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“Sefira.”
Hearing that, Myle, Anis, and Taragon stared at each other. They all looked like they couldn’t believe their ears. They wondered if maybe Keter had misspoken, but there was no way. Garcia, Luban, Bydent—none of them sounded remotely like Sefira.
Seeing their bewildered faces, Keter chuckled and repeated himself.
“Since we won the tournament, it’s only right that we, Sefira, should be the ones to host the social ball, don’t you think?”
“H-huh?!”
“Um…!”
“We host the ball?”
Their reactions were anything but enthusiastic. It was understandable, as Sefira had never once hosted such an event in its long history. Keter, who didn’t know that, could still tell just by observing: Sefira and parties didn’t go together.
“Keter, this time I think you’re really mistaken. A noble’s social ball isn’t something you just decide to throw on a whim,” Anis said.
Anis was convinced Keter didn’t grasp the rules of noble society. As such, he explained what he thought social balls were.
“A noble’s social ball is a battlefield, where money and diplomacy are the weapons. The hosts, as well as the guests, all come to show off their wealth and power, while hiding swords behind their...
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