( The same night, The Royal Gala )
All the Masters Tournament quarter-finalists were invited to a grand royal gala dinner, an event of the highest importance hosted by Emperor Julien D. Evanus himself.
The occasion was marked by opulence and splendor, a rare spectacle in the Empire, drawing together the most influential figures in the realm.
For Ben, this event marked his return to the Royal Palace after more than two decades. The sight of the grand halls, with their intricate tapestries and gleaming chandeliers, stirred memories long buried, but there was little time for nostalgia.
The palace was teeming with nobles, wealthy merchants, and other prominent dignitaries, each eager to forge connections and gain favor.
To Ben’s dismay, he found himself the center of attention, a magnet for relentless attempts at conversation and flattery. The evening quickly became a tedious ordeal of superficial chatter, as one after another, the guests sought to align themselves with his rising star.
“The demons are a menace to our society; we all greatly appreciate your contributions in combating them, Sir Ben,” a particularly pretentious noble commented, his voice dripping with insincerity. His face was a mask of concern, but Ben could see through it.
“Ah, so… er…” Ben hesitated momentarily before asking, “What was your name again?”
“Count Lemon, is it?” Ben repeated, his voice gaining an edge. “So, Count Lemon, what exactly are ‘you’ to contribute to the war against the demons?”
The question sliced through the noble’s pretense like a blade. Ben didn’t stop there. “Since the demons are such a dire threat, are you contributing troops to fight at the border? Are you providing weapons or supplies—free of charge, of course—to our soldiers? Are you sending money, or other incentives, to support the war effort? Or is your contribution limited to idle talk in social circles?”
The Count’s face flushed, his confidence draining as quickly as Ben’s questions cut through his facade. “Hahaha, Sir Ben is right,” Count Lemon finally stammered, trying to recover his composure. “I need to do more… You’ve given me much to think about—”
With that, the Count hastily excused himself, retreating from the conversation, now fully aware that Ben was no mere pawn to be manipulated. He was, as the Count had just learned, a rabid dog, ready to bite anyone who dared to test him.
“Well said, I would expect nothing less from Ben Faulkner…” A confident voice rang out, cutting through the din of the gala.
The room fell silent as the Emperor Julien D. Evanus himself strode towards Ben, a broad smile lighting up his face.
“It’s been a while…” Julien said, extending his hand, his demeanor warm and welcoming as always, as if he and Ben were the closest of friends.
Ben, however, responded with a dark chuckle, as he covered his face with his hand to cover the evident disdain in his eyes, before eventually shaking with Julien.
“You’re the biggest piece of scum I’ve ever met,” Ben muttered, his voice laced with disdain, as unlike the sycophants surrounding them, Ben knew exactly how Julien had come to inherit the throne—and it repulsed him to this day.
However, despite the insult, Julien’s smile did not falter, as instead, he met Ben’s gaze with a calm, practiced ease. “It’s been 20 years. I’m a father now, and you’ve taken on a disciple of your own. Let’s bury our differences in the past,” Julien suggested, his voice smooth as silk as the room full of nobles, who were eagerly listening in, barely concealed their shock to see that someone insulted the Emperor to his face and the Emperor did not even reprimand him.
Within the Unity Empire, few had the audacity to insult the Emperor to his face, yet here was Ben Faulkner, utterly unfazed.
Ben was not one to mince words. He was neither a pretentious sycophant nor a man driven by fear or ambition. He had no desire to curry favor with the Emperor, and he certainly didn’t fear him.
“Whether it’s 20 years or 200, you’ll always be scum to me,” Ben replied, his voice unwavering, as Julien responded with a hearty laugh, feeling genuinely amused by the insult.
In a world where flattery and empty praise were the norm, a conversation with someone as blunt as Ben was a refreshing change for him.
*Clap* *Clap*
Julien clapped his hands, signaling to a nearby server. “Bring us two glasses of wine,” he ordered, taking one glass and passing the other to Ben.
“A toast—” Julien declared, his voice commanding the attention of the entire crowd as all eyes turned towards them as Julien raised his glass in Ben’s honor.
“To the hero of the Empire, The Vigilante, The Man, The Myth, The Legend… Ben Faulkner. Cheers!” Julien proclaimed, his voice booming through the hall, as the crowd followed suit, raising their glasses in unison, echoing the Emperor’s words.
Everyone clapped and drank from their glasses, and Ben, caught up in the moment, did the same. For once, he let his guard down, allowing himself to be swept away by the occasion, however, as soon as he drank the wine he immediately noticed that something was wrong with it, as he jammed his fingers down his throat and immediately puked it out.
“POISON! THAT DRINK HAD POISON!” Ben said, as in a blur of a movement he moved behind Julien, and forcibly opening his mouth Ben jammed his fingers down Julien’s throat as well.
*BLURRGHH*
Julien vomited the drink in a rather undignified way, as Ben’s sudden actions raised alarm amongst the Virex Corps members sworn to protect Julien, as they immediately circled Ben and Julien.
“Nobody leaves the room…..the killer must be…. Mus… mu…” Ben said before dropping to one knee, as his vision started to black out and the world began to swirl under his feet.