Two sharp claps echoed off the reinforced glass of the Royal Booth, snapping the room back to attention. The Emperor stood tall, his golden mantle shimmering under the artificial lights.
"Enough sentiment for one afternoon," Valerian remarked, though his eyes remained warm. "A victory of this magnitude demands a feast of equal scale. We gather in five hours. I expect my champions and their families to arrive ready to toast to a new era of Valerian strength."
The atmosphere in the booth reached a crushing peak as the elite of Valeria bowed in perfect unison, a sea of bent heads acknowledging the pinnacle of power.
"We live to serve, Your Highness," the room breathed in harmony. Valerian didn't look back; he strode out with the confidence of a god, flanked by Empress Amelia, whose regal composure was as sharp as a blade.
Princess Rosalind trailed them, a lingering spark of royal fire in the doorway. As the doors hissed shut behind them, the heavy pressure of the Imperial Aura finally lifted, leaving the generals and nobles to exhale for the first time since the match ended.
With the Emperor gone, Headmistress Elena and Professor Candle didn't waste a single heartbeat.
For them, the tournament was over, but the political war of the Royal Banquet was just beginning. They had exactly five hours to transform the Academy from a battle-scarred fortress into a palace of gold and glass.
As they moved, the air around them hummed with the faint, blue glow of communication signals—the gears of the Academy's administration grinding into high gear.
Head Chef Ramsey didn't settle for excellence; he demanded perfection. He opened his private contact list, summoning the capital's most prestigious names—experts in mana-infused gastronomy and rare mineral seasoning.
Within the hour, the kitchen was a hive of legendary talent. Ramsey stood over the main prep station, his eyes sharp as a chef's knife, coordinating the arrival of blood-marrow from the north and sea-herbs from the Valerian coast.
This wasn't just a banquet; it was a sensory siege. Every dish had to resonate with the same dominance Markus had shown in the arena.
A silent, disciplined convoy of heavy-duty transport vehicles wound its way toward the Academy's restricted rear gate—a private artery used only for the most sensitive resources.
These weren't standard couriers; they were armored cold-storage units, their hulls frosted over as they worked to stabilize the volatile, high-mana ingredients within.
From the deep cellars of the capital's most exclusive restaurants, their private stock was being moved. As the massive iron gates hummed open, the trucks hissed to a halt, unloading crates of rare bone marrow, aged spirits, and bioluminescent herbs that had been hand-selected for the night's feast.
The air in the prep station seemed to sharpen as a figure in pristine white appeared at the service entrance. Joel Robuchon, a man whose name was whispered with reverence in every five-star kitchen in the Empire, moved toward the pass with effortless grace.
"Still commanding your kitchen like a battlefield, I see," Robuchon noted, a ghost of a smile touching his lips as he reached out to clasp Ramsey's forearm. "A pleasure to see you again, Ramsey. Let us show this Academy what real cooking looks like."
The cooking hall became a battlefield of flavor, subdivided by the specific Mana-affinities of the staff.
Rows of Fire-Affinity Chefs stood before specialized mana-stoves, their hands glowing as they infused the marrow with "Living Heat."
Beside them, Wind Awakeners created localized vacuums to marinate proteins in seconds, while the Earth and Water Sectors handled the heavy structural work of the feast.
Even the Ice Awakeners played a vital role, maintaining the "Peak Freshness" of the ingredients you'd fought so hard to secure. In this hall, magic wasn't just a tool—it was the secret ingredient that made a Royal banquet legendary.
Modern cooking had long since left the "old world" behind. Through the rigorous application of elemental affinities and alchemical binding, the kitchen staff achieved a level of culinary perfection that was once thought impossible.
Infusing raw mana into the marrow and vegetables didn't just enhance the flavor—it unlocked the "soul" of the ingredients. The result was a dish that was alive, its energy swirling in a delicate dance with the consumer's own mana veins.
It was a level of luxury that only those who lived through the Fall could truly appreciate: a taste of heaven forged in the fires of a broken world.
As the chefs finish the final alchemical seals on the appetizers, the plates themselves begin to glow with a soft, internal light. The mana-infusion is so dense that a faint mist of "flavor-aura" clings to the surface of the porcelain.
Ramsey and Robuchon stood back, watching the elemental groups retreat in perfect formation. The "tools" of war have been turned into the "tools" of a legendary celebration.
Headmistress Elena initiated the Geomantic Rite, her aura connecting with the deep Ley Lines beneath the Academy. Alongside her senior staff, she manipulated the Earth Laws to "weave" a banquet hall that defied mortal engineering.
They didn't bring in furniture; they breathed life into the rock, molding pristine thrones and grand tables from living jade. The atmosphere within the hall was pressurized with "High-Earth Mana," a density that acted as a natural filter for impurities.
To step into the room was to step into a geode of imperial luxury, where every jewel embedded in the ceiling pulsed in synchrony with the heartbeat of the Empire.
Elena's mana circuits were screaming, scorched by the sheer throughput of the geomantic ritual. The internal pathways that channeled her power felt like they had been flooded with molten lead, a common but agonizing side effect of over-exerting one's elemental limits.
Every step back to her sanctum was a battle of iron will over failing nerves. Once inside, she triggered the office's recovery arrays, the room bathing her in a cool, restorative light.
She was a master of the Academy, but even a master had a breaking point, and she had pushed hers to the absolute edge for the sake of the Academy's glory.
Soon the private protective detail of the imperial family entered the academy grounds, they took their positions securing every blind spot, ensuring the safety and security of the imperial family and its guests.
The atmosphere in the kitchen tightened as the Swiss Guards arrived, their crimson-and-gold armor acting as a stark reminder of the Emperor's reach.
They took up positions at every exit, their "Mana-Eyes" scanning the elemental chefs for any sign of nervous mana-fluctuation.
A lead inspector stepped toward Ramsey's pass, wielding a Crystalline Aegis—a device capable of detecting the faintest trace of necrotic energy or tier-breaking poisons.
To the guards, the feast wasn't a celebration; it was a potential battlefield. Every dish produced by Ramsey and Robuchon had to pass through a gauntlet of magical scans before it was cleared for the Royal Table.