Chương 49: Chapter 1.49: Noblesse Oblige

Favius woke with a yawn and stretched, ensconced in the fine linen sheets. He opened his eyes, and a jolt of panic ran through him. This... this room. He looked to the door, but Brutus wasn't sitting there. It was the room. The same one in which he had woken up the night after Marcus had ordered his biological parents to kill themselves. Favius took a few deep breaths, focusing his pneuma on calming himself. That's okay. I'm no longer... That's behind me... And Marcus... Favius shook himself as he got out of bed.

He moved over to a wardrobe and instinctively began searching for a loincloth, then froze with a chagrined smile. No, I'm not working out with Brutus today. He stared at the travel clothes, but before he could walk towards them, somebody knocked on the door.

"Young master?" He heard Tiro's familiar voice. Favius frowned. Didn't see him on the road. He must have ridden in one of the other carriages. Or maybe—"Come in," he called. The slave entered the room, a gorgeous piece of clothing wrapped over his arm.

"Young master, I have prepared your dress. I assume you want to try it on before the party."

"Why?" Favius ventured. Tiro gave him a tight-lipped smile.

"Because at the moment the tailor is present in the estate and would be able to alter your clothes." Favius nodded and took the robes. They were made from an incredibly rich red and yellow fabric embroidered with interwoven golden and copper threads that somehow seemed more lustrous, more real, than should have been possible. He lost himself in the colors and patterns while Tiro, after walking over to the wardrobe and picking out a simpler robe, smiled at him.

"It's always a pleasure to be able to see enchanted clothing, is it not, young master?" Favius's breath caught.

"Enchanted," he murmured and ran his hands over the glittering metal embroidery. I've seen Brutus's axe. But this... He laughed. Well, of course mages are going to produce luxury clothing for the rich. He put on the robes, and soon they found themselves in a large hall where a tailor was fussing over his sisters.

Despite poking at them and having his assistants make adjustments to their dresses for almost half an hour, the reticent thin man hadn't given Favius anything but monosyllabic answers despite remaining polite. Favius gave up, and soon Brutus found them. The day flew by with meals and meditations, and as the afternoon came, they again put on their formal robes. Caliga leaned in and whispered into Favius's ear.

"I found the adamantite shard in my clothing. It's really thin." She tapped a region of his robes a hand span behind his neck, and Favius ran his hand there and felt something that was oddly like a sheet of hard yet flexible plastic. He grabbed the crimson robe and pulled it around, trying to get a look at it.

"Favius, stop playing with the robes. You shan't break the enchantment." Marcus entered the room dressed in a flaming red robe with a few purple accents. Brutus chuckled.

"What, are you afraid that your son has ideas about performing experiments on Lithii enchantments?" Marcus scrunched up his nose and looked over the children.

"I need you all to take this seriously, and appearing in torn-up robes is utterly unacceptable." Favius swallowed. This is so frustrating. I'm given a magical item and I can't figure out anything about it except that it looks shiny. He ran his hands over the silk and shook his head. Soon they settled into the carriage, which had been decorated with pine branches and white mistletoe. In the fading light of late afternoon under a clear blue sky, they set out into the streets of Cindrath.

The cobblestones were slick with trampled gray snow. The red brick of the buildings stood out starkly against it and appeared oddly resistant to any kind of snow. But unlike the wooden upper stories, the shingled roofs were fully covered. Soon they came by a market square in the shadow of an aqueduct, and Favius noted broad stalls and people leaving with sacks and bundles of firewood.

"What's that?" he questioned. Marcus looked over. Several passersby slowed, inclining their heads at the clearly important man looking out of the carriage curtains.

"Oh, it is tradition that food and firewood are provided in winter by those of means and the Magisterium." Marcus stroked his chin and looked over the children. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Maybe next year I'll have Serran educate you on the practicalities of charity."

"But why do we do it? Why spend money on poor people?" said Urania, her tone hesitant. Favius tilted his head to the side. Is my sister really a young snobbish noble who questions the necessity of welfare? Oh my God. He bit his tongue. No, gods. Marcus gave her a stern look.

"Charity is not a waste. It is, in fact, a duty. We, as their betters, have an obligation to take care of those who are beneath us." Brutus hummed his agreement. Favius briefly noted the bodyguard's clothing. Unlike their fiery elaborate tunics, the warrior had, for the first time since Favius had come to this world, dropped his cuirass. Instead, he wore darkly crimson leathers and furs with black accents. Brutus noticed the assessing look. He grinned as if challenging the kids to ask a question.

Marcus snorted and turned his head to the side while his protector engaged in a staring contest with Favius's sisters. That man gets a perverse pleasure out of withholding information. Whatever. He again studied the Magisterium clerks handing out the goods to the commoners. I never really thought about it, but I am lucky that I was born into high nobility. There are many worse fates in this world.

Could have appeared here as a child slave in a salt mine or— He looked over at his grinning sisters, and a bitter taste welled up in his mouth. In a much worse situation. Before his thoughts could turn much darker, Caliga spoke.

"Why are you not wearing your armor, Brutus?" she said, her tone one of offended curiosity.

"Why would I need my armor?" Caliga looked between her teacher and father.

"What if there is a fight?"

"There won't be any fights," said Marcus sternly. But Brutus flashed her a wide grin.

"Oh, I'm not wearing my armor to be ready for fights. I've merely gotten used to it and enjoy how it feels. I am no less lethal without my armor." He tapped the axe beside him, and Marcus's lips tightened, yet the senator remained silent. Soon they re-entered the noble district and drove the carriage through the gates of an estate. It was parked among dozens of others in the courtyard, and they were greeted by an attendant.

While other slaves took care of the horses, they and their entourage of a dozen attendants, guards, and servants entered the main estate. A few of them were, Favius noted with satisfaction, carrying the boxes he had had Brutus and Serran smuggle onto the convoy. He exchanged a knowing look with Brutus, and both of them nodded as they followed Marcus into the estate's garden. Statues of white marble were framed by wreaths of pine.

What gave Favius pause were familiar yet somehow fuzzy and indistinct circles around six different plants that were rich with flowers or fruit despite the season. He sniffed, and the familiar spicy ozone scent that he had experienced in the forest hit his nose.

"Six of them," murmured Urania. But Brutus snorted.

"The height of Lireni ostentation. Maintaining those likely takes an Alticultor Agrarium. Such a waste of spiritual materials."

"Brutus, be civil," Marcus said without turning around. Favius shook his head. I thought I was wealthy, but this estate... He absentmindedly rubbed his neck where the oddly flexible sheet of magical material sat against his skin. But for now there are important people to meet. He looked one final time over the statues and spiritual herbs. People who are willing to use cultivation resources as garden decorations.

As they closed in on the main estate, a towering building of white and red stone at least three stories high, its entrance framed with copper braziers, Urania spoke up.

"So Father, why are we the only guests who are coming now?" The senator ran his hand over a purple accent on his robe and chuckled.

"We are the main attraction of this party, thus we are practically obliged to be fashionably late."

"So as not to rob anyone of the opportunity to stare and gawk at us," mumbled Brutus. Favius tightened his lips, but Marcus simply sniffed in amusement. At the entrance, two attendants in cloaks of fox fur waited for them. One of them exchanged a few words with Marcus before running ahead. Marcus turned to the children.

"Ready yourselves, and try not to act overly impressed by what you are about to see." He looked at Brutus, his eyes lingering on the axe the man was still casually carrying by his side.

"Brother, may I ask you to sit out the party with the other retainers? I am sure some good vintage can be found alongside interesting gossip." The Rhexioni cultivator stroked his beard and looked at Favius, slightly tilting his head from side to side. Favius narrowed his eyes. I'm getting isolated from him in a dangerous environment. Then again, Marcus seems to have been warming up to me. He met Marcus's gaze, and the man nodded at him encouragingly.

"Well, if Brutus thinks it's safe..." Favius ventured. Brutus hesitated for a moment.

"That's not a simple question, but..." Marcus looked at him.

"You have my word they shall not be harmed." Something passed between the two of them, and Brutus nodded.

"Very well. I shall not join the main party unless something happens to Favius." Marcus smiled broadly, and another attendant appeared, leading Brutus off to a side entrance.

"Thank you. I will remember this," said the senator to the man's back. Brutus did not reply. The fox-fur-clad attendant returned and inclined his head to Marcus.

"The Lady Orestara Marinus is ready to receive you." Marcus straightened, and a smile played over his lips.

"Follow me, children." They walked up the steps, and Favius absently noted that they were made of red and white stone in a striped pattern. They walked down a corridor, and a bronze-embossed door decorated with carvings of domestic life was opened by two guards. The first thing that hit Favius was the heat. Clawing, scorching, utterly alien in the middle of winter. The rooms of Marcus's estate had been kept at a pleasant temperature, yet this... this was the heat of high summer.

They took several steps into the room, lining up behind Marcus. Urania took in a sharp breath while Caliga bore the affair stoically. Favius quickly assessed the room. It was large, multi-storied. At its center was a garden in full bloom, and the smell told him that a few of its plants were spiritual herbs. Hundreds of guests bustled about, lounging on couches while attendants delivered foods from buffet-laden tables to them.

The clothing was an exquisite riot of color and elegance, yet the vibrancy of enchanted cloth clearly indicated the most important people, the nuclei of the social groups that were gossiping and politicking in equal parts. A guard wearing silvered armor of the Lireni style slammed a ceremonial rod tipped on both ends with shimmering arcane steel onto the floor. He called out into the festivities, and somehow his voice cut through the murmur of conversations like a blade through butter.

"Marcus Ovinius Loran, Senator-Cindrathii. His heir, Favius Ovinius Loran—" The man hesitated for a moment until Marcus shifted his gaze to him.

"—Cultor Bellator, and his daughters, Caliga Ovinia Loran, Cultor Bellator, as well as Urania Ovinia Loran, Cultor Mentis." Hundreds of eyes turned on them. Their gazes were as impeccable as the eyes of the well-dressed, almost human statues looming over the room on all sides. Favius couldn't breathe. An almost physical force rich with the sizzling of cultivator auras settled onto him, brushed against him. Not hostilely, just— He shook himself.

So this is what it feels like if a hundred cultivators are evaluating you. He swallowed and steeled his resolve, meeting the gazes one by one. Some hostile. Some curious. Others astonished or neutral. He forced himself to smile and readied himself for battle.