Sword, Magic and Academic Society

"It's too great of an honor for someone of Your Excellency's status to guide a rustic noble like me. Please don't waste your breath over someone like me, I’ll just grab some food and strain my ears to listen to one or two gossip like usual. Your Excellency should take his noble seat, I would be just besmirching your honor."

Viscount Rovenne had just finished the procedures at the reception and handed over the ornamental saber that he had been carrying to the checkroom when Count Abenil showed his intention to be their guide.

The noble gatherings were typically organized in buffet-style parties. It would start with striking up conversations with acquaintance nobles, or nobles that they want to form ties with. Then they would receive words of greeting from the Marquis who would then inform them of important affairs, after which, it would be a greeting round toward the high-ranking nobles where they would put forward their petitions if they had any.

While there was no seat for riff-raffs like Viscount or lower-ranked nobles, there were, however, seating arrangements for the Marquis Dragoon family and their eight retainers families— basically the counts.

"Hmph. You don't need to tell me the obvious, you moron! However, My Lord has commanded me to do so with the preface— 'Rovenne family are some no-names on whom we lack any kind of information so far. The head of the family is another particular one who has been rumored as a carefree sort of person, and a failure as a noble who has no interest in the ups and downs of his noble family. However, any further lack of intel even when everything has already been dug out is intolerable. I have no recollection of greeting him in all these gatherings, and there is a chance he might go under the radar in tonight's greeting as well if left on his own accord, so I hereby entrust you to guide him.’... And so!

I had been hoping that there's no way a person would be so insolent but you're telling me you're going to grab some food and just listen to one or two stories? What makes you think you’ll have any time to take part in the buffet, moron! Good grief, you truly are a troublemaker. And how long do you intend to keep that carefree mask?!"

So asked the frustrated Count Abenil. However, for Bellwood, his ‘I don't care about complicated stuff’ attitude was his nature. There was no way for him to discard the thing that made him who he was.

"Whaaat!? There's no time for the buffer!?... Actually, it's as My Lord has said. A person of my caliber is truly no better than an ordinary folk, a stain on a refined aristocrat's image. All the matter about the Academy has been left to the person himself as well. I barely have any information that's worth the time of the Esteemed Lord or Your Excellent. I’ll follow as usual order to greet My lord, so please excuse m—"

The Count grabbed Bell’s collar before he could finish his words.

"You didn't hear me? I'm saying enough with that goody-two-shoes mask. It's clear as day you’ll disappear among the other attendees without doing anything if I leave your side, moron. Or what, are you saying you want My Lord to actually wait to greet you?"

"Oh dear, it's hardly such an exaggeration… Besides, I’ve been saying that there's no noteworthy story in my belly to present to My Lord since a while ago. Often people are no more than fleeting, gradually buried under other rumors.

Anyway, I haven't eaten anything since last night, so my stomach can hardly endure. So, it would be great if Your Excellency would let me have my fill, or I might truly faint anytime soon. How about some bread at least? Eating the trending bread of the Dragoon territory has always been one of the things that I look forward to in this gathering..."

For him, the Marquis was someone at the zenith with whom his path had never crossed, and letting it cross now would simply be another headache for him. So Bellwood resisted Count Abenil's attempt to take him in front of the Dragoon Family.

"You should know when to give up, Bell. Don't trouble Your Excellency with your childish tantrum. If you're so hungry, then take them."

Celia, unable to ignore her husband's whining anymore, handed him a portable emergency ration tablet (Plain Flavor).

"......But my bread—"

"Say that again?"

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Bellwood gave up resisting and took the portable ration tablet.

◆◆◆

"Oh, if it isn't Bellwood. It's truly been a while, huh? I think the last time we had a face-to-face talk was when you came to request for tax exemption following the famine outbreak in your territory a decade ago, isn't it? But well, after that your territory management has been going smoothly. Now no need to stand, feel free to take this seat."

In the end, Viscount Bellwood Rovenne was dragged around by Count Abenil by his collar and was brought to a rectangle tablet of about 30 people capacity placed at the furthest location in the venue.

Marquis Meria Dragoon, who had been happily chatting with the others, stood up from the so-called seat of honor resembling a somewhat Japan-ish style arrangement when she confirmed the presence of Bellwood and urged him to sit on the seat adjacent to her— the seat which should have been normally reserved for one's companion.

This warm welcome was met with the bewildered gazes of the other high-ranking nobles who had been eyeing the development.

While the Marquis' husband had passed away at an earlier age, and the seat had thus been empty, the time when the head would get up from their seat and recommend the adjacent seat was when the said person was of the same rank— like the head of another Marquis family or the spouse of the family head.

While it was no news that the Marquis had conferred the family's title of 'Von' to her granddaughter Fey, Meria was still the head of the Marquis family, and receiving such an honor from a person of that standing, needless to say, caused even the carefree Bellwood to break into cold sweat.

He knew there was no way a person of her standing would ever so slightly remember the meeting of a few words from the same gathering 10 years ago, while the request itself was left indirectly mixed in with others. It was clear that the person before him had dug up all his past circumstances just to have a fluent conversation with him.

"It has indeed been a while, My Lord. No words can describe how grateful I am to receive that concession over my plea. It's all the magnanimity of My Lord that the fiefdom is continuing its normal life. If I may, I don't think I'm befitting to sit next to My Lord. It's already an honor of my lifetime to attend the same table as My Lord, and any more would sully thy name."

‘At the very least, let me sit on the furthest seat where I can pretend to be air, and if possible, I might get to taste the bread as well…’ Those were his thoughts as he pleaded.

"My, don't be so stiff on formalities, Bellwood. We are, after all, the immediate followers of His Majesty before anything, so who sully who is trifle, no? In fact, it has been my thought to have a direct conversation with you today. If we don't do it now, it will be even more impossible once the gathering progresses and it's time for the petitions. This is the only time we can freely discuss. Mistress Rovenne too, have a seat nearby. Count and Countess Abenil, do sit here."

Having been urged again, rejecting again would undoubtedly be too impolite. Ultimately, and reluctantly, he took the pointed seat.

With the appointment itself done by the 'Empress' Meria Dragoon, the head of the Marquis family for around 30 years, none of the people overlooking the situation — who were members of the eight Count families managing various aspects of the Dragoon controlled operations, or the heads of the branch families assuming significant posts — could raise a voice of objection.

As a matter of fact, the seats on the table were normally limited to the heads of the family only. A prime example was the sporadic low-ranking nobles sitting at the end of the table, seemingly the parents of this year's Royal Academy student qualifiers. They all were the heads of their families.

So to have Celia, and then Countess Abenil across from her was an unconventional arrangement that Meria Dragoon had approved of.

"Now then... pff. It's a matter of honor, you know, so it would be good if you didn’t have that bitter expression of yours. My maiden heart is going to be hurt at this rate. And so, why did Nix drag Bellwood around by his scruff? It was quite a creative way to make an appearance if I may so...

Hmm, you did ruffle a storm in your outrage by saying 'I'll break the mask of that imposter and show the world your true color' earlier... Could it be that you intimidated him so much that his legs gave up?"

Meria asked while grinning. On the other hand, Count Abenil had a vexed expression on his face.

“If it was only just that… I tried to intimidate him by showing him some spearmanship as soon as he got off his carriage, but that ended in failure, and do you know what he said? He prattled on some nonsense like ‘Ah, I'm so hungry. I want to eat the Dragoon territory's bread’, and he also said ‘Listening to conversations while eating is one of the main attractions in these gatherings.’

He would have disappeared among the crowd if I hadn't kept a watch over him, so I basically had to bring him by his collar.”

The table was immediately engulfed in the murmurs of the other attendees.

“He faced the intimating attack from that Count Abenil and all he complained about was being hungry? Is he missing some screws on his head?”

“Huh, but look at his face. It's as if he has been made to swallow a bitter pill even though My Lord personally asked him to sit next to her. What kind of nerves of steel does he have…”

“Why in the world does a son of a dolt like him have to qualify for Class A of the Royal Academy? Don't tell me the rumored cheating allegation is true…”

Meria hardly appeared fazed by Count Abenil’s recounting of the situation and asked Bell,

“I see. Speaking of which, you did request the increase of the research funds of the research to increase the yield of wheat following the year of famine. Next year will mark the 10th year of the research, so how is it going?”

Bellwood’s expression clouded in more than just one way. This research was the government-funded work that he couldn't go silent over.

The question was if this was something merely asked out of curiosity following Allen's entrance to Class A. The Rovenne family was going to be investigated either way, so it wasn’t unexpected. But the next problem, however—

“Haa, the yield in itself is increasing by 3% every year compared to the previous one, however, we do have some problems at hand.”

“Oh? What might it be?”

“We have successfully managed to increase the wheat’s resistance against mana blister, the main culprit behind the famine. However, it releases an explosion of smell when baking bread, the absolute essential for bread making… So it's a result I can't convey proudly.”

Hearing Bell's words, a crooked-nose man sitting at the middle section of the table burst out in laughter.

“Haha, you truly are a family riding on the rumor talk of the Royal Capital as well!

No, I'm completely amazed. Going with your estimation, doesn't that increase the yield of wheat by 30%? Wheat is already one of the long-standing troubles plaguing the Dragoon territories which has few plains and relies on imports to sustain itself. And what you're saying is that the wheat from your research even gained resistance to the very disease affecting the southern Dragoon territories for ages, all in exchange for some explosion of baked smell?

Give me a break for real. I bet whoever claimed that statistic must have mistaken the grace of fine weather with the research, just what you would expect from a forsaken place. Oh wait, or maybe you're intentionally misreporting just so you can squeeze more funds from My Lord, you're not, right!?”

The fierce display put Bellwood on a hard spot, swallowing the words he was about to speak, and instead wondered how he should explain the situation.

Meanwhile, his wife next to him was quietly smiling (raging), her hands and face pale.

E/N - Well, I was wondering why we don’t see any effects of Allen getting into Class A on his family. Now we know. And I sense face-slapping in the next chapter.