THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

The grand hall fell silent as all eyes turned to the Archon of Warfare, Elara Va Ironblade. Her presence was mesmerizing—a potent mix of authority and mystique that commanded reverence and awe. Standing at the top of the staircase, she radiated an air of unassailable power.

Her asymmetrical black hair framed her sharp features, cascading with an untamed elegance that mirrored the piercing crimson gaze that swept across the crowd. Those eyes, vibrant and haunting, seemed to strip away pretense, exposing the souls of those who dared meet them.

She wore a sleek black gown that accentuated her flawless figure, its fabric shimmering like obsidian under the chandeliers' glow. A fiery red shawl draped over her shoulders lent her the appearance of a monarch clad in both battle scars and regality.

Lacework climbed her arms and neck with gothic precision, offset by the blood-red pendant resting against her collarbone. Her gloved hands, adorned with silver chains and bracelets, hinted at layers of secrets buried in a life forged in strife and ambition.

"Welcome," Elara's voice rang out, smooth yet commanding, like tempered steel cutting through the still air. "Tonight, we gather to honor my sister, Mariana Va Ironblade, on this momentous occasion. Her role, one destined by legacy, will be revealed as the evening unfolds. But for now, let us celebrate her blooming potential."

She raised her goblet high, her gaze sweeping over the gathering like a sentinel surveying her domain. "To Mariana!" she declared. The crowd echoed her sentiment, lifting their glasses and goblets in a unified cheer. The banquet had officially begun.

David found himself momentarily breathless, his thoughts captivated by the Archon's commanding aura. A whisper snaked through his shadow, an all-too-familiar voice breaking his trance.

"Pry is off limits, Master," Luna murmured, her tone sly yet cautionary.

"I wasn't even thinking about it," David retorted under his breath, shaking his head as he composed himself. But his denial felt hollow even to him.

Nearby, murmurs rippled through the assembly. A noble, one clearly familiar with Elara, whispered to a companion, "She's changed. Her hair used to be crimson. I wonder why it's black now?"

David stiffened, their idle musings striking a chord. He knew the truth. The shift in her hair color wasn't a matter of fashion or whim. The ebony strands were a manifestation of the curse consuming her from within—a sinister secret she bore alone. It was a burden that added another layer of complexity to the enigma that was Elara Va Ironblade.

As the room brimmed with celebration, David couldn't shake the weight of the revelation.

Yue's eyes sparkled like twin gems as her gaze swept across the banquet's lavish spread. Platters overflowing with exquisite dishes gleamed under the golden light of the chandeliers, each one a masterpiece of culinary artistry. Her excitement was palpable, her refined manners momentarily forgotten.

"It's been so long!" Yue squealed, darting toward the nearest table laden with a medley of roasted meats, delicate pastries, and crystal glasses of sparkling wine.

"Mother!" Litty hissed, chasing after her. She shot an apologetic look at David, who stood watching the scene with an amused grin. "I swear, it's like babysitting a child sometimes. I have to stop her before she embarrasses herself—or us!"

David chuckled warmly. "Let her enjoy herself, Litty. It's a banquet, after all."

Litty hesitated, torn between propriety and the sight of her mother gleefully stacking her plate. With a resigned sigh, she bowed slightly. "If you say so, but I'll keep an eye on her." She hurried off, muttering under her breath as Yue waved cheerfully back at her, oblivious to the fuss.

David's smile lingered for a moment before it faded. Alone now, he took a deep breath and mentally opened his status window, a shimmering interface visible only to him. The ethereal letters flickered before his eyes, settling on a particular section:

[Physique: Aurumaris Empyreal Core]

Intrigued, he mentally expanded it, revealing a description that sent a shiver down his spine to of his sub skils:

[Blood of Salvation:

The user's blood carries the essence of Aurumaris, capable of healing others from mortal wounds, diseases, or curses by transfusion. No illness or affliction can resist its power.]

David's gaze darkened as he stared at the words. The Archon's curse... He clenched his fists. How in the world was he supposed to convince a woman like Elara Va Ironblade—prideful and commanding in equal measure—to ingest his blood? The very thought was absurd, and yet...

His reverie was suddenly broken by a voice from behind, "Your Grace, Duke Harrick, allow me to introduce the son of the Eastern county."

David turned instinctively, his sharp eyes taking in the figure of a tall, broad-shouldered man with a graying beard and a presence as imposing as the mountains he governed. Duke Harrick strode forward, every step a proclamation of authority. But before David could greet him, a familiar voice cut through the air.

It was a voice he did not want to hear, one that brought back a flood of memories. He turned to see Count Nicalo. The tension in the air was palpable, and David knew that whatever he was planning wasn't good not in the slightest.

"Well, if it isn't the famed Spross des Banners."

David froze. His eyes narrowed as they landed on a lean man with sharp features and an insincere smile.

"Count Nicalo," David said, his voice measured.

The Count's smirk widened, his gaze flicking over David with a mix of disdain and curiosity. "I hear you've been making waves recently. It seems even the lowliest of banners can fly high if the wind is strong enough."

David's jaw tightened, but he forced a polite smile. "And some are swept away by their own arrogance, Count. A lesson for us all, I'm sure."

The exchange crackled with unspoken tension, drawing the attention of nearby nobles. It seemed the night had taken another unexpected turn, leaving everyone on edge and whispering in hushed tones.