My composure apparently became a agonizing poison for Raymond. At the magnificent main table, I could see my brother repeatedly drinking his wine harshly, his eyes continuously spinning to stare toward the dark corner where I sat. His inability to bait my panic had ruined his entire appetite.
Suddenly, Raymond stood up from his chair.
Ting! Ting! Ting!
He tapped his silver knife against the wall of his crystal glass. That loud clinking sound sliced through the crowd of the hall, forcing the harp melody to stop instantly and drawing the attention of hundreds of pairs of eyes of the attending nobles.
"Honored clan elders, as well as noble guests," Raymond's voice echoed high and full of arrogance beneath the dome of the hall. A broad fake smile was carved on his face. "Tonight is the celebration night of the Romario clan. However, how rude we would be if we ignore the presence of one of the flesh and blood of this clan who has long been isolated."
Raymond's view shifted to me, his eyes radiating malice wrapped in a mask of kindness.
"Ben, my poor younger brother..." Raymond said with a fabricated tone of concern. "I am deeply moved to see you finally have the courage to step out from the West Tower and join together with us. As a form of my happiness—and so that you do not feel forgotten—I wish to serve the best wine of this castle specifically for you."
Raymond waved his hand toward a sturdy young knight standing near the stairs of the stage. "Sir Gideon! Fetch a pitcher of the finest wine, and pour it personally into my beloved brother's cup."
A knight in a silver armor uniform stepped forward. Sir Gideon, one of the most loyal lackeys belonging to Raymond who often laughed when the original Benedict was tortured. Gideon smirked thinly, took the silver pitcher containing deep red wine, then walked toward my table with a style that was intentionally shown off.
Whispers were heard again around me. The people at the back table knew exactly what was about to happen; this was not an honor, but a show to humiliate me physically.
Gideon stopped right beside my seat. He looked down, staring at me with a low look as if I were a pile of trash.
"This is the wine of honor from Young Master Raymond for you, Ben," Gideon whispered with a soft voice that could only be heard by my table. His hand was raised, positioning the mouth of that silver pitcher not above my cup, but right a few inches above my head and my old velvet jacket.
"Drink it all up, Coward," he added with a cruel smirk.
Gideon tilted his silver pitcher. The stream of thick red wine liquid began to slide down, preparing to soak my clothes and hair in front of the entire clan.
I did not move. I did not dodge.
I only raised the fingers of my right hand, touching my index finger subtly to the bottom of the metal cup on top of my table. Inside my chest, the ice Mana Core spun rapidly. Without uttering a single Spell, without letting aura light radiate into the air, I channeled a wave of extraordinarily dense cold energy through the stone table.
The temperature around my table plunged to the freezing point within a matter of milliseconds.
Right when that stream of red wine almost touched the collar of my black jacket, that liquid suddenly froze in mid-air. Its deep red shifted into a hard and sharp ice crystal before having time to soak the fabric of my clothes.
Not stopping there, the ice crystal crept upward with a terrifying speed, following the stream of liquid back entering inside the silver pitcher in Gideon's hand. The silver metal of that pitcher turned white covered in a thick layer of frozen frost.
"W-what...?! Arghhh!"
Gideon screamed in pain. That sudden freezing struck the skin of his hand holding the pitcher. An intense frostbite sensation burned the nerves of his fingers. The silver pitcher slipped from his grip, falling with a thud onto the stone floor and shattering into pieces of red ice scattered near his own boots.
Gideon sat down on the floor, holding his hand that was now rigid, pale, and turning blue due to the burning freezing air.
The entire Main Hall suddenly became completely silent. The music, the whispers, even the crackling of the hearth seemed to evaporate. Not a single person saw me move or use magic. In the eyes of the nobles, all they saw was a sturdy knight who suddenly trembled in fear, dropped the pitcher, and ruined Raymond's provocation moment ridiculously.
Raymond stood rigidly on the main stage, his smile completely vanished, replaced by a pale face turning red from holding back anger. "Gideon! You fool! What are you doing?!"
I ignored Gideon's screaming beneath the feet of my table. With an extremely calm and graceful movement, I reached for my tin cup. I discarded the small ice piece inside it, then stood up from my chair.
All eyes in the hall were focused on me as I took one step forward, straightening my body posture, and raising my cup high toward the main table.
"Thank you for your immense concern, My Brother Raymond," I said, my calm and deep voice echoing clearly through the silence of the hall. "However it seems, your chosen knight is far too weak to even simply hold a pitcher of wine."
The gaze of my eyes rolled from Raymond who clenched his fingers tightly, then landed right upon the man in the center of the stage.
Duke Alistair set down his wine glass. His cold and sharp face no longer radiated flat boredom. His sharp eyes narrowed tightly, piercing through my old jacket, as if trying to skin the secret hidden behind my abnormal composure.
Duke Alistair slowly stood up from his throne chair. His presence full of pressure made all members of the Romario clan hold their breath.
"Benedict..." Duke Alistair's voice echoed heavily and authoritatively, cutting through the frozen silence of the night. He stared at me without blinking, then continued his sentence, "Since when does an outcast lamb in the West Tower... possess a look in his eyes like that?"