Kieran sauntered along the corridor towards the main hall where the banquet was being held.
He donned the dark brown pilgrim felt hat that he'd snatched from the footman's head, only to realize it fit him poorly.
The hat was a size too loose on his head, smelling faintly of cheap ale and sweat. " If only you had equal magnitude down there, my taunts just now wouldn't have proved too effective." Kieran lampooned as he adjusted the hem of the hat to cover a portion of his face in an attempt at a disguise.
Not that Kieran believed he wouldn't be recognized now that he was dressed in the footman's uniform. But If there was one thing he'd learned from his brief time in this absurd new world, it was that confidence could polish any humiliation until it gleamed like dignity. ' I mean, we're talking about nobles here. They can barely see below their high noses and chin those arrogant bunch.'
He straightened his back, wearing the disguise in his walk as opposed to his appearance. The dim sconces on the walls casted his shadow long and bent across the narrow walls.
Just as he turned from the restroom corridor into the hallway, the faint echo of melodious music accompanied by a ringing crescendo of fine singing spilled from the grand hall ahead.
Strings of hushed discourse and haughty, rich laughters followed hollow clinking of glasses that only ever accompanied lies.
Kieran smiled, a thrilling rush coursing through him.
'How poetic it is that the people celebrating my betrothal didn't realize I'd been murdered...'
If he hadn't been transmigrated by the system, the real Metis Von Donahue would already be cooling somewhere in the undercroft, stabbed and discarded like yesterday's table scraps.
Now, here stood Kieran, walking in his body, dressed as the help, heading to the party thrown in his very own honor.
If irony had a face, it would be grinning just like his.
He passed two maids whispering past him by the arched passage into the main hall. To his surprise, they didn't even spare him a second glance.
' Ah! The beauty of being invisible...' Kieran almost chuckled. But his focus shifted to the sight before him as he stepped into the main hall.
The sparkling marble-tiled floor gave way to velvet carpet while the walls were brightened by golden sconces.
For the first time tonight, Kieran felt that he'd really been tossed into another world.
The banquet hall was magnificent, nothing like he assumed it'd be.
A chandelier of shining crystal and gold hung like a glittering noose from the ceiling. The walls were draped in velvet curtains embroidered with sunbursts, the kind that screamed golden wealth and bad taste. Gilded cherubs danced on the ceiling mural above, half-peeling from neglect.
Meanwhile, the nobles present at the banquet gave the hall the livery it deserved. They were all draped in all kinds of pearls, silks, and smiles as brittle as glass made of sugar.
Kieran paused, surveying it all with the faint melancholy of a man who had seen the joke before the punchline.
This entire affair of toasts, laughter, and sensual song, was nothing but a theater. Nothing but Metis' father's little puppet show to impress the Count. It had nothing to do with Metis' betrothal.
Kieran's lips twitched. "A toast," he muttered under his breath. "To hypocrisy."
He slipped in, blending into the quiet rhythm of servants weaving between clusters of perfumed aristocrats and nobles. He carried no tray, as the other footmen in the hall did, but no one noticed.
As he weaved in between the assemblage of nobles, Kieran caught the sight of something that had him stunned for a beat.
In the center of the hall stood Naia Tingale, the singer of the night, her voice silk and smoke. She had that practiced kind of beauty; the sort that shimmered under candlelight but wilted under sunlight.
Her long brown hair fluttered softly behind her as she graciously swirled, singing her heart out with a genuine expression on her round face of sharp, yet delicate features. Her dark twinkling eyes scanned the room with an allure that had everyone captivated.
A beauty she is, a star she seems...
Kieran slowed on his stride, a wry smile forming on his face as she recognized Naia from Metis' memory.
The illegitimate noble son had adored her, of course. He'd even once knocked one off to one of her performances from his room. "How predictable," Kieran thought with a shake of his head, watching Naia as she sang.
' A fragile little flower with ambition instead of petals. A rose with thorns...' Kieran judged, recollecting from his memory the story of Naia Tingale.
Just like Susanne Weiss, Metis' so-called fiancée, Naia was also a noble's daughter who, if rumor served right, had gone bankrupt in the last decade. Now she seeks to bring her family's status back to its prior state, singing her way to the top of the echelon.
' Shouldn't there be higher ranking nobles going after her already? She's already popular enough to be invited as a star guest into a viscount's banquet. If she gets married to one of her suitor nobles, her family's status should be raised back to at least, what it was.' Kieran pondered. However, he shook his head knowing things couldn't be as easy as they seemed.
Status can be easily changed, but the minds of nobles were not as malleable as it seems.
' I mean look at them, they adore her and her enthralled by her voice. But they'll also be the first to mock her family's situation.' Kieran averted his gaze, searching for someone else.
' Speaking of Susanne...' He looked around the hall but his whore of a fiancé was nowhere to be found.
'Probably hopping gleefully on Metis' dear brother's lap somewhere upstairs at the moment...' Kieran mocked in distaste.
'Damn Metis, your life is misery itself!' He nearly laughed aloud at the thought, then bit it back.
Getting to the other end of the hall where the columns of ceiling-to-floor curtains rowed unfurled over the tall wooden-glass windows, Kieran stopped, standing like some sort of guard and waited.
Footmen were both servers and securities in occasions like this.
While waiting, Kieran caught sight of a figure he recognized all too well when he swept his gaze across the hall. Clad in off-white laced shirt and a wine jerkin and black pants to match, the middle-aged man had slightly broad shoulders and a fine build, his silvered hair cut with military precision that outlined a face carved out of stone, and cold years of duty. His eyes were hard and calculating, flickering with the same false warmth he showed when it suited him.
' Sorthon Von Dobahue,' The man was Metis' father, the viscount of the county of Pouttiferr– A territory with a range of towns and villages within the the Westfordmire Duchy.
Sorthon sat by the head table and beside him was Earl Ruffe, the count of Pouttiferr, and the most honored guest of the night.
Earl Ruffe was round in face, just as in his figure that fit tightly in his finely detailed coat and jacket that seemed to be of the latest fashion trend. His plump cheeks and pointy nose were flushed after several cups of wine. His hands were adorned with rings that glittered on each finger like trophies of indulgence.
Kieran had the impression that the Earl's reputation must be that of a man known for both his appetite and his sense of humor, though the latter often came at the expense of others.
Kieran had the misfortune of remembering, through Metis' memories, just how much Sorthon revered that man.
It was almost to the point of being pathetic.
As a matter of fact, the commoners would joke that viscount Donahue's second hobby after none, was sucking up to the rotten Count like a dog begging for scraps of favor.
However, despite being like this, Sorthon had actually been a man who honors vows. He'd taken Metis in after having promised his mother at her last breath that he would regardless of the fact that he'd become subject to a scandal amongst the noble ranks.
Although, he never really was a good father to Metis, nor his half-brothers. He never intervened when Metis was bullied, except when things go too far.
"Stop it boys, that isn't the way of a noble" he would say.
" A do good that does no good to no one" Kieran jested, taking his gaze off Sorthorn. He had no business with the viscount, for now.
Right now, only one thing mattered. The banquet's ruin.
Kieran calmly waited in his spot until Naia's song reached its climax, her voice trembling dramatically like a siren's call towards the end.
The hall erupted into applause just as she finished. A coordinated cheer of nobility, and grandeur.
And in the midst of the noise, Kieran smiled.
"Perfect timing."
He lowered his gaze, eyes fixated on the skill in front of him displayed on the system window. He flashed a grin and whispered, almost to himself,
"Devil's Flint!"
Pa!
The sound of his finger snap vanished under the thunder of claps and cheers, indistinguishable amidst it all.
No one noticed the faint shimmer of heat that rippled under the curtains, nor the way the candle flames in the sconces suddenly swayed as though acknowledging his actions.
Kieran didn't wait to admire his handiwork. He turned, weaving smoothly through the crowd like a phantom among peacocks, heading for the exit. His heart drummed in quiet anticipation.
Whatever came next, was the real show he looked forward to.
But just as he crossed the threshold, something prickled at the back of his neck.
That familiar, ancestral instinct that had kept predators alive since the dawn of time.
He glanced back.
And there, among the laughing nobles, stood a man. He was a handsome young man probably in his mid-twenties. Tall, calm, and noble in appearance. The man's brown here illustrated the delicate features of his face. His blood red eyes had a cunning glint, reflecting the glass of wine in his hand. He smiled directly at Kieran, a smile that spoke of recognition.
It wasn't the smile of a stranger. It was the smile of someone who had been expecting him. Of someone who'd seen through a ruse.
Kieran's grin faltered for the first time that evening.
"Well," he murmured under his breath, eyes narrowing. " To think I'd encounter the main character this early. I must be one unlucky bastard, unironically."
However, he didn't stop on his stride towards the main door. Kieran slipped past the guards standing by the door and stepped into the night, leaving the hall behind.