigid, engineered to isolate whoever reached its summit.
Ethan walked without making a sound.
No words were spoken. The servant only glanced back occasionally to ensure Ethan was still following behind.
They reached the top of the stairs. An unornamented, heavy oak door blocked the way. The servant knocked twice, turned an ancient iron knob, and pushed it open.
Ethan stepped inside.
The banquet room was modest in size. It was circular, its stone walls lined with dusty, ancient bookshelves. The subtle glow of a small fireplace clashed with the moonlight streaming through narrow stained-glass windows. At the center of the room, a dark wooden round table was flanked by three high-backed chairs.
Two of the chairs were already occupied.
In the main seat, King Evander von Valois leaned back comfortably. His dark blue robe and sapphire crown reflected the dancing firelight. A serene smile rested on his features, though his clear blue eyes held a calculating gaze as they fixed onto Ethan.
Beside him sat an old man brimming with a distinct kind of authority. Garbed in immaculate white robes adorned with gold embroidery, his gnarled hand tightly gripped a wooden staff topped with a sun carving. It was Archbishop Malachi, the leader of the Holy Crown Church.
"Please, sit, Ethan Valen," King Evander welcomed warmly, gesturing toward the empty chair.
Ethan pulled out the chair and reclined with calm composure, his dark coat sweeping across the floor. His dark brown eyes shifted back and forth between the King and the Archbishop.
Yet, the corner of Ethan’s eye caught something else.
Standing in a shadowy corner near the bookshelves was a gaunt male servant. His white apron was dingy, and his hair was thinning and gray. He was trembling violently while holding a porcelain tray.
As Ethan’s gaze locked onto him, the old servant’s eyes turned bloodshot. His mouth gaped open as though he wanted to scream, but not a single sound escaped his lips.
The gears in Ethan’s mind paused for a fraction of a second.
Barn.
An old memory flashed by. That fragile old man was Barn, the former head butler of the Valen estate—the man reported to have vanished without a trace when Ethan’s father fell and their family was ruined. Why was he still alive? And why had he ended up as a servant to the King?
This was no coincidence. King Evander had deliberately put Barn on display here.
Ethan rejected the bait. He severed eye contact with Barn as if the man were nothing more than wall decor, returning his gaze squarely to the King.
King Evander took an elegant sip of his tea. "An extraordinary performance at the Colosseum this morning, young man," he praised. "Chantless magic. Your name echoes through every corridor of this palace. Toppling Serpent’s Tongue, humiliating my son, subduing Duke Alaric... and now defying the traditions of the Capital."
The King leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. His smile turned decidedly more personal. "You know, Ethan... you look strikingly like your father."
Ethan didn’t even blink.
"He once sat in that very chair," Evander continued, his eyes drifting into memory. "I offered him a place by my side. But out of foolish pride, he refused my offer."
The King’s smile widened oddly. "Yet those eyes... the darkness within them is identical to your mother’s. I met her once. That woman was quite unforgettable."
The Horned Crown Tattoo on Ethan’s chest throbbed with heat. Those words were calculated to incinerate his patience. But as the Demon King, his control over his Sin Mana was absolute. Not a single drop of killing intent leaked out.
"The Valen family has always considered themselves above the law," Archbishop Malachi’s raspy voice interjected.
The old man in white robes narrowed his eyes in suspicion. When he struck his staff against the stone floor, the sun carving atop it flickered faintly. The holy magic was reacting to the dark anomaly before him, attempting to resist, yet lacking the strength to unravel it.
"The holy staff never lies," Malachi hissed sharply. "There is something dark clinging to your bloodline, Valen. The Church has long suspected your family of hiding something from the Crown."
Ethan returned the accusation with a cold glare. "If the Church is so curious about my blood, Archbishop... perhaps you should send envoys to the east more often, instead of merely sitting in the Capital collecting tithes."
Malachi’s face flushed a deep crimson at the subtle insult. He was about to retort when King Evander raised a hand.
"Enough, Malachi," Evander mediated peacefully, yet with absolute finality. He looked back at Ethan. "I did not invite you here for an interrogation. I merely wished to see for myself... what kind of man you truly are."
King Evander rose slowly.
"Your stage has been set, Ethan Valen. But heed my warning..." The King’s voice lowered. "...this castle has ears on every wall. Here, not everyone who smiles at you is a friend, and not all your enemies arrive wielding swords."
The King offered a subtle gesture of dismissal. "You may leave."
Ethan stood without bowing or uttering a word of thanks. He turned and strode away.
As he passed the dim corner, he walked right past Barn. The old butler lifted his face, tears streaming freely from his bloodshot eyes. His jaw quivered as he tried to spill his secrets, yet no sound came out.
Ethan stared at Barn for one full second, engraving the man’s desperation into his mind, before stepping out and shutting the oak door tightly behind him.
He descended the spiral staircase without looking back once.
The moment the door to the ground floor lounge opened, Kaelia shot up from her seat, her beautiful face tense.
Valera straightened up as well, her golden eyes scanning Ethan for any signs of blood.
"How was it up there?" Kaelia asked hurriedly.
"We’re leaving," Ethan cut in flatly.
Hearing that, Valera snorted in disappointment, patting the hilt of her sword since there was nothing to cut down tonight. She led the way out, with Kaelia following closely behind Ethan.
Night had completely swallowed Astrea as the Valen wooden carriage rolled away from Veylor. Outside the window, the festival lanterns presented their false illusion of peace once more.
Inside the cabin, silence reigned supreme.
Kaelia stared at Ethan with a million questions, but held her tongue upon seeing that his expression was far darker than usual.
Ethan leaned back and closed his eyes. Barn’s silent, tear-streaked, wrinkled face spun continuously in his mind. Why had his father turned down the King’s offer? What did Evander know about his mother? Why had Barn ended up as a muted servant in that tower?
Just as the wheels of his thoughts turned, an alien resonance vibrated within his skull.
"Fufufu..."
Asmodeus’s raspy, moist voice purred. "You couldn’t have missed it, could you, my Lord? That drab servant... he knows something. He holds memories of your mother, and the King deliberately displayed him like a trophy."
Ethan did not respond to the demon. He opened his eyes slowly, his gaze pitch-black.
"Kaelia," Ethan called out, his voice heavy and absolute.
Kaelia flinched. "Y-Yes? What is it?"
"We find out what Barn is hiding," Ethan said, a chill radiating from his words that made the air in the cabin shrink.
Kaelia knit her brows in confusion. "Barn? Who is Barn?"
Ethan didn’t explain. He turned his face toward the window. Veylor Castle might think they were playing with a pawn they could threaten using the past. They forgot one thing—the Demon King never played by the rules of the chessboard.
𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶
He destroyed it.