Chapter Thirty-Five: The Evening Banquet

It had been a long time since Patrick shared a dinner with his family. So much had happened in recent days—from his beginnings as a fledgling mage, to now owning a mage tower, joining the ranger corps in battles against trolls, and even venturing deep into enemy territory to eliminate their camps.

The life he once knew was safe and tranquil; war was something Patrick would never have imagined in his previous existence. Yet now, in combat against the trolls, he fulfilled the duties and responsibilities expected of an arcane spellcaster. This change allowed Patrick to integrate more deeply into this world.

The family dining hall remained unchanged. The arcane crystal chandelier on the dome cast a gentle light, the walls adorned with beautifully carved wooden-framed oil paintings, and magical music drifted like a light mist, softly enveloping the room. Every corner was carefully arranged.

Additional magical lamps glowed with a pale yellow, reflecting off the polished rosewood floors, giving a faint reddish hue. The grand table was laden with delicacies—succulent pork chops, boiled Sunscale salmon, jungle stew, creamy mushroom soup, and, specially prepared for Patrick, steamed Blackclaw lobster from Storm Bay on the continent of Kalimdor. This rare ingredient was sold to the elves of Quel'Thalas at a high price; Patrick adored its flavor, especially when paired with sauce made from fresh Lordaeron peppers and Silvermoon’s unique Bloodthistle spices—a taste rich and unforgettable.

At the banquet, Old Phil, Patrick’s father, rose to his feet, raising his glass to the guests. “The first toast—to my son Patrick.” He drained his glass, and everyone followed suit.

“The second toast—to the first sixth-circle mage of the Cabron family.”

Old Phil was overjoyed. At last, the Cabron family had produced a sixth-circle mage, and his youngest son Patrick, still so young, had a chance to reach master-level and beyond. The family might finally enter the Silvermoon Council, the pinnacle institution of the Kingdom of Quel'Thalas, instead of constantly guarding against annexation by the great clans of the council or the scheming of lesser houses. Those in high positions rarely understand the hardships of the middle and lower classes.

The news from the Forest of Life had just arrived, and Old Phil received an olive branch from Master Senior Sunsworn the very next day. This master, who managed government affairs, proposed a partnership to Old Phil: the alchemy potion industry would be jointly produced by both families. Products could be sold using the Sunsworn family’s channels; they would supply materials and facilities, while the Cabron family would only need to provide alchemists to make the potions. Profits from external potion sales would be split sixty-forty, with Cabron receiving sixty percent and Sunsworn forty.

Such “generous” terms made Old Phil frown. At first glance, the Cabron family seemed to benefit—earning a great deal of gold without covering basic costs, and technical shares dominating the profits. For ordinary mages, it was like manna from heaven.

But Master Senior Sunsworn had not revealed everything. He never specified who would control this alchemy enterprise. The Sunsworn family provided most of the costs and controlled the sales channels, meaning that in future, all Cabron family alchemy would effectively serve the Sunsworn family.

If their alchemical formulas were acquired by their partners, the Cabron family would become subordinate to Sunsworn, at their mercy, as if annexed.

When Master Senior presented this plan, Old Phil sensed something was wrong and politely declined the “kindness.” Now that Patrick had reached the sixth circle, similar offers would surely become more frequent. Thus, the main purpose of tonight’s banquet was to discuss countermeasures with the whole family.

Hearing about the recent events at home, Patrick pondered and then said, “Father, I want to expand our family’s key industry outward, ideally into the Ghostlands. The council’s influence is weak there. Previously, I had my eye on a parcel of land in the Forest of Life; I’d like to start developing our family's herbalism there. Herbalism is the foundation of our alchemy and must remain under our own control.”

Patrick glanced at his father’s expression and continued, “Aurelia will set up a camp in the Forest of Life. We can partner with the Windrunners there, which will ease the pressure. As for other business ventures in Silvermoon, it wouldn’t be unwise to abandon them if the pressure becomes overwhelming.”

“I’ve checked out Sebwasa in person—it’s indeed perfect for growing alchemical herbs. My brother-in-law has a keen eye. I plan to plant herbs all along the west side of Sebwasa. For the cultivation itself, we can seek help from my teacher, Frewin the botanist. He’s studied all kinds of plants, though his lack of magical ability makes his status in Silvermoon somewhat awkward. If we can offer him a free research site, I’m sure he won’t refuse.” Sister-in-law Nasalan shared her thoughts, being a herbalist herself and, like other non-spellcasters, finding her position in Silvermoon uncomfortable.

Nasalan Cabron was optimistic about Sebwasa’s future. For the planting issues, she could call upon her mentor, Frewin the botanist. The Cabron family was in an unstable period; relocating the family’s industries might be the best move.

Old Phil nodded in agreement, and Brother Paterson asked, “Brother, what are your plans for the future?”

“I intend to affiliate myself with the Royal Arcane Academy. First, it offers a chance to acquire higher-level arcane knowledge. Beyond the sixth circle, most arcane metamagic techniques in Quel'Thalas are monopolized by the Silvermoon Council. Only the Royal Arcane Academy provides a way to further advance in arcane studies.”

“Secondly, I hope to gain the protection of King Anasterian. His Majesty will surely support us. The council holds too much power in Silvermoon, and the king has always needed elves loyal solely to the Sunstriders.” Patrick was absolutely confident in this.

When a king is completely sidelined, a spirit of rebellion inevitably arises. Yet, as the Sunstriders alone control the Sunwell, the other clans can do nothing. After years of maneuvering by the council, the king has remained a ruler in name only, with power wielded by the Silvermoon Council.

To solidify their royal authority, the Sunstriders have recruited many talents: the court’s master of martial arts, Cassius; the royal underground intelligence agency “Flame Mark” led by Vireles Deepshadow; Quel'Thalas’s foremost melee champion, Salorian Dawnseeker—all staunch and unwavering royalists.