Whereas Nick had managed to escape Oakenhallow with just a simple feast, Honeyton wouldn't be so easy to leave.

First, he still hadn't received Sir Quack's oath of loyalty. The man had all but agreed to his terms, but until he knelt and spoke the words, his mission wouldn't be complete.

Secondly, he had to attend the ball. This was not what he had in mind when he agreed to the mission, as he had hoped to get by with just a show of force if things went south. However, House Crowley, despite its uncontested hold for at least a generation due to Eugene's rank up, couldn't afford to alienate the key regional players.

If it had just been the Quack, Nick wouldn't have hesitated to leave, but many merchant families would also be present—merchants they would need in the coming years to grow their wealth and prestige—so that when the time came for Eugene to step down, their dominance wouldn't be in question.

Not that I don't believe Devon will reach Prestige. He lacks the benefit of another life's worth of memories, but he's still far ahead of almost everyone our age. However, since I don't plan to hang around much longer, this is the least I can do to set things up for him.

Putting on the elegant robe that the seamstress had just finished sewing for him, Nick admired his reflection in the mirror.

Dressed from head to toe in dark brown and black, with bordeaux embroidery on the hems, he cut a dashing figure, if he said so himself. His messy hair had even been combed—as much as that was possible—and pushed back, making his eyes pop out more.

All in all, he looked just like the young master of a powerful martial house. Not a particularly wealthy one, given the lack of jewelry, but he had refused to wear any that had been offered, simply hanging his owl figurine around his neck on a leather string.

The clothes were flawlessly tailored, and since they had been made in just hours instead of the weeks they would have taken on Earth, he felt compelled to leave a generous tip.

The old seamstress nodded in gratitude when she saw the amount he was offering, not even blinking at the clinking of silver coins. I suppose working for nobility, even minor, makes her accustomed to this much money.

After a final look, satisfied that his style made him appear older than his real age, Nick headed to the ball.

He could sense a large crowd gathering below in the grand hall. Sir Poules had made it seem like this would be a party for Honeyton's nobility, but the numbers suggested either he had opened his doors to the lower classes—which Nick seriously doubted—or wealthy merchants had somehow gotten invitations. Probably paid for them.

When he finally arrived, he took a moment to observe without being noticed. Since the ball was technically in his honor, his entrance would need to be announced, but that didn't mean he couldn't satisfy his curiosity before being swarmed.

I'm mostly curious to see if the gossip I've gathered so far has any truth to it. For a relatively small settlement, Honeyton definitely has a lot of drama.

Dashing knights sweeping damsels off their feet, merchant intrigue, spies, and even blood feuds. All of this, he'd learned during his fitting.

The seamstress definitely didn't need his input, so he'd been able to drift away, listening to all kinds of interesting conversations.

"Do you really think he'll do it? I heard he was cozying up with the Rayers," a well-dressed gentleman murmured under his breath, taking a sip of his wine.

"He has to, hasn't he? I bet he doesn't like it, but the king's word isn't something he can go against. He'll have to bide his time," a woman replied with a good deal of glee.

"He has a daughter, doesn't he? The little lord might not inherit, but if he wants to set himself up for the future, a match there might be worth pursuing." A third replied.

All of them, it seemed, were very interested in what moves Sir Quack would make now that the balance of power in the region had been upended.

"Hm, I heard the kid was good in the yard, despite being a mage. Looks like the Crowleys' reputation for being skilled with swords might not be all talk," the woman tittered, eliciting chuckles all around.

Nick felt his eyebrows rise at the sheer brazenness. Despite the air of wealth they projected, these people were not nobles. Some might be distantly related to an actual aristocrat, but they were little more than social parasites.

Stolen story; please report.

Still, even they had a place in the high society ecosystem, as much as it could exist this far from any real power anyway.

After a little more snooping, Nick decided that being any later would shift from fashionable to downright rude, and while he didn't have the best impression of Sir Quack, he wouldn't want to insult him so openly.

He slipped out of the alcove he had hidden in and took a few steps, making more noise than he usually would.

The steward, dressed in official-looking robes, immediately noticed him and brightened, gesturing for him to come. "Milord, we were just about to send someone to call you."

"Call off the search party," Nick smiled, earning a polite chuckle. He then nodded, and the man took a deep breath before throwing open the ballroom door and bellowing, "Lord Nicholas Crowley, second son of Baron Eugene Crowley, mage and warrior!"

That last addition made Nick hum in surprise. It seemed like word had really spread about his exploits. Bet they don't know it almost ended in tragedy. The only one to notice was Steven, and he didn't seem like the kind of guy to blab about it.

He should still assume Sir Quack knew. The man had left his range sometimes during the afternoon, so he hadn't been able to monitor what he knew, but despite how personally unpleasant he might have been, he'd never given Nick any reason to think he was incompetent.

Stepping into the ballroom, he was briefly surprised by the artful luminosity of the thousand lamps and candles placed on every wall and surface.

They provided plenty of light to see everyone clearly, yet created a few shaded areas where people could retreat to talk privately.

"Lord Crowley, what a pleasure to see you again!" The first man to reach him was vaguely familiar, and after racking his brain, Nick realized he'd met him once before. He'd been with the trade caravan that reached Floria a few years ago.

Back then, he'd been selling swords, and Eugene bought one off him after admiring the craftsmanship.

Judging by the golden rings on his fingers and the luxurious monster fur robe he wore, he must have done good business since then.

"Yohan, right?" Nick asked. Memories before his integration with kid Nick weren't blurry, but they took a little more effort to remember.

Fortunately, he seemed to have gotten it right, because the man lit up, "Ah, you remember me! What a blessing!"

"Yes, you sold good swords. My father told me not to settle for anything less than the quality you had in your inventory," Nick added, the memory now coming more easily.

Yohan vibrated with excitement, and Nick worried he might squeal in delight, but he got himself under control. "I am truly honored by your words. Perhaps you'll have the chance to swing by my shops tomorrow? I will have something special waiting for you."

Nick nodded, bemused. He'd wanted to leave first thing in the morning, but he figured one quick stop wouldn't be too bad.

Soon, Yohan stepped aside for the others competing for his attention. Nick encountered almost every kind of merchant and minor noble, from those who bragged about their large inventory of southern fruits to others who claimed to come from ancient lineages across the kingdom.

One thing they all had in common: they seemed to have followed Sir Quack to Honeyton after his tournament days, hoping he would create a new market for them to dominate.

They didn't say so, of course, but Nick could read between the lines.

More than one person tried to extract a promise of a visit for him, just like he did for Yohan, but Nick stayed firm in refusing them, even as they started promising gifts or introductions to fair maidens.

Eventually, the crowd dispersed, realizing he wouldn't yield to their whims and that the initial acceptance stemmed from a personal connection rather than a desire to network beyond what was necessary.

Nick eyed the center of the ballroom, where he could see Sir Quack dancing with a stunning woman dressed from head to toe in soft lavender and white.

She seemed to enjoy the dancing, though her eyes flickered around the room, taking notice of everything, from where the servants were positioned to who was talking to whom.

Her whispers to her husband also reinforced his opinion that, no matter how vapid this Lady Quack might seem, she was a shrewd socialite.

They arranged it so I have to go to them. He will need to swear his oath, of course, but by making it seem like I'm eager to receive it, they will maintain some semblance of independence in the eyes of everyone here.

Nick could feel the eyes of a hundred people on him. They murmured, speculated, and gossiped without a care, unaware that he could hear everything.

A gap had formed around him after the last merchant left with only a polite smile, and he suddenly realized he had been put in a position where he either had to go speak with someone, making it look like he was retreating without getting what he came for, or march through the empty space and interrupt the dancing couple.

It was a very subtle scheme, and if he had been an ordinary kid, he might not have recognized the intentionality behind it or fallen prey to the social pressure to stop standing around, but he wasn't, and so he didn't.

Even better, he sensed a familiar move heading his way, giving him a conversation partner while he waited for the couple to finish dancing.

Emile Dunstonburough was just as handsome as when he first met him. Maybe even more, as his detailed robe and silk doublet gave him an almost ethereal look.

He stepped beside Nick, smiling and flashing his dimples. "I believe I owe you an apology, my lord. The scene you came across on the road was truly unworthy."

Nick resisted the urge to sigh. The man was exploiting the Quacks' plan to present himself as a friendly figure. Likely, he had decided to align with the new power in the land.

The gamble Emile was taking was a risky one, as Nick could feel the crowd's attention shift onto him. The Quacks wouldn't forget this intrusion.

He was nearly tempted to ignore the power plays, but he wasn't doing this for himself. The future of House Crowley mattered more than a little discomfort.

So Nick smiled back, "Emile, I told you that it wasn't anything to be worrying about."

The man's eyes widened slightly at the unexpected familiarity, but he took it in stride, shifting to face him properly. "Still, my family's history as merchants in these lands is old and storied. I wouldn't want there to be bad blood between us."

"Is it? How long have you been traveling these routes?" Nick asked, taking the exit route Emile had set up.

"More than a century, milord. We started from the upper Sunlands after losing a trade war with a family in Alluria, and we rebuilt our networks over many decades. We were pleased to hear of House Crowley's elevation, as we know just how much your family has contributed to the frontier's safety."

"Hm, yes, it's good to hear you're still active. I'm sure my father will be interested in hearing more of this story. You should visit Floria soon," Nick replied. If Emile wanted to propose a trade contract, he would have to go through the head of the family, but Nick could at least put in a good word for him.

The merchant smiled even wider but said no more than a murmured thank you, as silence fell across the ballroom.

The Quacks were done dancing, and they were heading toward him.