'Bloody fucking hell' I muttered as I walked through the mansion hall, my head burstin with stress and irritation , I need a damn drink...
''What's the problem now?'' Baalkaorth sighed inside my mind
"I would have encountered fewer little shits if I took up sewage cleaning in the city. What the hell is wrong with the noble class of this kingdom? I've barely met six sons of different nobles, and they all behaved the same – smiling and treating me as if they were graciously making me a favor coming here. Why aren't there more people like me?" I ranted, voicing my discontent to the devil within.
"Let's fucking hope not," he muttered in response.
"What was that?" I asked, as I sensed an undertone in Baalkaorth's words, something I did not quite like from my lap dog
"Come on, you're the last thing people should use as a model. You're a fucking alcoholic. Deny it as much as you want, but you enjoy scaring people and oppressing them. Don't deny it; I live 24 hours with you. I know what you feel. And fucking hell, you swindled a goddamn entity that lived for thousands of years. If there were even five more people like you, the world would be a chaotic pit of darkness."
I remained silent, my mind a battlefield of conflicting emotions. The devil's words echoed through my thoughts, leaving me questioning myself. Was there anything wrong with me?
Nah....I'm good.
"The fuck would you know? You're a devil; you fucking live off human pain," I retorted, dismissing Baalkaorth's accusations.
He chuckled, the sinister sound reverberating in my mind. "True, I thrive on chaos and suffering, but at least I don't pretend to be something I'm not. You, on the other hand, dance on the edge of self-deception. You crave the very darkness you claim to detest."
I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to engage in this internal debate. Baalkaorth knew just how to get under my skin, and I refused to let him have the satisfaction.
"Whatever, devil. I've got a meeting with those noble bastards to plan the raid. Save your philosophical bullshit for someone who cares," I muttered under my breath, attempting to push the unsettling thoughts aside.
As I entered the room prepared for the feast, a heavy sigh escaped my lips. The prospect of spending more time with those noble idiots I couldn't stand filled me with a sense of dread. The count had arranged a lavish setting, complete with elegant decorations and a long dining table adorned with fine silverware.
Being the first to arrive, I wandered through the room, observing the intricate details of the furnishings. It was a unspoken rule that the owners of the mansion would have to play the hosts and welcome the arriving guests, an obligation I found irritant but unavoidable.
As I entered the room, my father spotted me and walked over, patting me on the shoulder. He inquired if everything went well, and I couldn't help but express my reluctance.
"Can I just leave this one out? I don't think I can stand our guests for any longer," I muttered.
Father chuckled, understanding my sentiments, but then dropped a bombshell. "After the feast, Victor would like to speak with you."
The hell does that scarred bastard want from me?
"What does he want?" I grumbled, and in response, my father gave me a playful slap on the back of the head.
"He is the commander, Favian. Use proper honorifics," he chided
"He wants to ask you a few things about the dungeon," Father explained with a smirk, likely aware of my opinion on the matter
"Why can't he just send a letter or something before he arrived here?" I complained.
"Sometimes, face-to-face discussions are more effective, especially when it concerns matters of importance," Father replied sagely. "Besides, he's the commander of the royal army, and it's not every day you get a chance to share your insights with someone of his stature."
I sighed, realizing that I couldn't escape this encounter. "Fine, I'll endure it. But make sure there's plenty of wine at the feast. I will need it if you don't want to clean somebody's dead body in there ."
Father laughed, understanding my coping mechanisms. "Don't worry, Favian. We'll make sure you have your fill of wine tonight."
I wonder what my fill actually is.
----------------------
As the feast progressed, more and more nobles joined the gathering. They followed the usual routine—approaching me for greetings before finding their seats. Each encounter felt like a rehearsed performance, smiles plastered on their faces, and the customary exchange of pleasantries.
A load of tacky bitches....
I endured the formalities, responding to their greetings with a practiced smile and nod. The air in the room buzzed with polite conversations, laughter, and the clinking of utensils against fine silverware. The feast was well underway, and the atmosphere was a mixture of social etiquette and hidden agendas, that I absolutely wanted no part in.
I focused on my food and tried to drown out the meaningless chatter while drowning myself in wine, something that the guests probably noticed , as when they came for some conversation, I kindly shut them down. I wonder how kindly I did that, though.
Nonetheless, the dishes were exquisite...at least there was something good about all of this.
During the feast, no matter how much I ate and drank , I couldn't escape the impending meeting with Victor, and my mind always returned to such line of thought . I wondered what questions he had about the dungeon and how much information I was willing to share.
The people I hated most after all where those that asked too much question....
Having already had enough after the sixth idiot, whose name I don't even remember , that approached me , I grabbed a bottle of wine and made my way towards the window. With a quick twist, I allowed the chill wind to sweep into the room, offering a momentary reprieve from the stifling atmosphere of the feast. The cold breeze ruffled my hair and carried with it a fleeting sense of liberation.
Closing the window after entering , I turned my attention to the scene outside. The moon hung in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the surroundings. The estate grounds, normally peaceful, were now adorned with the presence of nobles and their entourages, carriages all over the garden , cluttering it.
Taking a long swig from the bottle, I leaned against the windowsill. The alcohol burned its way down my throat, momentarily drowning out the noise from the feast. For a brief moment, I found solace in the quiet observation of the night, shielding myself from the political intricacies and forced false friendships unfolding in the hall.
Just as I started to enjoy the temporary escape, someone decided it was a fantastic idea to disturb me. The murmur of conversations grew louder, and when I turned around, I saw the princess opening the balcony, attempting to join me.
'Holy shit, what does a man have to do to be alone with his drink.... I swear if she continues to bother me like this .... fuck the crisis, I will let her to rot and to hell with the consequences ' I angrily thought as I gave another swing of the liquid.