Castor and Elly still hadn't finished dancing, and as expected, Jacob hadn't received any other offers. So, the next twenty minutes or so passed in relative quiet. He sat alone, idly sipping drinks and nibbling at food, engaging in the kind of aimless, muted indulgence that felt more like habit than pleasure.

He'd noticed something over the past hour, a strange realization that had grown clearer with every minute he remained in this emotionless state, how deeply emotions were woven into everyday life. Like now, for instance. By any reasonable measure, he should have been drunk. He had gone through nearly two dozen glasses, and he wasn't stopping, letting each one slide down with increasing indifference.

But it wasn't for the taste. In truth, the drinks were awful. They were bitter and sour in ways that lingered unpleasantly, they burned slightly as they went down, and they sat in his stomach like coals. How people managed to find enjoyment in something like this, he couldn't fathom.

Still, the taste didn't matter. He wasn't drinking for flavour or to appreciate the craftsmanship of noble wines. He wanted to get drunk, truly drunk, so much that it might force his emotions to the surface again, or at least fog his thoughts enough to feel something other than the hollowness that had taken up residence inside him. According to Samuel, the rune suppressing his emotions would wear off by the following morning, but Jacob didn't want to wait that long. So he drank.

And he waited.

But the feeling didn't come. His limbs were heavy, and his vision was slightly blurred; the hall wobbled softly at the edges, and his balance had begun to tilt with every shift of his body. In every physical sense, he was drunk. But not in the way he wanted to be.

He didn't feel free or impulsive. He didn't lose his inhibitions or forget his fears. Those intrusive, strange thoughts people always said alcohol encouraged, they were there, drifting quietly through the back of his mind, but he also had enough clarity to immediately dismiss them. He wasn't reacting emotionally to anything. He was simply observing himself, analysing how deeply the rune's effects still controlled him.

So Jacob sat there, experimenting, trying to determine whether his failure to feel was a matter of not having had enough, or if the rune Samuel used was simply that potent.

It was because of this, because his mind was dulled by alcohol but not liberated by it, that Jacob failed to notice what was happening around him. He didn't see when a group of ten figures, strangers dressed in subtle but unmistakably battle garb, arrived at the edge of the banquet hall. He didn't catch the way several of the Eight Pillars were quickly approached by their aides, whispers passed directly into their ears with visible urgency.

He didn't notice how those same Pillars, without fanfare or explanation, stood up and left in swift succession, nor did he register that they weren't the only ones, any individual in the hall whose strength exceeded a certain threshold quietly vanished soon after, all of them filing out with the same measured haste.

What Jacob did notice, what finally cut through the haze of alcohol and emotional suppression, was when the music stopped.

Not paused, not slowed, but halted altogether.

He heard the sudden swell of murmurs rise up like a tide from the hall, confused and anxious voices growing louder, more numerous. And just as he was trying to process what that meant, he felt a shadow fall across the table.

Castor and Elly had returned, their steps brisk and expressions far more serious than they had been just moments earlier. Castor looked grim, his jaw clenched tight, while Elly wore the kind of frown that only came when she was desperately trying to keep from panicking.

That, more than anything else, brought Jacob fully back to himself.

He set his half-empty glass down on the table and blinked, clearing his eyes as best he could.

"What happened?" Jacob mumbled as they approached, though as soon as the words left his mouth, he blinked in surprise. His voice sounded strange, slurred and sluggish, drawn out like a lazy echo of himself. It barely sounded human, let alone familiar. He hadn't expected alcohol to do this much, but the dizziness was intensifying, and it was becoming harder to hold his head up straight.

"Are you drunk?" Castor asked, his brows furrowed in concern as he stepped closer, sniffing faintly. "You smell like you've been drowning in drinks."

Jacob didn't respond to the concern. He didn't have the time or the patience to entertain it. He blinked slowly, squinting at Castor. "What happened?"

Castor let out a long breath before dropping into the seat beside him. "There was an attack. Whisper targeted one of the research facilities, an important one. They brought in serious firepower, and from what I heard, most of the leaders rushed out to deal with it. All the Pillars left… except for Lady Olivia."

Jacob nodded faintly, though his head felt too heavy and the motion was slow and loose. "That's… unfortunate," he muttered, blinking hard. His eyelids were getting heavier, and he could feel his limbs starting to drift, like gravity was pulling harder on him than it did anyone else. Still, something didn't add up. He glanced around the hall, noting the growing distress. People were murmuring in frantic tones, some were pacing, others trembling, and a few even appeared to be crying.

"But why's everyone so on edge?" he asked. "None of them are going to fight."

Stolen novel; please report.

Castor looked around too, visibly confused. "I was wondering the same thing. It's strange, isn't it?"

A thought sparked in Jacob's sluggish mind, dim, fragile, but persistent. He turned his head, trying to focus. "Hey, Castor… how many glasses have you had?"

"None," Castor replied, frowning. "Why?"

Jacob slowly turned his gaze to Elly. She was sitting nearby, pale and trembling slightly, biting her nails and clearly struggling to stay composed.

"Did Elly drink anything?" he asked, his voice lower now.

Castor followed his gaze, and the moment he took in Elly's condition, his eyes widened. He rushed over, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Elly? Elly, what's wrong?"

"Answer the question, Castor," Jacob called, his voice sharper this time, though still slurred. "Did she drink?"

"Yes, but… what does that matter?"

Jacob pressed his hands against the table and tried to stand, but his knees gave out immediately, and he barely managed to catch himself before collapsing. "Someone needs to tell Olivia," he muttered. "The drinks… they're poisoned. Something's wrong."

Castor stepped toward him, steadying Jacob before whispering urgently, "What are you talking about? If something was really wrong, don't you think one of the leaders would've noticed already? Someone would've said something. You're just… drunk."

"I'm not just drunk," Jacob said, pulling his arm free with effort. His words were quiet but firm, tinged with just enough tension to carry weight. "I said the drinks are poisoned. I know what I'm feeling, and this isn't normal. Don't talk to me like I'm rambling."

Castor hesitated. "I just mean… wouldn't it be strange if none of the leaders noticed something you did? Even my father didn't."

Jacob didn't have an answer for that, not one he could explain clearly, not in this state. But the way the fog was thickening in his mind, the pressure weighing down on his chest, the way even his thoughts were beginning to stretch apart like pulled taffy, this wasn't just drunkenness. He knew that. Every instinct told him something had gone horribly wrong.

Without another word, he stumbled forward, dragging one foot in front of the other, his gaze fixed on Olivia, who remained seated at the far end of the hall, flanked by knights and mages who hadn't yet followed the rest. He had to reach her. If anyone could help, it was her.

But the steps became harder. His vision was swimming now, fogged over like a misted window, and every breath felt heavier than the last. His legs trembled, and the moment he tried to speak again, no words came.

Then, without ceremony, Jacob dropped to the floor, gasping in shallow breaths, the sound of his own heartbeat roaring in his ears.

"Shit… Lady Olivia… Head Olivia… I need… I need to tell you something… shit, shit—" Jacob was trying to shout, but the words came out as a tangled mess of broken syllables, barely intelligible even to himself. His tongue felt heavy, as if it didn't quite belong in his mouth anymore, and his voice was more a croak than a call. Still, he forced himself forward, dragging his limbs across the cold marble floor in a slow crawl, too disoriented to stand and far too stubborn to stop.

He knew it looked humiliating, crawling on the floor of a royal banquet hall, but he didn't care. There was no one to be ashamed in front of, because no one was reacting at all. The people nearby, rather than gasping or offering help, seemed strangely still, almost frozen. Their eyes were glazed, their movements sluggish or absent altogether, as though their minds had been drained from their bodies. They weren't looking at him, they were looking through him.

'This isn't normal. This isn't normal. Something's wrong,' the thought repeated in Jacob's mind like a drumbeat, trying to anchor himself as the grey haze spread further across his vision. He could still see Lady Olivia at the far end of the hall, but everything else around her had dulled into a blur of colourless shapes. His chest felt like it was being crushed from the inside, his heart hammering so loudly that it drowned out every other sound. Even the voices of the crowd were muted, warped, muffled like he was underwater.

His limbs barely worked now, but he kept inching forward, dragging himself an inch at a time, mouthing the words again and again to keep his focus from shattering altogether.

"The drink is poisoned… the drink is poisoned… the drink is poisoned…"

Then, through the fog, a voice reached him. Soft, calm, and vaguely familiar. It cut through the haze like a whisper of wind through smoke.

"Jacob? What happened to you?"

Someone was there, crouching beside him, slipping an arm around his shoulder, lifting him gently off the ground. He didn't recognize the face, he couldn't even see it properly, but the voice carried something that grounded him, if only for a moment.

He was being moved now, slowly and carefully. He had no idea where they were going, didn't know the direction, couldn't track time. The world had become loose and untethered, drifting like a half-remembered dream.

He was laid down somewhere, and he could feel motion all around him. Voices, too many to understand filled the air like overlapping whispers. Someone touched his stomach, just a palm, warm and steady and in that instant, it was like a jolt of fire ran through his veins.

His heart slowed. His breathing evened out. The fog lifted from his eyes.

Jacob blinked, and for the first time in what felt like hours, he could see clearly. Kneeling beside him was Lady Olivia, her gloved hand hovering just above his abdomen, a strange orb of translucent green liquid floating above her palm. Her expression was composed, but focused, her eyes darting back and forth across his body like she was scanning every inch.

He didn't waste the clarity. With what strength he had left, Jacob drew a ragged breath and shouted, "Lady Olivia! The drinks are poisoned!"

Then, without waiting for a reply, his head dropped back against the floor as he let out a final exhale, and his consciousness flickered.

CRASH.

The sound of shattering doors tore through the air like a thunderclap. The hall shook. Wood splintered. Metal shrieked.

A wave of armed figures burst into the hall, dozens of them, blades drawn, robes flaring as they spread through the crowd like a dark tide. Olivia stood immediately, rising with the poise of someone who had done this far too many times. But before she could make a move, a blur shot forward with impossible speed, slamming into her with such force that it sent her flying straight through the nearest wall in an eruption of dust and shattered stone.

The blur skidded to a halt in the middle of the hall. It was a man, tall and muscular, holding a curved scimitar in one hand and a strange, humming device in the other. The moment he came to a stop, a wave of pressure exploded outward from his body, sweeping across the hall like a tidal wave. Everyone who had remained standing was instantly crushed by the sheer force of his presence, bodies crumpled, knees buckled, and even breathing became a challenge.

Jacob felt as though the air itself had turned to lead. He could barely move, the crushing weight of the man's aura pinning him to the floor like a corpse nailed down.

"A Rank Zero Knight," someone whispered hoarsely nearby, barely able to get the words out.

The man didn't even look at them. He turned and sprinted through the hole in the wall, chasing after Olivia without hesitation.

And then, finally, the first scream broke out in the hall, loud and sharp, a signal that reality had caught up with them.

The banquet had become a battlefield. They were under attack.

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