My Soul card is a Reaper-Chapter 896: Trouble at the Banquet

The banquet hall was alive with soft chatter, the clink of porcelain, and the faint rustle of silk. Lanterns swung gently from the ceiling, casting warm pools of light across the tatami mats.

Azzy, seated at the head of the main table as the honored guest, scanned the gathering with a composed but curious expression. Unlike the display earlier in the village, the atmosphere here was quite in contrast, especially the bold thoughts of these noble ladies.

The elders around him bowed frequently, offering him cups of saké and passing dishes of delicately prepared food. Their eyes held admiration, respect, and, in some cases, awe.

But it wasn't only the elders who were captivated. The young ladies of the clan, dressed in fine silk kimonos embroidered with gold and silver threads, whispered in hushed tones among themselves.

"He's… so handsome," one murmured, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her sleeve. "And so young, yet he's the strongest in the world. Not even forty…"

Another blushed, barely glancing up at Azzy. "Imagine being close to him… or even just speaking with him for a moment. My heart would stop."

The whispers quickly spread like wildfire, a symphony of fascination and admiration. Some of the noble girls even dared to dream aloud, their eyes glimmering with shy excitement.

"If I… could be chosen as one of his concubines… or a personal attendant… perhaps then…" one whispered, trailing off as her companion giggled.

"Oh, yes… just imagine being near him… even as a mistress," another added, covering her mouth to hide a blush, her voice barely audible.

Azzy, however, remained unbothered.

His sharp eyes flicked from the elders to the whispering girls, catching on the occasional glance directed at him. He allowed himself a faint, almost imperceptible smirk, acknowledging the admiration without the slightest hint of arrogance.

Leiza would have chuckled at this scene—watching noble girls fall over themselves in reverence.

Azzy, in contrast, was already thinking ahead: the portals, the village integration, the strategic alliances. Yet, even with the weight of duty on his shoulders, he carried himself like a god among mortals, calm, poised, and utterly untouchable.

Throughout the banquet, conversations circled around the alliance, the construction of the teleportation array, and the future integration of the clans.

However, half an hour into the banquet, the sound of metal cut through the murmurs and gained the attention of the people. Heads turned. Lantern light bounced off black plates as a woman strode in, each step measured, eyes sweeping the room like a blade.

She wore war-black armor that looked forged for movement: layered plates, lacquered leather, a coy war-sash tied at the hip. A short katana hung at her side; a longer blade was sheathed on her back. When she smiled, the whole hall felt smaller.

Fujiwara Shuichi's face went stone. The elders stiffened. Even the girls who'd been whispering about Azzy's looks fell silent, wide-eyed.

The woman inclined her head toward Shuichi, casual as a breeze. "Brother."

Shuichi's hand clenched on his cup. "What are you doing here?

She laughed in amusement, "I heard Lord Garcia was visiting. How could I not attend his banquet?"

Shuichi's face reddened at once.

As his fists clenched, her eyes flicked to Azzy the way a hawk looks at new meat. "Greetings, Lord Azrael. I am Fujiwara Aya."

A ripple went through the room when people heard the name. A younger woman leaned close to her companion and hissed, "Aya? The Aya who reached—" she swallowed — "who reached nine-star?"

Aya gave a small, proud bow, glancing to the one who uttered those words. "In person."

Azzy, however, didn't bother with bows. He rose, hands folded behind his back, expression polite and neutral. "Ms. Fujiwara." The single syllable was measured. The air between them quieted.

Shuichi snapped, voice hard as flint. "Aya—tread carefully. You are a guest no longer welcome. Your insolence will not be tolerated."

Aya's lips curved. "This is my home, brother. Your welcome is irrelevant." She turned, eyes blazing like struck steel as she looked straight at Azzy before anyone got to react. "Lord Garcia, it's a rare occasion for a demigod such as you to even make a presence. As someone who grew up battling every single day, I cannot lose this opportunity to fight. I request a duel. Will you accept my challenge?"

Murmurs swelled into a low roar. Fujiwara Shuichi's face went red. "Aya—this is madness. How dare you challenge clan lord Garcia?"

Aya shrugged as if shrugging off an insult. "Why not?"

Meanwhile, Azzy's eyes crinkled, something like amusement under the politeness. He moved one step forward, and the whole room suddenly understood he was accepting the premise. "Alright, I accept your challenge."

Aya's smile sharpened. "Perfect."

Shuichi exploded. "You will not—"

Azzy raised a palm. His voice was low, but it carried. "This is a duel between us, Clan Lord Fujiwara. Neither the Death Clan nor the Minamoto Clan has anything to do with it. You don't need to worry about it. Moreover, your people should also acknowledge my strength and not just the news they heard from someone."

There was a moment of tension, Shuichi's glare burning like a blade, but the old man bowed his head eventually.

Outside, they cleared the yard. Lanterns were brought down and stacked; banners were rolled up. Young warriors stood by, hands on hilts, eyes trained like hawks.

Aya moved to the center and drew her katana with a sound like a wrapped breath. Her stance was low, but there was no stiffness.

She launched the first attack by blurring forward, swinging her katana.

Azzy's movement answered with a simple tilt of his shoulder, then a slide of his foot, and Aya's strike met only air where his chest had been. She pivoted and struck again.

He calmly parried with his hands, fingers catching blades as if catching falling leaves.

The blade slowed as though wading through syrup. Aya's strokes, deadly and precise, were calm, then frustrated as no success was seen despite attacking him more than a dozen times.

Sliding across the floor, Aya, sweating to her neck, took a deep breath and charged again while creating ten afterimages, all of them attacking him at the same time.

However, this time, Azzy made his move. Before she even reached him, he released his aura, but just focused on her. The invisible pressure halted her movements and crushed her to the floor.

"Argh..."

She released a terrifying amount of energy to stand up, but with a finger motioning down from Azzy, she was pressed to the floor.

Aya couldn't help but shout. "What kind of mockery is this..."

To which, Azzy stepped forward, calm as a calm sea. "Aya," he said, that same even tone. "Why do you want to battle me?"

Aya, with her reddened face, tried to get up and roared in frustration, "I told you earlier that I..."

Azzy interrupted her coldly, "That was not a complete truth, of course. Didn't you learn in the books that demigods can distinguish between a lie and the truth? So, what was the real reason?"

She looked at him seriously and replied. "Because I'm bored."

Azzy blinked once, then—unexpectedly—he smiled. "You want to fight because you're bored?"

"Yeah." She nodded, unapologetic. "With anyone else, it either ends in death or it stops being a spar and becomes war. I want a spar where I can fight to my heart's content. But since you're here… I thought I'd invite myself."

A ripple of disapproval rolled through the elders. Shuichi's face had gone from red to ashen. "Aya, know your place... You cannot do things on your whim and..."

Azzy raised his hand, stopping Shuichi's outburst. Studying Aya's gaze, he folded his arms, and the faint amusement at the edge of his mouth hardened into intent. "Alright, I can indulge you a bit. "However, fighting without wager is dull."

"A wager?" Aya's brow quirked. The hall leaned in.

Azzy turned his eyes to Shuichi for a moment before turning back to her. "If you win," he said coolly, "Whatever you ask, I will give you. But if you lose, you will have to work for Shadow Guards that serve our new country."

The elders murmured. Shuichi's face tightened—both offended and tempted; the title carried weight.

Azzy continued, voice slow and final, "Now for the conditions for the win. I will not use my aura or soul energy, or any weapons, or the powers of a demigod. You, on the other hand, can use anything you want. However, tonight is not when you fight. We will fight first thing in the morning."

Retracting the aura from her, he asked, "Agree?"

Aya laughed, forgetting the intense frustration she felt a few moments ago, and sheathed her katana. "I won't comment on the conditions or the wager. I'm happy as long as I can fight till I'm satisfied," she said, low enough that only those near her heard. Her eyes met Azzy's, bright and hungry. "I'll meet your grace at dawn, in the training field."

Azzy's smile was slow, almost respectful. "Dawn, it is."

Guards fell back. Shuichi's jaw worked, but he did not call the guards to seize his sister. Aya strode for the door, armor clinking, already a figure in motion.

Azzy watched her go, then turned toward Shuichi. "Clan Leader Fujiwara, please make preparations."

"Uhh... Alright..."