Ron's blunt remark left Michelle and the others momentarily stunned.
Before anyone could react, Ron stepped forward and walked straight into the center of the ballroom. His sudden movement drew curious glances, and Baird—standing on the steps—noticed immediately. Seeing the unfamiliar face, his expression darkened.
A stranger at his ball?
Clearly some low-born noble trying to sneak in and gain connections.
Unacceptable.
"Which family are you from?" Baird demanded coldly, fully displaying the arrogance of royalty.
Although Ron had no fondness for this foolish prince, etiquette was still etiquette. He gave a simple, almost lazy bow and replied calmly:
"Your Royal Highness Baird, I am the lord of Arnold Territory, as this gentleman here mentioned."
Dennis stiffened in surprise. Several nobles turned to study him with renewed curiosity.
The lord of Arnold Territory?
He's far too young!
"No… if he's the lord, that means he inherited the title," someone muttered in disbelief.
"What title does the Arnold family even hold? I've never heard of it."
Baird hadn't either. He shot Dennis a glance. Understanding the signal, Dennis stepped forward.
"Baron Arnold, what do you intend to say by interrupting?"
A baron…
Baird's gaze turned openly disdainful.
A mere baron daring to disturb his ball—unforgivable.
Ron met his glare calmly.
This person truly exaggerated.
Slandering Arnold Territory in front of so many nobles—the children of powerful families! If this rumor reached the capital, how was the territory supposed to develop?
Such malice was deliberate.
"What do I intend to say?" Ron spoke lightly. "To correct your nonsense. If you keep talking like this, Arnold Territory will be empty next year. According to you, I've somehow become a lord who starves to death in his own land."
His dry humor unexpectedly drew chuckles from the crowd, and several nobles warmed to him immediately.
Dennis and Baird, however, looked furious.
"Whether it's nonsense or not can be confirmed by the territorial reports submitted every year," Dennis retorted stiffly, confident thanks to his father's position as the minister in charge of such matters.
Ron didn't even bother acknowledging him.
"I am the lord of Arnold Territory. Are you telling me you know it better than I do? Absurd."
A few nobles burst into laughter, and Dennis's ears reddened.
"You—!"
Ron raised his voice and addressed the gathering:
"Arnold Territory is developing rapidly. Anyone with interest is welcome to invest; your money is safe. After all, we now have top-tier forging masters and top-tier Alchemists—both invited from the Olivia Empire—"
"Invited from the Empire? Baron Arnold, are you trying to deceive us?" someone called out skeptically.
Ron showed an earnest, almost innocent smile.
"How could I deceive you? It was fate, really. I was out inspecting the territory when I came across an ordinary-looking man. But something about him seemed extraordinary. I approached him, and—what a coincidence—he turned out to be a forging master from the Empire, traveling in search of inspiration."
He improvised smoothly, weaving the story of how he met Hadley into a colorful tale. As expected, everyone leaned closer, captivated, forgetting completely about the earlier scandal.
On the steps, Baird's face had turned the color of storm clouds.
Julie stood beside him, nails digging into her palms, struggling to maintain the facade of a gentle, virtuous lady.
Theresa, the original victim of the night, stared blankly at Ron, unable to comprehend how everything had changed in just a few sentences.
In another corner, Yuri Aisi—the Marquis's daughter in a black gown—took a small sip of wine. Her cool eyes shifted toward Ron.
"…An interesting person," she murmured before setting down her glass and walking toward the crowd.
Ron was still speaking animatedly when a crisp, cold voice cut in:
"What about the Alchemist?"
The crowd turned toward the speaker.
"It's Ice Rose!" someone whispered.
Ron looked at her—Yuri Aisi. The nickname suited her perfectly.
"Ah, the encounter with the Alchemist… that was even more incredible."
Inspiration surged in Ron's mind.
"It happened by a small river. I was eating bread baked by my maid when—by misfortune—the bread slipped from my hand and fell into the water."
It was an utterly mundane opening, yet everyone listened like it was a revelation.
Not far away, Astrid asked Michelle, "Is Baron Arnold always like this?"
Michelle twitched.
"He's usually very kind… and doesn't talk much."
Marina stifled a giggle behind her hand.
"Let's go hear the rest."
The three moved closer, joining the impromptu storytelling circle.
"At that moment," Ron continued, "I was heartbroken. It wasn't just bread—it was a gift from Eileen."
"Baron Arnold, who is this Eileen? And what does the bread falling into the river have to do with the Alchemist?" someone asked eagerly.
Ron raised a hand.
"Oh, Eileen? My personal maid. No special talents, really—she just chats well and makes pastries. But that's not important. Everyone, don't rush. Let me continue."
Far away in Arnold Manor, Eileen—completely unaware—was becoming famous in the capital.
Ron resumed:
"So, I cried. Loudly. Perhaps my crying disturbed the River God—no, the Alchemist. She emerged from the river and asked me why I wept."
"I told her the bread had fallen into the water. She listened, then dove back in. When she resurfaced, she held a golden bread and asked if it was mine."
Several attendees gasped softly.
Those familiar with alchemy recognized the impossibility—turning ordinary bread into gold in moments required frighteningly high skill.
"A top-tier Alchemist…" someone murmured.
"And how did you respond?" another noble demanded eagerly.
Ron shook his head solemnly.
"Although the golden bread was precious, it could not compare to Eileen's heartfelt kindness."
Several young noble ladies exchanged jealous glances.
A lord who loved his maid this much?
Unfair.
Ron continued:
"Then she dove again and returned with a silver bread. Again, I shook my head. It wasn't mine."
Everyone leaned forward, waiting for the conclusion—
"Enough!"
Baird's voice crashed through the hall.
He strode to Ron, face twisted in fury.
"I don't care whether you ended up with golden bread or silver bread! Theresa must be exiled today! And you—! A mere baron daring to disrespect the Royal Family—you are already guilty!"
Ron narrowed his eyes.
"Oh? Your Royal Highness Baird, you were listening very carefully, weren't you?"
It wasn't a deadly remark, but it stabbed Baird's pride cleanly.
"You—!"
"Whose crime do you think you're deciding?"
A voice rang from the entrance.
Four figures stepped into the ballroom.
At the front—
King Meredith.
Behind him—
Prime Minister Marquis Norchis,
Marquis Alfred,
and Count Eugene.
"Greetings, Your Majesty!" the hall chorused, bowing instantly.
Baird, thinking salvation had arrived, pointed at Ron.
"Father King, please convict Baron Arnold!"
Marquis Norchis and Marquis Alfred both turned toward Baird with stunned, incredulous expressions.
But Baird did not notice.
What he did miss was the expression on Meredith's face—
Dark.
Cold.
Thunderous.
_____________________
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