Chapter Sixty-Three: The Banquet Begins

Patrick returned to his room, where a servant brought him a finely crafted ceremonial robe. Embroidered with the most common gold-lined patterns of Silvermoon City, the robe was cinched at the waist with white silk, and each hand, shoulder, and the chest were set with a large, sparkling ruby. This was the most magnificent formal attire his family owned—elegant, refined, and exuding a subtle nobility.

He arrived at the main tower of the Mage Association, which was also the personal tower of Master Aux, the Dawnblade. Mage academies encircled the area, their white walls and golden tiles rising behind tall fences, layered one after another. The grandeur was reminiscent of a royal palace or a stately temple, with pavilions every five steps, towers every ten, and corridors winding between the buildings like silken ribbons. High towers clustered as densely as fish scales, twisting and weaving in a labyrinthine fashion—nothing like the small town by the Sunwell he had known.

Around him, even the elves in the surrounding buildings were reveling. Though they were only apprentice mages, the love of pleasure was ingrained deep within them. In small groups, as the wine flowed, garments became fewer and the air grew warmer, drawing the elves closer together. They began to touch, to kiss, seeking to dispel the heat that clung to their bodies, only to find themselves met with an even greater fervor from their companions.

As Patrick entered the grand hall of the Mage Association, a towering mage’s spire rose before his eyes. Its golden roof gleamed, each level’s eaves stacked at varying heights, interlocking in splendid array. From afar, it inspired awe, the gilded tiles dazzling in the sunlight, enchanting and almost disorienting, as if one could no longer tell east from west. The sight of such opulence stirred something within him.

A polite elven attendant at the door greeted him, “Good evening, Master Mage. Please wait a moment while we verify your identity.”

A pulse of arcane energy flashed as the attendant’s array glowed with white light. The verification was complete in moments.

“Welcome, Master Patrick Cabron. Please, this way,” the attendant said, leading Patrick into the gardens.

Inside, many invited mages had already gathered, all dressed in their finest. The elven men were striking and dignified, the women graceful and lovely, and the atmosphere was lively and bustling.

Tables were laden with exquisite food and drink, and Patrick casually selected a glass of Blue Coral. It reminded him of a flavor from his past life—bright and clear, sparkling with blue light, crisp and refreshing, leaving a cooling sensation in his heart.

After sipping his drink, he settled onto a sofa by the inner chamber. Here, the Sunwell’s arcane radiation was almost palpable, thick as oil. Patrick began to gradually release his mind, sensing the many enchantments woven throughout the mage tower—from steady temperature fields to wards against malice, every conceivable protection was present.

Arcane power gathered here with ease. In Silvermoon City, even the most casual elf could cast minor spells. The high elves thrived in the radiance of the Sunwell, living in comfort and abundance—a blessing only such a creation of the Titans could bestow.

A female elf, drawn by his mental presence, approached him. With the double support of the Titan Norgannon’s platinum disc and the moon-blessed Aelin, Patrick’s arcane resonance far surpassed that of his peers.

“Master Mage, if you guide your mind so freely, you might invite some misunderstandings,” she teased. She, too, was a mage, her attire alluring, revealing her ivory back and fragrant shoulders—her fair skin made it difficult to look away.

Patrick quickly withdrew his mental reach, though arcane energy still shimmered around him. “My apologies!”

“You have remarkable control over your magic. I don’t recall seeing you in Silvermoon before,” the elven woman said, moving closer so that he could catch the fragrance she wore.

“I’m Patrick, from the Mage Tower by the Sunwell.”

“You’re Patrick Cabron?” she asked excitedly, her chest trembling slightly with anticipation. “I heard you led just two others to annihilate a troll fortress, slew a demigod, and killed more than a dozen troll priests?”

“Well, that’s a bit exaggerated. I did participate in that battle,” he replied modestly.

“You’re quite the humble mage. You know, there’s only an hour left before the Mage Association’s banquet begins,” she said, her cheeks growing increasingly flushed.

“Yes, I know. But I have nothing pressing to attend to at the moment.”

“I just wanted to remind you—if there’s anything you wish to do before then, you have less than an hour left.”

Under the wistful gaze of the elven woman, Patrick excused himself from the cozy alcove and returned to the main hall, picking up a cocktail and taking a small sip.

The president of the Silvermoon City Mage Association, Master Aux Dawnblade, appeared, surrounded by his loyal followers. With his arrival, the banquet officially began. All eyes turned to the main stage, and the elves below cheered for their esteemed master.

Master Aux was a gentle elf, clad in a standard-issue magical robe. His hair was slicked back with meticulous care, the ends drifting elegantly, giving him an air of efficiency and vitality.

After receiving the respectful greetings of the assembled elves, the master signaled for silence and began his speech for the evening.

“Thank you all, fellow mages, for coming. The kingdom of Quel’Thalas has thrived for more than six thousand years, thanks to your tireless dedication…”

It was all the usual formalities, and Patrick found himself utterly disinterested. In his previous life, he would have spent such moments pretending to pay attention while fiddling with his phone.

At long last, Master Aux Dawnblade’s speech concluded and, making an excuse, the master withdrew. The hall quickly returned to its former animated state, groups forming here and there—some deep in conversation, others flirting, all swept up in the fervor of the celebration.

Patrick slipped out onto the terrace alone, hoping to get some fresh air.

“Doesn’t seem like there’s much to gain from this banquet,” he thought.

“Attending the banquet alone?” a melodious voice sounded behind him.

Patrick turned to see a beautiful elf woman with short, golden hair just brushing her shoulders. “Yes, this is my first time at such an event,” he replied.

She, like Patrick, held a delicate glass of wine—clearly another lone guest at the banquet.

“My name is Patrick Cabron, from the Sunwell. Good evening, beautiful lady.” Patrick could sense she was a six-circle mage as well, her mental presence strong, her abilities unknown.

“I’ve heard a lot about you in Silvermoon—mastermind of the Battle of the Living Forest,” the elven woman said warmly and amiably. “I am Luminis Sunmark, from Silvermoon City.”

“Your first time at this banquet?” Luminis asked with curiosity.

“Yes, my first annual Mage Association banquet.”

“I’d heard about your outstanding feats in the war against the trolls. Now that I’ve met you in person, you’re clearly no ordinary mage.” Patrick could sense her as she could sense him—the arcane between them was palpable.

Luminis noticed the steady overflow of arcane energy from Patrick, and the fresh, invigorating aura he carried. It was easy enough, then, to judge his abilities.