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384. Courtesies and Conversations
🕑 Added 2025-05-06 14:00:10 +0000 UTCThe four of them were stopped at the entrance to the ball and announced as one: Miss Scarlet’s party. No one looked up as they descended the stairs, no more than yet another noble contingent obligated to attend the king’s balls. Ike scanned from above, but didn’t see Brightbriar anywhere—or, at least, he saw no trace of the face Brightbriar wore around his hometown. Even he had to admit that he wasn’t sure if that was Brightbriar’s true face, or just another puppet’s face that he found convenient to wear. Scar herself admitted that for all the years they’d been following Brightbriar, it wasn’t until they saw him at the king’s ball that they were sure they saw his true face… as sure as they could be, at least; sure that the king couldn’t detect this puppet, if it was one. That was all the more surety they had, but the king was the most powerful mage in this region. If he couldn’t detect the difference, none of them had any hope of detecting it.
In any case, if this body was a puppet, it was certainly a high-class one that would be painful for Brightbriar to lose. It was the consolation prize in the case that they couldn’t encounter the real Brightbriar, but it was better than nothing—according to Scar, anyways. Ike wasn’t so convinced, but he kept his thoughts to himself. There was no point bringing it up when there was nothing he or Scar could do to change it. Whether the real Brightbirar showed up or not was something only Brightbriar would know, and only Brightbriar could control. It didn’t change that this was their best chance to catch him out, and potentially follow him back to… if not his headquarters, then at least a place that was valuable to him, where they could deal a blow against him. Something told Rhys, though, that this was important enough that any base Brightbriar had would be essential to his operations. And if his guess was right, and this was Brightbriar’s ploy to create the ultimate shell for the greater being via Rosamund, then there was every possibility that today’s Brightbriar was the real Brightbriar.
Wisp beelined for the buffet, as expected. Ike wandered the floor, on the pivot for Rosamund or Brightbriar, or even Llewyn. He figured Llewyn’s green hair would make the man easy to find, but on the other hand, Llewyn was a puppet. He could change everything about his appearance if he so desired—and, in fact, he had the motivation to do so, since Ike had beaten his previous face in. More than faces, he scanned for auras and mana signatures, but the world was incredibly clogged with signatures right now. Each of the nobles had at least a Rank 1 level, if not 2, 3, or more, and each of them wore rings, necklaces, bracelets, anklets, hair pins, miscellaneous gems, and more, all with their own auras and mana signatures. Some of them wore clothes that themselves had powerful auras, and others had tattoos or even bodies that emanated powerful, high-Rank auras separate from their personal aura. It was the result of their resources and wealth, manifested in this, the king’s ball, the ultimate display of personal resources and wealth. In contrast, Ike, with his storage ring and sword, looked absolutely destitute. A few of the young female mages attending the ball gave him a once-over, but immediately rejected him when they saw how few enchanted items he carried. Ike sighed, shaking his head at himself. Rejected for lacking wealth, when he could beat a dozen of these fops at once with one hand tied behind his back. But wasn’t that the way of the world?
“You’ll never find a mate like this,” Mag mourned, sad for Ike. He shook his head. “Everyone knows that bringing impressive gifts is the first step of finding a mate. You’re not only nestless, but giftless, and to top it off, you’re barely even pretty. You’re a lost cause.”
“I have a house. It’s in a different city, but it’s a house. I’m not nestless,” Ike pointed out.
“Different city? Might as well not exist,” Mag said, shaking his head.
“On top of that, these things aren’t gifts. They’re just the mages showing off their personal wealth,” Ike explained.
Mag tilted his head. “What’s the difference?”
“A gift is something you give. They aren’t going to give anyone these things,” Ike explained.
“But when it comes to gifts for mates, the purpose is to display how many resources you can obtain for them—food, nest materials, pretty things, whatever. So how is this different? When you give her the gift, you get it back anyways once you mate. Unless it’s food, but then it’s for healthy eggs, so that’s okay.”
Ike looked at Mag. “You have a surprisingly cynical take on relationships for someone so wide-eyed and innocent.”
“Huh? What’s cynical about it? I’m just being realistic. That’s how these things work. You humans are the weird ones, pretending things have meanings other than what they do. What even is love? It’s just a meaningless abstraction of the urge to mate. Things get a lot easier once everyone understands that mating is mating, and that’s that.” Mag crossed his arms and nodded firmly.
Ike looked at him, then chuckled. “You’re a funny little bird, you know that?”
“I’m not funny. I’m smart.”
A wave of familiar aura rushed over Ike as he opened his mouth. He shut it and whirled, facing the steps instead. The double doors opened, and a hush fell over the crowd, as if everyone had been waiting for this moment, not merely Ike.
A familiar face in rosy red robes appeared, her hair tied up, pinned with a thousand tiny roses. Rosamund smiled and turned back, looking over her shoulder into the darkness.
There was a pause, and then he appeared. The man who had ruled his hometown, who had crafted so many puppets, who had become the bane of his existence, who had apparently been around since the greater being, only to watch his downfall and mourn it ever since. Brightbriar stepped out into the light, a smile on his face, and raised his hand to the crowd.
Ike’s hand tensed. There he was. There he was!
