The Villain's Retirement-Chapter 40: Banquet (5)

Ard returned not long after.

He had washed the wine and sauce from his face and hair, leaving behind only the faint scent of soap. One layer of his formal coat was gone, revealing a simpler, well-fitted inner fabric beneath—dark, unadorned, and understated. However, the effect was... noticeable.

Conversation faltered.

Then resumed—louder.

"Baron Williams!"

"Please grant our family some of your time...!"

"Please accept this gift."

Before the crowd could fully close in, Gary stepped forward, planting himself half a pace ahead of Ard with an easy smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

"Alright, alright," Gary said lightly, raising one hand. "You’ll suffocate him before the music even starts. The baron’s had a long day—let the man breathe."

A few nobles chuckled awkwardly. Others frowned, displeased at the interruption.

Gary glanced back at Ard. "Care to say a word before they start offering you blood contracts and daughters?"

Ard looked at the faces around him—eager, calculating, hopeful. Then he spoke, his voice calm and unhurried.

"There’s no need," he said. "I’m not here to discuss alliances or connections."

The words landed softly.

Too softly.

A murmur rippled through the group.

"I appreciate the kindness," Ard continued, inclining his head. "But I don’t intend to involve myself in noble networks. I have no interest in favors, debts, or arrangements."

For a heartbeat, no one spoke.

Then Gary cleared his throat and clapped once. "Well. There you have it."

Ard turned and walked away, his steps measured, posture relaxed—as though he hadn’t just dismissed half the hall.

The moment he was gone, whispers ignited.

"Naïve," someone muttered. "Does he even understand what he’s refusing?"

"How arrogant. To turn down opportunities like this, he’s too green..." another scoffed.

"As much as I want to be friends with him, he’s being too conceited, isn’t he? Someone like him could be crushed anytime."

Another lord sighed, "Well, how could a commoner understand connections and basic governance? He surely did not attend school. He got a lot of things to learn than just using his fists since he is now managing a territory."

High above the hall, on the second-floor balcony, Duke Reynard and the Duchess stood with his hands resting lightly on the railing along with other high nobility. They had witnessed everything. For this very reason, even the nobles behind the scenes who caused the female servant had started to lay low.

Reynard let out a quiet breath.

"...He turned them all down."

A margrave let out a low chuckle, finding it quite the spectacle. "If I go down there and ask him myself, I have a feeling even I would get turned down."

A lady hummed, folding her fan. "Most young men in his position would be scrambling to secure allies. He’s doing the exact opposite."

"Does he truly not understand what he’s rejecting?" Reynard said. He went silent for a moment, then added more quietly, "Is it simply because he was born a commoner?"

The Duchess glanced at him thoughtfully and smiled faintly. "You chose a very unusual man, my dear. You were eager to redirect the eyes of the court—and you succeeded. But it seems the piece you placed on the board is a very unique one."

The Duke exhaled, rubbing his temple. "He’s already earned Viscount Ratsworth’s resentment."

"And that man does not forgive slights easily." The margrave added.

"If he continues like this, he’ll make enemies without even realizing it."

"Isn’t that better for us?" The Duchess said softly.

"Maybe. But this is not what I intended." The Duke said. "I’ll do intend to support this young man and hope he does something with that territory. So you guys, do try to be understanding to him when the time comes."

The members in the group laughed.

Just then, below them, the servants finally began adjusting the hall. The chairs began to shift and a large space started to open, as anticipation crept into the air. At this, the Duchess’ smile deepened with a touch.

"Wolves do not abandon a hunt so easily." The Margrave said.

"You mean kittens." The lady said as she and the Duchess laughed while watching several noblewomen began repositioning themselves below, laughter light but eyes sharp.

Then—

Ard sat quietly at his table, observing the servants as they moved with practiced efficiency across the hall. Among them, one presence stood apart.

Dark hair was gathered neatly behind her head, not a strand out of place. Her uniform was simple, and had not a strand of stain and worn with such discipline that it appeared almost tailored to her form. Unlike most noblewomen and even the other servants, she did not smile, nor did she frown or sough attention. She wasn’t particularly that beautiful, but she wore a completely professional expression. Even among the servants in the place he was staying, he had to admit no one looked as composed as her.

She performed her tasks quietly as though the noise and spectacle of the banquet existed at a distance.

Just then though, she stopped before their table and approached Ard and inclined her head at the exact angle etiquette demanded.

"My lord," the girl said smoothly. Her voice was even and respectful, "the opening dance is about to begin."

Around them, movement slowed. Eyes turned. Smiles sharpened. Ard glanced toward Gary, who had retreated just far enough to be useless. The man gave him a look that said even I can’t interfere with this.

"What is it?" Ard innocently asked and leaned closer to let his ears hear.

The maid went quiet for a second.

’Don’t tell me he intends to refuse even this...’ she said in her mind and frowned inwardly, but did not show it to her face. She didn’t need to to look up. She had already noted the Duke and Duchess and her group had been observing for a while from the balcony.

She then stepped closer, lowering her voice so only Ard could hear and so not to cause a scene.

"My lord," she murmured, "within this hall, declining the opening dance is not considered restraint. It is taken as a slight."

Gary and Zayn exchanged glances. Ard and the maid both wore unreadable expressions.

At her words, Ard then lifted his gaze and slowly surveyed the hall. By this time, some had already started to dance on the center of the hall.

But nearby them, one by one, noblewomen stepped forward, each movement practiced, graceful. Fans fluttered. Laughter drifted like perfume. They did not rush him. They didn’t need to.

Ard straightened, expression unchanged.

"Very well," he said calmly.

At this, relief rippled through the watching nobles—quickly replaced by renewed interest. Following the maid, he was led away from his table, as those in the balcony watched.

"So," the Duchess murmured, "even a man who rejects alliances must still dance."

Reynard watched Ard take his place beneath the chandeliers, crimson eyes reflecting light and motion alike.

"Well," he said in a low voice, a hint of amusement in his eyes, "it was on a dance floor like this that I first caught your attention." Turning fully toward the Duchess, Reynard smiled and extended his hand with an easy, familiar grace.

"Shall we?"

"My dear."

The margrave clicked his tongue in mild irritation, while the lady beside him hid a brief scowl behind her fan.