The private quarter of the Baron of Luxeny was lavish in a way that made Blorbo feel like he was going to start shedding coins just from standing there. The walls were lined with silk tapestries embroidered in gold, the chandeliers glowed with soft magic, and the air itself smelled like aged wine and delicate perfume, mixed together. In other words, like swine sweat.
Blorbo briefly wondered if leaving Lena back there for the investigator to drill her was a good idea. Not like I had a choice. My legs—her husband—decided to leave her.
Rob put him down against the wall in the corridor, looking around to see where best to leave Blorbo. He happened to be opposite a cuckoo clock, and the clock read: 19:18.
Then, a figure stepped into their path, forcing Rob to halt.
The man’s clothing practically screamed I have never worked a day in my life. He wore a long, velvet coat in a deep shade of midnight blue, lined with silver embroidery in the shape of curling ivy. Beneath it, a high-collared, ruffled shirt of fine white silk peeked out, fastened at the neck with a sapphire brooch that caught the light like a trapped star. His gloves, pure white and pristine, were the kind that signalled that the closest he was to anything laborsome was the cork of a wine bottle.
His gaze slid over Rob like one might inspect a stain on their otherwise perfect sleeve. His lips curled ever so slightly. “And what,” he drawled, voice like honeyed disdain, “is this thing doing in the private quarter?”
“This table is a secret gift to the Baron—”
“No.” He pointed at Rob’s face. “This.”
A notification flashed across Blorbo’s vision.
[New Quest: Preserve Rob’s Dignity]
Objective: Ensure Rob leaves this encounter with his pride intact.
Reward: x2 progress for the Skill of your choice*.
Prerequisite: Having participated in at least one Table Duel. (You can accept this quest.)
Failure: Permanent emotional damage.
Accept: YES/NO
Blorbo slammed YES so hard he was surprised the notification didn’t wobble. He was already thinking of which skill to upgrade, and why that skill would be Appraisal.
Meanwhile, the noble scoffed, drawing himself up with the exaggerated grandeur of a man who had spent his entire life being very important in very useless ways.
“I am the Honorable Garvais Luxeny, first son of the Baron’s esteemed brother and heir to the true lineage of Luxeny,” he declared, as if anyone had asked.
Then his eyes slid back to Rob, and the sheer offense in his expression could have made milk curdle.
“And you—” His lip curled. His hand was placed scandalizingly on his heart. “You filthy commoner. How dare you stand here before my eyes? You reek of mediocrity. The way you stand is an insult to posture. The way you breathe offends the very air of this estate. Have you ever even seen a mirror? Or do you simply awaken every morning and assume that your reflection has already given up on you?”
Rob blinked once. Slowly.
Why do all nobles act like this?
Garvais did not let up. He sneered at Rob’s clothes. “And this. This attempt at clothing. Lords above, is that stitching? Were you knitted together by some kind-hearted grandmother? Is this what passes for tailoring in whatever gutter you crawled out of? And this.” He gestured at Blorbo with his knuckles. “You. You are a disgrace. I have seen firewood with more elegance. I have seen stable stools with more refinement. I have seen—”
"You sure seem to have a lot of experience admiring stable stools,” Rob said.
Blorbo saw the exact moment Garvais' brain crashed. The sheer insolence, the gall, the unspeakable nerve of this peasant throwing back a quip—
Garvais’ breath hitched. His fingers twitched. His eyes twitched. His chin twitched. His knuckle (one knuckle only) twitched.
“You dare,” he hissed. “You dare insult a Luxeny?!” His nostrils flared. “You wretched, clueless, ignorant peasant! You, who could never understand the weight of true nobility! You, who would not know the honor of Luxeny tradition if it were carved into your worthless skull! You, who have the gall to stand before me with your wretched table and insult my craft!”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Garvais drew himself up with a dramatic inhale and pointed straight at Rob.
"I challenge you to a Table Duel!"
A notification popped up in Blorbo’s vision.
[New Quest Update: Table Duel Initiated.]
The clock opposite Blorbo read: 19:19.
What? How come they’re having a duel and The Honorable has just finished like an one-hour monologue and like only one minute has passed?
Does time freeze when you monologue or something? Does this world have anime logic?
Don’t accept, Rob. The point of the mission is precisely to NOT bring attention to yourself.
Blorbo’s eyes darted to the quest details.
[Quest Received: Win the Table Duel.]
Reward: 2000 EXP, + 30 Attribute Points (distributed randomly), +10 HP.
Failure: The Quest [Preserve Rob’s Dignity] fails.
That kind of reward?!
He willed Accept before the Accept window popped up.
Robert. The point of the mission is to bring attention to yourself so that Anders can sneak in unnoticed. It is our duty that we accept this quest.
The Honorable Garvais Luxeny clapped his hands. The double doors at the far end of the hall swung open.
And out came the biggest table Blorbo had ever seen.
It was less a table and more a wooden continent. A monstrous slab of ancient mahogany, gleaming with enchanted polish, supported by eight—EIGHT!—thick, intricately carved legs, each thicker than Blorbo’s entire torso. Its surface could host a royal banquet, a game of chess inside a game of chess, and a small military operation all at once. It was the kind of table that made other furniture suffer from imposter syndrome. This was the reason why the Honorable was able to look down at a well-decorated table like Blorbo with disdain.
It was at that moment that Blorbo decided 2000 EXP was not worth his life.
Rob. The point of the mission is to not bring attention to yourself. It is high time we quietly vanish from this place and never return again.
Garvais smirked, running a gloved hand along the polished surface. “Behold,” he accentuated every single syllable. “The Imperial Centipede.”
