Chapter 941 - Newcomers

POV Dame Vesta

I am a Dame, and my name is Vesta. Knighted by the Grandmaster of my order, just as my mother was, and her mother before her. Our bloodline is older than the roots of the Crescent Tree itself, the very tree planted by the slave-turned-King whose glorious dynasty leads us to this day.

Since birth, I was trained in the ways of the court, destined to bond within the royal bloodline. This was not merely due to my bloodline, but due to my affinity for the flames and my talent. I was born to wield fire, and meant to share that warmth with my bond, my contractor. That is how Duchess Fiona and I found one another, forging a sacred pact that shall endure until the very end of our days.

Everything I trained for, every plan laid out for my future, was so rudely interrupted. Hijacked by this absurd System that saw fit to kidnap us from our rightful places and thrust us into this undignified wilderness. Though I suppose I must concede that it has unlocked power within me that even I had not dared to dream of.

Obviously, as her Dame, I am bound to protect Her Grace, and I shall do so with unmatched elegance. We will use this new strength. We will continue to serve His Majesty, ensuring the kingdom remains stable even as our entire planet undergoes an awakening. The realm will continue to prosper.

That is our burden. We are the protectors. The keepers of order. The unwashed masses may never comprehend the sheer scale of our sacrifices, nor could their simple minds grasp the anarchy that would come without us keeping order.

And yes, I do look down on the common folk. How could I not?

They are terribly rough around the edges, woefully uneducated, and devoid of discipline. But that extends to the Beyond attendees as well. Just yesterday, a man dared to address me without a proper greeting, simply because he wanted to speak to Her Grace. I should have incinerated his sorry being right then and there. Just a light warning. Duchess Fiona told me to be gentle, but one must maintain basic societal standards.

I sit proudly upon Duchess Fiona’s shoulder as we enter the party meant to welcome new Handlers in the Beyond. I feel my delicate frilly gills flare in disdain at the vulgar gathering before us.

I am Dame Vesta! Knighted by the Grandmaster of my order, a pure-blooded flame elemental axolotl whose noble line spans centuries! To think that a creature of my undeniable elegance must witness such a tragic lack of etiquette. After hearing so much about Her Grace, Pathfinder Thane, I expected better.

Still, I adjust my posture, puffing out my chest as Fiona glides through the crowded hall. My contractor is, as always, the picture of born royalty. Some uninformed people might have bad things to say about her, and I might have noticed a few places where she is lacking, but my bond has more nobility and grace at the tip of her finger than some people have in the entirety of their sorry bloodlines.

"Your Grace," I say in my most refined voice to her, pointing toward a barbarian who is currently eating a roasted chicken leg with his bare hands. "Look at that absolute savage. Not even a rudimentary understanding of basic table manners."

Fiona doesn't even turn her head. She merely takes a slow, delicate sip of her wine. "Let them chew, Vesta," she murmurs smoothly. "It is harmless."

"Harmless? Your Grace is far too saintly!" I huff.

A pretty young human blonde girl dressed in clothes far too green, far too vibrant, and far too ugly for this setting notices us and stumbles over, grinning broadly like a farm animal. "Whoa, cool pet! Is that a gray lizard on your shoulder?"

A PET?! A GRAY LIZARD?!

Before I can lecture the youngling, Fiona just speaks to her briefly, quickly disposing of her and sending her in the direction of a spider woman nearby.

I feel my gentle heart palpitating at the insult, but then, through the crowd, I see him, standing on the balcony where he rests against the railing.

A memory of his arrogant gaze flashes behind my eyes. I remember his astounding lack of decorum, the way he speaks, and the way he dresses. The somewhat acceptable clothes he is wearing now will not erase that image of him.

I also remember his behavior akin to a vulgar mercenary, and those eyes once again, that gaze and smile as he threatened to touch my noble body. That barbarian dreaming of a noble Dame such as me.

My heart palpitates once again, still angry due to being called a gray lizard, most surely.

Yet, despite all of that, that man is undeniably powerful. I have heard demons speak about him as if he were an older sibling they admire. These most vile creatures that are demons did that and showed such great respect to him. I too felt that flame he kept so masterfully contained in his feeble body.

In a way, don't I pity him a little? That slim, frail body barely carrying itself by sheer willpower. A sickly man with a distant, lonely gaze, bound to a duty I can't understand.

Our worlds are so different. I am a Dame, a noble being, and bound to the Duchess. And he is a bum. Barbarian. Commoner. Disgraceful and daring.

Oh, so daring.

He must sense my thoughts, my gaze, as he shifts, and even though the entirety of the room is filled with people, he finds me in the crowd. In that moment, it is as if only the two of us exist.

That smile. That dangerous smile climbs onto his lips again, just a tiny one, suppressed by the memories of his surely tragic past.

Yes, a powerful and lonely man. So crude, yet in that roughness, a spark of nobility glints.

I am a Dame, I remind myself, and he is but a commoner from a very different world. Fiona is a good contractor whom I love dearly. She does not deserve a bond with such traitorous thoughts as mine.

When he starts walking, my tiny heart continues to beat, and my flames react to my emotions. But as he comes closer, I remind myself that I am Dame Vesta, and I would rather die than fall to the level of lowly bonds I used to make fun of, and who never learned to control their emotions.

“Hello Nathaniel!” Her Grace entirely breaks decorum. According to custom, it is he who should give a greeting first, even though he currently carries much greater power, and I remind my bond of that by scratching her neck.

“Hello, Fiona,” that barbarian greets back, so rudely and obviously not caring at all about the rules.

His eyes are slightly different. There is something about his pupils. At a certain angle and in a certain light, they have a blue glint to them. Almost like a wild animal’s eyes when you shine a light at them in darkness.

“And hello, Dame Vesta,” he adds softly, having eyes only for me, and reaching out his index finger with the tip pointed at the ceiling.

How blasphemous. How barbaric.

How forbidden.

I hesitatingly reach out with my front leg and place it on his finger so that he gently covers it with his thumb and caresses my smooth, noble paw.

With a hmph, I look to the side, still catching a sight of that arrogant gaze.

That barbarian, that man who is no better than a mercenary bum, is still slightly smiling.

POV Nathaniel

The forbidden salamander has been defeated, if it can even be called that. The tiny twerp of an axolotl clearly hates me, with her frills moving in anger, and she even continues to refuse to look at me properly.

But I have successfully exploited this noble setting, expecting that she would feel ashamed if she refused to return my greeting.

Sure, it is cheap, but who am I to argue with the results?

After the greeting, I spend a few minutes talking with Fiona, after later, I find Victoria, who is there as well. Then I head back to the balcony.

On my way there, a man introducing himself as Quintan greets me. Due to my trait evolution, my head still spins and my eyes hurt, as they are extremely sensitive to the point that I want to shut them. Like a drunkard waking up and having to wear sunglasses because he cannot handle the bright light.

Quintan says something about mana, asking me how I balance it with my stats, and how I stop all leakage so masterfully and prevent mana radiation. He brags about himself too and mentions ending the tutorial soon, declaring himself my rival and wanting to strive to beat me, even though I am "younger" when it comes to the time I have been awakened to the System.

I do not mind it that much, actually. He does not seem to be that bad or mean it in that arrogant way, although his comparing himself to me and setting plans to beat me does annoy me. But it seems he is just weird like that and completely unaware of how some people can take it.

But then for a second time he looks in the same direction, and his gaze lingers there. Across the room, at my sister. Specifically at her backside.

When excusing myself and heading back to the balcony, I offer my hand, and he shakes it excitedly again. Then I take all his mana through [Jüdrajil] and leave him standing there.

The party itself is full of what I guess to be Handlers, some older locals that helped to found the Megacity, disciples, and almost all the current S ranks too. Yes, even the poor trio that participated in the Beyond event and who were ready to face the Empyrean heir, who then ran away to kill me.

I do not think they like me that much.

Once in a while there is a Handler or two passing by, and a surprising amount of powerful ones seem to recognize me, with some thanking me for making them shards or for losing them. Most of the time, it does not even look like they care about the won or lost shards, it is more about the entertainment, I think.

I even get saved by a demon man with glasses from a guy calling me Mana Daddy with a flat expression on his face. The demon then tells me not to get myself involved with the newcomers, although he acts all high and mysterious, leaving immediately after that.

Handlers are weird.

Maybe it's my personality and the 'not in the mood to socialize' vibe I radiate, or maybe people just get bored of me, but I eventually get left alone. I take over a nice spot on the balcony, with only the waiter breaking the quiet once in a while.

Neither Ruby nor Kindness are anywhere to be seen, and Thane appears only to give a thirty second long speech, leaving right afterwards. Even though I never spoke to her, and I saw her only twice or thrice, I am liking her more and more.

But honestly, only my curiosity keeps me here, when I should be getting used to my new eyes, about which I have many questions for my not so responsible Handler.

So I am relieved when new Handlers finally start to appear. Not all at once, nor do they majestically pass through the portal or anything. They just walk out of some room where they were hidden away until now. Maybe they were having a secret party, or maybe they had them sign a very predatory contract. Who knows.

Now they begin to appear at the party, and without any introduction, they just mix in with the people and speak with the ones they might know. The only thing separating them from the others is a finger-long branch with three leaves that they have somewhere on them.

Some place it in a chest pocket, others put it in their hair, and there is even a demon chewing on his.

The Replica of the Last Elf places his behind one of his pointy ears, where it strikingly contrasts with his long orange hair.

He looks the same as the other replicas I met. A man in his mid twenties, with an angelic face and piercingly blue eyes. He remains as unsettling as then, like something is very wrong with his perfect, otherworldly beauty. The last time I thought that he reminded me of a divine being sculpted without a single flaw, sent down to us people not to save us, but to destroy us. And the Last Elf is still exactly like that to me.

Even surrounded by all these people, and after likely pissing off multiple Rulers and while having an eradication quest on him, he shows not the smallest speck of fear.

Ruby speaking of his immunity and her being unable to kill him, even though there is clearly a system-wide eradication quest on him, feels so off now. So I wonder if it just fits with her plans and she is not even trying, or if the title of Ruler also ties to you following the rules. Although that might be a silly thought.

“Mister Gwyn,” I hear a voice from my right, and I look there to find another figure resting against the railing.

He also bears the branch with three green leaves, although his is elegantly poking from the chest pocket of his suit.

“Since we both possess a related ocular trait, I wonder if you would share its new name with me. Please do not insult my intelligence by attempting to lie, I recognize the signs of an evolution all too clearly,” he says.

And as I look at him, he looks back from behind his round, silver-rimmed glasses, not caring about the Last Elf in the least.