Noble Festival

I’m five years old now.

Five years since I was reincarnated into this world. Five years of adjusting to a life of nobility.

In that time, two things have remained constant in my routine:

Mana control lessons with Lina. Thanks to her guidance, I’ve learned how to circulate my mana efficiently and cast simple spells like Lumius with ease. My control is far from perfect, but I’ve made progress.

Noble etiquette lessons with Mara. And by lessons, I mean grueling hours of learning how to walk, talk, and eat without embarrassing myself in front of other nobles. Mara has made it very clear that a noble’s image is everything—one wrong move, and I could tarnish the reputation of the Lachius family.

And today, all of that is about to be tested.

Because tonight, we’re attending the birthday celebration of Princess Jeanne Aikahn at the royal palace of Garthram—an event where all of the empire’s nobility will gather. A true showcase of power and influence.

Lina stood in front of me, fussing over my outfit like a mother dressing her child for the first day of school.

“Hold still, young master!” she huffed, straightening the dark wool sweater I was wearing.

I sighed but complied, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

Although I’ve had small birthday celebrations at home before, this was different. This wasn’t just some simple cake baked by the maids—this was a royal event. The clothes I was wearing reflected that: a white button-down shirt, a dark sweater, tailored brown shorts, and polished leather shoes.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. My black hair was neatly combed, and my violet eyes stared back at me, sharp and focused.

“There! You look so cute~” Lina beamed, stepping back proudly.

I groaned. “Lina… I’m not cute.”

She ignored me, clasping her hands together. “Shall we go? The carriage is waiting!”

***

Outside, the night sky stretched endlessly, a vast canvas speckled with countless stars. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of flowers drifting from the garden.

Waiting at the entrance was our carriage—a sleek black vehicle, its polished surface gleaming under the starlight. Silver inlaid serpent patterns coiled along its frame, the unmistakable crest of the Lachius family.

Standing beside it, reins in hand, was Mara. As always, she carried herself with perfect composure, her blonde hair neatly tied in a bun, not a single strand out of place. The thin-rimmed glasses perched on her nose caught the glow of the stars, briefly obscuring the sharp blue eyes beneath.

I hesitated for a moment, my gaze shifting to the horses at the front, already harnessed and waiting.

“…We’ve had a carriage this whole time?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mara adjusted her glasses, her tone calm and measured. “Yes, young master. The horses are kept in the stables behind the mansion. The carriage is only prepared for official business.”

Ah. So that’s why I never saw it before. It wasn’t some extravagant display of wealth—it was simply reserved for necessity.

Without another word, Lucian stepped in first, followed by Grilda, and then me. Mara secured the door behind us before climbing onto the driver’s seat. With a flick of the reins, the horses let out sharp exhales, hooves striking against the cobblestone as the carriage rolled forward.

We were on our way to Eryndor.

***

The road to the capital was long and uneven, the wheels of the carriage clattering against the stone-paved path. The swaying motion wasn’t exactly pleasant, but after some time riding in one, I had gotten used to it.

Through the small glass window, I watched as the scenery changed.

At first, it was endless plains, stretching beneath the starry sky. But soon, farmhouses and villages came into view, their windows glowing with warm candlelight. The further we traveled, the busier the roads became, filled with other noble carriages, merchant wagons, and travelers on horseback.

And then, I saw it.

Eryndor—the grand capital of the Garthram Empire.

A massive stone wall towered in the distance, stretching across the horizon. It was fortified with iron reinforcements and lined with watchtowers, their torches flickering against the night. At the gates, soldiers clad in crimson capes and polished armor stood vigilant, overseeing the steady flow of carriages and citizens entering the city.

As we passed through, my eyes widened.

The streets were alive with movement.

People walked along the cobblestone roads, illuminated by oil lamps mounted on stone pillars. Market stalls lined the streets, their vendors selling everything from exotic fabrics to freshly baked bread. Noblemen and women dressed in extravagant garments strode with pride, while commoners bustled about with purpose.

But what truly caught my attention was the sheer variety of people.

Back at the mansion, I was used to seeing the same muted hair colors—black, white, blonde. But here?

People had brilliant hues—emerald green, sapphire blue, fiery crimson. Some even had golden streaks or silver highlights running through their locks. Their eyes shimmered with unnatural colors, further setting them apart.

In my past life, I was just another faceless nobody in the crowd.

Here? I was the strange one.

***

The carriage finally slowed to a halt, and I felt a tightness in my chest as I realized we had arrived.

Through the window, I saw it—the royal palace of Garthram.

It was a structure beyond anything I had ever imagined.

Built from pristine white marble, the palace walls gleamed under the moonlight, each spire reaching toward the heavens. Banners of the golden lion sigil hung proudly, swaying with the night breeze.

At the entrance, ornate golden doors stood tall, carved with intricate images of dragons and celestial beings. The entire scene radiated power and majesty.

Standing in perfect formation, rows of guards in silver armor lined the entrance, their faces unreadable as they watched the incoming guests.

My hands clenched slightly.

This was it.

The heart of noble society, where alliances were made, trust was rare, and mistakes could cost everything.

I took a deep breath, preparing myself for what lay ahead.

***

The grand golden doors of the palace swung open, revealing an interior that made even the extravagant Lachius mansion look modest.

The ballroom was a cathedral of luxury, stretching high with gold-trimmed pillars and ornate chandeliers that bathed the room in a warm, ethereal glow. The polished marble floor gleamed under the candlelight, reflecting the hundreds of nobles elegantly dressed in flowing gowns and ceremonial coats embroidered with family sigils.

For a moment, I almost forgot to breathe.

So this is the pinnacle of noble society…

My eyes flickered around, taking in the sheer opulence of it all. Every corner of the ballroom radiated wealth and power, from the intricate stained-glass windows depicting legends of old to the musicians playing a gentle melody with their string instruments.

We hadn’t even been here five minutes before a familiar deep voice greeted us.

“Lucian! It’s been too long!”

A towering figure strode toward us, his presence impossible to ignore.

Gurstag Dundragon.

The man was built like a warrior straight out of legend—tall, broad-shouldered, and covered in a thick layer of muscle. His crimson-red hair and beard were immaculately groomed, and his sharp red eyes gleamed with authority. Though he was dressed in the formal attire of a noble, the sheer force of his presence made it obvious—this man was a soldier first, noble second.

Beside him, a much softer presence followed.

Alessa Dundragon, his wife.

She was the opposite of her husband—graceful, refined, with long, golden locks cascading down her back and serene blue eyes that carried warmth. Compared to Gurstag’s commanding presence, Alessa felt like a gentle breeze in a storm.

As the two approached, Gurstag’s gaze landed on me. His eyes narrowed for a moment before his lips curled into a smirk.

“So this is the infamous Castiel Lachius, huh?” He crossed his arms, inspecting me like he was assessing a recruit. “Kid looks just like you, Lucian.”

I blinked.

Did I just get compared to that guy?

Lucian remained composed, nodding slightly. “He carries the Lachius name well.”

Alessa stepped forward with a warm smile, kneeling slightly so we were at eye level. “It’s lovely to meet you, Castiel. I hope you’re enjoying the festival.”

I immediately straightened my posture, channeling every lesson Mara had drilled into me about proper noble etiquette.

I placed my right hand over my chest, giving a flawless noble bow. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Lady Alessa, Lord Gurstag.”

Alessa’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Such a well-mannered boy.”

Gurstag chuckled. “Hah! The kid’s got composure, I’ll give him that.” He turned to Lucian. “You raising him to be just like you?”

Lucian didn’t answer, only offering a noncommittal nod.

“Speaking of important matters,” Gurstag’s tone shifted, his easygoing demeanor replaced with something more serious. “Lucian, we need to talk.”

Lucian’s expression barely changed, but I could tell from the slight shift in his posture that he already knew what this was about.

Grilda turned to me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Castiel, why don’t you take this opportunity to get along with the other children?”

I hesitated, but I could tell from her tone that this wasn’t a request.

“…Understood, Mother.”

As Lucian and Gurstag walked away, I found myself alone in a sea of unfamiliar faces.

I sighed, feeling slightly out of place. A child among wolves.

But before I could dwell on it—

The room suddenly fell silent.

The golden doors at the far end of the ballroom opened once more, and a presence unlike any other stepped through.

Martin Aikahn—the King of Garthram.

The crown on his head was a testament to his power. The man exuded power, authority, and unwavering confidence.

He was tall, strong, and imposing, with long silver-gray hair flowing past his shoulders and piercing green eyes that could command a battlefield with a single glance. His regal coat, embroidered with the royal lion sigil, only reinforced his image as the most powerful man in the empire.

But my gaze soon shifted to the small girl holding his hand.

Jeanne Aikahn—the princess of Garthram.

She had vivid purple hair tied into twin tails and brilliant green eyes, mirroring her father’s intensity but with an innocent playfulness beneath them.

As they walked forward, the king’s voice boomed through the ballroom, filled with authority.

“Today is a day of celebration! My beloved daughter, Jeanne, has grown another year, and I am honored to share this moment with all of you.”

There was a round of applause, and I saw Jeanne smile shyly as she held onto her father’s hand.

Martin continued.

“May this festival be a joyous occasion for all noble families. Let this be a reminder of the strength of our unity, the prosperity of our kingdom, and the future we build together.”

With that, he raised his goblet, signaling the beginning of the true festivities.

The nobles cheered, the music resumed, and the grand feast officially began.

I wasn’t exactly in the mood to socialize, so I found myself drifting toward a quieter corner of the ballroom, watching the nobility enjoy their extravagant meals.

That was when I heard it.

“Hey, you there.”

I turned my head, only to see a boy—about my age—standing a few feet away.

He had short blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a small mole beneath his left eye.

“Who are you?” I asked, crossing my arms.

The boy grinned proudly, puffing out his chest. “I’m Arthur Dundragon! Son of Gurstag Dundragon, the general of the kingdom’s army!”

Oh.

So this was the Dundragon heir.

I straightened slightly. “Castiel Lachius.”

Arthur tilted his head. “Huh. Never seen you around before.”

I shrugged. “I don’t get out much.”

Arthur smirked. “Then let’s fix that! Wanna go play in the palace gardens?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know if that’s—”

“Oh, come on!” Arthur grinned. “King Martin lets us play there on Jeanne’s birthday! He’s scary, but fair.”

I glanced at the adults, who were too busy drinking and discussing politics to care.

“…Fine.”

Arthur beamed and immediately led the way.

The royal gardens were vast—a paradise of lush greenery, blooming flowers, and fountains that sparkled under the moonlight. Other noble children were already running around, laughing and playing.

Arthur turned to me with an excited grin. “Alright, time for a sword duel!”

I blinked. Violent games? How noble.

Before I could protest, Arthur picked up two sticks from the ground.

“Forte Espada!”

A faint glow surrounded the sticks, and before my eyes, they transformed into polished wooden swords.

I stared. “Was that… magic?”

Arthur laughed. “Nope! It’s my blessing!”

I recalled the books I had read about blessings—rare gifts granted to certain individuals at birth.

Arthur tossed me one of the swords, a confident smirk on his face.

“Come on, Castiel! Let’s duel!”

Around us, the other children gathered, eager to see how this would unfold.

I sighed, gripping the wooden sword.

So this was my first noble’s duel, huh?

Well, no turning back now.

Arthur twirled his wooden sword in his hand, his stance exuding an excitement I didn’t quite share. Around us, the other noble children had already formed a circle, eager to witness the so-called “duel.”

“The rules are simple,” Arthur announced. “Whoever lands a hit on the other’s body first wins!”

Straightforward enough.

I sighed internally. This isn’t even a real duel. It’s just kids playing with sticks.

I tightened my grip around the wooden sword Arthur had given me. I had no real desire to hurt him, and frankly, this felt more like a game than an actual competition. My plan was simple—defend, dodge, and wait for an opportunity to end this without making him look bad.

No need to humiliate the general’s son, after all.

But then—

Arthur lunged.

CRACK.

The moment our swords clashed, a sharp impact echoed throughout the garden, and a powerful vibration ran through my arms.

I staggered back.

What the hell?

My hands felt like they had just smacked into solid steel. My muscles tensed from the shock of the blow, my fingers momentarily numbing.

Arthur grinned. “Not bad! But you look surprised.”

I gritted my teeth, steadying my stance.

He’s five years old. How the hell is he this strong?

I adjusted my grip, bracing myself as Arthur lunged again.

The air buzzed with excitement as the children cheered.

Arthur swung.

I dodged.

He swung again.

I blocked.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

His strikes were heavy—he had raw strength on his side. But there was one glaring flaw: he was slow.

Each time he raised his sword, there was a long delay before the next strike. I could see the movement of his shoulders, the slight shift in his weight—telegraphing his every move.

I narrowed my eyes.

I could use this.

I steadied my stance, shifting from evasion to defense. My grip tightened around the wooden hilt, and I began parrying his blows efficiently, redirecting them rather than absorbing them.

Arthur frowned, his brows knitting in focus.

“You’re good,” he admitted.

I almost smirked. This was easier than I thought.

After all, I just needed to imitate the swordsmen I’d seen in anime.

The calculated blocks, the footwork, the rhythm—

And then—

I got hit.

Arthur suddenly twisted his wrist, switching the angle of his attack mid-swing.

I barely had time to react.

SMACK.

The wooden sword tapped lightly against my forehead.

The crowd of children gasped, then erupted into cheers.

“…Eh?”

Did I just… lose?

I blinked in disbelief.

Did I seriously just get beaten by a five-year-old?

No, I am also five years old.

But still!

Arthur grinned widely. “That was awesome! You’re the first person who’s actually managed to defend against me!”

I wasn’t listening. My mind was still racing.

Forte Espada.

That was the name of his blessing. Strong Sword.

It had to mean something.

The moment he activated it, the stick in his hand transformed into a wooden sword. But was that all? If his blessing was truly just about “creating” swords, that wouldn’t explain the sheer weight and force behind his strikes.

No—there was more to it.

If I had to guess, Forte Espada didn’t just change the shape of an object into a sword—it fortified it.

Strengthened it. Made it hit harder.

That would explain how Arthur, a five-year-old, was swinging with enough force to shake my bones.

I exhaled slowly. Yeah… this kid is going to be dangerous one day.

Arthur held out a hand. “Let’s be friends, Castiel!”

I stared at him, my pride still aching from the loss.

…But looking at his excited expression, I couldn’t find it in me to refuse.

I sighed, reaching out and shaking his hand.

“Fine. But next time, I’m winning.”

Arthur laughed. “We’ll see about that!”

And just like that, I had made my first real friend in this world.