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Chapter 135:

Hesabel, who was filing her nails, brightened up at the sight of Isaac waking up. Isaac, still a bit dazed as usual after regaining consciousness, tried to get up nonchalantly but then noticed Isolde still lying down. This made him almost wish he could faint again.

Noticing the change, Hesabel exclaimed in amazement.

“It seems the Doctrine of Thirsty Love has completely vanished. You’ve fully suppressed the Red Flesh, haven’t you?”

“Hesabel, bring me some water.”

“Yes, right away!”

Isaac regretted making a random request just to quiet Hesabel, as a suffocating silence ensued the moment he was left alone with Isolde.

Suddenly, Isolde got up briskly. She remained expressionless and silent until she abruptly spoke.

“It looks like the ritual is over. You’ve been through a lot, Isaac.”

“No, it was you, the Inquisitor, who suffered the most.”

Isaac was taken aback by Isolde’s strangely calm demeanor. Was he the only one who was flustered? Come to think of it, Isolde had never recalled what she looked like in her dreams.

Though it was due to the Prophet of the Red Flesh’s influence, there was a chance she might not remember what had happened in her dream just moments ago. Isaac felt a sense of relief realizing this.

Isolde started to tidy up her clothes and was about to stand when she staggered and reached out to the table for support.

“Are you alright……”

Isaac moved to support her but stopped short upon seeing her flushed face, realizing she remembered everything. In the next moment, Isolde went into her room without a word.

Though screams could be heard from behind the pillow, Isaac pretended not to hear them.

“Here’s your water, Isaac. But why is she acting like that?”

“It might be an aftereffect of the ceremony.”

“Really? I haven’t heard of such aftereffects… And Isaac, you don’t seem to be in good shape either. Why can’t you look at the table properly?”

Intrigued, Hesabel peered at Isaac and then suddenly, realizing something, smacked him on the back.

A slap caught Isaac off-guard, reflecting in his stunned expression. He realized that hiding their true nature from a group of physically indulgent deviants was impossible.

“What are you even talking about? Just prepare to leave quietly.”

“But it was just a dream? How can both of you have such childish reactions? No, maybe because it’s a dream, it’s even crazier…”

“Be quiet.”

“Well, you might say that, but what exactly happened that you can’t even look at a window sill properly? Really, isn’t that dangerous?”

Isaac opted to ignore her and headed for the door, but hesitated and instantly regretted it as Hesabel’s astonished voice burst out.

“Stairs, really? That’s a bit too much, isn’t it? You never know who might come up!”

“It’s not that…”

Isaac decided it was better not to explain as it might look weirder and chose to ignore her again.

He turned back towards Isolde’s room, compelled to speak to her.

“Inquisitor, I have something to tell you.”

As Isaac knocked, Isolde slightly opened the door. Seeing just a glimpse of her face made Isaac forget all the nonsense Hesabel had been spouting.

But as the reason he had come resurfaced, his mood fell again.

“I’m sorry, but I have a favor to ask.”

Isolde’s eyes widened at Isaac’s whispered words.

***

The Brant family’s banquet had begun.

Though called a banquet, there were no elegant chandeliers or marble floors here; the nobles dressed in spotless suits and dresses swirling in dance were absent. This era’s “banquet” more closely resembled a barbecue party. Servants tirelessly carried and chopped up pork, chicken, and beef, while nobles, regardless of gender, spilled beer and wine as they drank.

Thanks to the priests living in Rougeberg who generously lit up the place, the nighttime party was surprisingly bright, though still rugged.

The banquet was ostensibly for fostering noble camaraderie, preparing the army for the Dawn Brigade, and celebrating Isolde Brant’s return, but the main attraction for most was Isolde herself.

“Does anyone remember what the lady looks like?”

“I saw her ten years ago, but she was too young then… Kids change a lot, so who knows what she looks like now.”

“There’s a rumor inside the Inquisition that she’s a beauty.”

“Ha, even if she is a beauty, after years of not bathing or grooming in the borderlands, how could she still look good?”

“I heard she returned early from Seor after getting a serious injury, before she became well-known.”

“Really? I heard she had the plague in Ariet and ended up with large pockmarks on her face.”

“With Duke Brant as her background, what does appearance matter? If she just gets married, she could instantly become a central figure in the empire…”

Rumors swirled and vanished like bubbles at the event.

From birth, the lady had always been the subject of discussion.

Despite Isolde having vanished from public view while studying at the religious order, her sudden return was enough to set tongues wagging. Yet, the rumors that had swirled relentlessly were about to be overshadowed by the reality of her appearance.

Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the window.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Lady Isolde Brant has arrived!”

All eyes instantly turned towards the entrance.

The murmuring crowd fell silent. The sound of footsteps broke the quiet.

A young woman dressed in a light blue gown made her way into the banquet hall.

The arrival of Isolde had attracted a variety of society’s elites: a socialite determined to win the lady’s heart to better his own fate, a younger noble son eager to catch a glimpse, a woman who had been outspoken in her jealousy of the famed lady, among others.

A hush fell over the crowd.

Even the faint whispers that should be audible were drowned out by the intensity of the silence; not even the sound of swallowing could be heard.

Isolde exuded a magnetic charm that captivated everyone, men and women alike, within the hall.

She crossed the hall calmly amidst the silence and approached Dietrich. It wasn’t until Priya nudged him with her foot that he reacted.

“You’ve been through a lot. My… daughter.”

Isolde smiled faintly, bowing her head slightly as she stood by Dietrich.

Breaths were held, then suddenly, the hall buzzed with whispered conversations. Only then did everyone realize that the music had never stopped playing since Isolde entered.

The silence had been so profound that only when it was broken did other sounds begin to filter through.

The nobles couldn’t stop stealing glances at Isolde, and some men even gulped down their drinks as if parched. It was clear that Isolde’s beauty would be the talk of high society for some time to come.

Dietrich, witnessing the scene, murmured with a conflicted expression.

“Isn’t this too much?”

“It was left to the maids. Surely you don’t think I did my own makeup?”

What entered as ‘Isolde’ was none other than Isaac.

***

The original intent of the banquet was to use Isolde as bait to find those who fed on the tainted flesh. However, neither Isaac nor Dietrich actually planned to put the newly healed Isolde in such a position.

Instead, the plan was decided that Isaac would disguise himself as Isolde.

It sounded like a mad plan, but it was Isaac who suggested it.

His androgynous looks and the fact that Isolde hadn’t been seen in society since her debut made the deception possible. Even if someone who knew Isolde from her Inquisitor days recognized him, the makeup and the completely different impression from her usual armored appearance would throw them off.

‘More effective than I expected.’

Isaac had never used his appearance as a weapon before. However, the charm of a Nephilim was potent on a social stage like this.

Just a light touch of makeup and a well-supporting dress were enough to provoke almost religious fervor in those who saw him. He also wore body-shaping gear to complement his naturally slim figure sufficiently.

Additionally, Isaac made an effort to divert the nobles’ attention.

Again, this era’s banquets were more akin to a rugged BBQ party. Amongst the noisy crowd, Isaac deliberately appeared more refined and composed, as one might expect in a modern social gathering, drawing even more attention.

If there was anyone plotting something, they would surely make a move now.

Despite Dietrich’s amusement with the plan, he seemed troubled when faced with the actual reactions within the banquet hall.

“It seems you’re going through a lot of trouble because of my daughter. It’s not easy for a man…”

“On the contrary, dressing as a woman is perhaps the most manly act a man can undertake.”

Dietrich didn’t quite understand Isaac’s comment but decided to let it go. He was more concerned about the atmosphere in the hall.

“If the rumors continue, all the potential suitors will be disappointed when they see my daughter. Someone will have to take responsibility then.”

“…Isolde is also beautiful in her own right. Don’t compare her to a charming wanderer.”

Isaac wasn’t particularly bothered by dressing up. He was still partly treating this world as a game.

This was merely changing his character’s costume. His priority was identifying any potential threats.

‘Let’s see…’

With a fan slightly covering his face, Isaac activated his Eye of Chaos. The subtle violet hue of his eyes blended well, difficult to notice unless one looked closely. Given how often people were stealing glances at him, it was easy to gather information.

Threats worth noting had been identified even before he arrived. As a banquet hosted by Duke Brant, it was crucial to filter out dangerous elements in advance, but this

time, they intentionally let them be to catch them in action.

“Milady, would you honor us with a dance?”

“I’m sorry, but my daughter isn’t feeling well; dancing would be difficult.”

Even then, nobles continuously approached, asking for dances or conversation. Isaac politely declined, keeping his role.

While some praised the Duke’s daughter for her unexpected modesty and culture, others snickered, suspecting a physical ailment that made her reluctant to move. But Isaac paid them no mind.

As the night deepened, Isaac’s gaze suddenly met that of a man.

His features were rough, with one eye scarred from a burn and a build like a bear; he was clearly intoxicated.

Dietrich whispered to Isaac with an annoyed look.

“That’s Count Boliven Tretia. He wasn’t even invited but still showed up.”

“Should I remember this name?”

“He’s been pestering me to give him my daughter since she was a child. If it weren’t for the wheat fields of Tretia, I would have dealt with him long ago…”

“How old was she?”

“Eleven.”

“…”

As Boliven stood and approached, the intensity in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Lady, you remain as beautiful as ever. May I have this dance?”

Isaac stood up.

Until then, he had been politely refusing from his seat. Now that he responded, all eyes were on him, including Boliven’s, whose facial muscles twitched in surprise.

Isaac whispered to Dietrich.

“I’ll accept this one dance. Please, dim the lights a bit.”

–TL Notes–

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