"We should head to the banquet now."
At dusk, Silco came to the office to remind Cipher.
"You're bringing work to a party?" Silco noticed the papers on Cipher's desk.
"Just finishing up here."
Vander and Sevika were already waiting on the first floor. Vander stood with his arms crossed. Sevika leaned against the wall, idly flicking her knife open and closed.
"Ready for this?" Vander asked.
Sevika snapped her knife shut with a sharp click. "When was I not?"
"Remember why we're here," Silco's voice was quiet but firm.
"Alright, coming now."
Cipher had just finished writing a book, stapled it together, and tucked it into his jacket before heading out.
The group didn't bother changing their clothes, nor grooming their beards or hair. Just like that, they headed off, glistening with all their rawness, to attend the banquet of the Piltover councilors.
Each of them exuded a free-spirited, unrestrained vibe. The chemical-tinged wind of Zaun whipped at their clothes as they made their way up toward the Upper City.
Within Zaun, they were still relatively presentable. Compared to the bizarre and grotesque figures typical of Zaunites, the group could almost pass for a clean-cut "boy" band.
But once they stepped into Piltover—especially at Mel's lavish estate—Silco was the only one who managed to look somewhat decent. The other three resembled country bumpkins lost in a nobleman's estate.
Their entrance caused ripples through the crowd, like stones thrown into a pond, disturbing the carefully maintained surface of Piltover propriety.
In contrast to the suits and refined attire of Piltover's upper-class socialites, they were the very embodiment of out-of-place outsiders.
Many Piltovan gentlemen showed their disdain with furrowed brows, dismissive waves, or turning their heads away.
Whenever this happened, Sevika would glare back fiercely.
Her sharp, intimidating gaze—already filled with resentment after being looked down upon repeatedly by Piltover's elite—turned even more vicious.
With a cigarette clenched between her teeth, her stare alone seemed like a threat to devour anyone in her way.
The Piltovan gentlemen, unaccustomed to such direct hostility, dared not say a word. Covering their noses, they quickly walked away, as if the Zaunite group reeked of unbearable stench.
"The smell..." one noble muttered, not quite under his breath.
"Say it to my face," Sevika growled through clenched teeth.
"Sevika..." Vander's warning rumbled low.
"Piltovans are always like this—looking down on us from the Undercity, refusing to even treat us as equals or speak to us properly," Silco remarked stoically, his face devoid of emotion. He was long accustomed to the condescending attitudes of Piltover's elite, having experienced their arrogance firsthand many times.
"This kind of person only understands the language of extreme measures," he added coldly.
"I'd love to beat them senseless, see how smug they are with their bruised and swollen faces," Sevika muttered through gritted teeth, puffing smoke from her nostrils as she let out a heavy snort.
"Don't act impulsively. We're here as representatives of Zaun, attending this banquet. Starting a fight would only degrade ourselves. Besides, this is Piltover—if you stir up trouble here, we might not make it back to the Undercity," Vander warned, worried Sevika might lose control. He knew her views aligned closely with Silco's—they both leaned toward open conflict with the Upper City.
"Don't mind them. If Piltover is Noxus' sheepfold, then the councilors are just the head sheep, and these folks barely count as lambs," Cipher said casually, appearing completely unbothered by the Piltovan gentlemen's disdain.
Like a wild goose unfazed by the jeers of sparrows, he wasn't about to waste energy getting angry.
At the entrance to Mel's estate, they handed their invitation to the attendant, who promptly and respectfully ushered them in. Even the attendants' neutral courtesy felt like warmth compared to the nobles' arctic disdain.
They followed the attendant to the grand banquet hall of the House Medarda.
As soon as the Zaunite group entered, all the nobles in the room turned their eyes toward them. Conversations died mid-sentence, and wine glasses froze halfway to lips.
Under their disbelieving gazes, the lively chatter in the hall abruptly ceased, and the room fell into a strange, deathly silence.
"Could you get me a glass of juice, please? Thank you," Cipher said to a nearby attendant, breaking the awkward atmosphere.
The attendant, momentarily unsure how to respond to the bizarre situation, instinctively thought to report the matter to Councilor Medarda.
Cipher's calm request seemed to ease the tension, like a crack in a sheet of ice.
"Certainly. Please wait a moment," the attendant replied with a slight bow before hurrying off to fetch the juice.
"Hah, I don't know how you managed to sneak into Councilor Medarda's banquet," sneered a short, stout man with a balding head. He deliberately spoke loud enough for Cipher to hear while slowly swirling a wineglass filled with crimson liquid, as he mockingly smiled.
"But really, with Piltover's finest wines and Noxus' premium spirits available, you ask for juice? Rats from the gutter truly remain rats—no taste, just like your shabby clothes," he taunted.
"I seem to smell the stench of sewage—how on earth did gutter rats get into the banquet?" a plump noblewoman said, and pinched her nose. She looked at the Zaunite group with undisguised disdain in her eyes.
"Ladies and gentlemen, for the smooth continuation of the banquet, and for everyone's safety, I suggest we all keep a safe distance from those dangerous Zaunites over there."
"After all, we all know that people from the Undercity are criminals and thugs. Perhaps we should call in an enforcer to have these troublemakers removed from Councilor Medarda's banquet." A well-dressed gentleman suggested, his gaze toward the Zaunite group no different from how one might look at a pile of garbage.
"Damn bastards!"
Sevika's eyes burned with rage, her fists clenched so tightly that they made cracking sounds. She was itching to rush over and beat these so-called gentlemen of Piltover into pulp.
"See, Vander? This is Piltover's attitude toward us. They don't even understand the language of civility," Silco remarked, shaking his head with a knowing look. But soon they'll learn a new language altogether.
Vander remained silent. Even someone as mild-mannered as him couldn't help but feel a nameless anger rise at the blatant discrimination from the Piltovan elites.
His massive hands clenched and unclenched slowly.
"Here's your juice."
The waiter returned with a glass of juice, maintaining his professional composure and showing no trace of prejudice toward the Zaunite group despite their Undercity origins.
"What's there to be angry about? It's not every day we get to visit such a fancy place without spending a dime. Eat, drink, and enjoy yourselves—whatever makes you comfortable," Cipher said with a chuckle, taking the juice from the waiter.
"In fact, you should be happy. If all the Piltovans were like this, it would make things so much easier for us."
With a carefree grin, he led the way, indulging in the food and drink without a care in the world. To avoid unnecessary attention, the group found a secluded corner and sat together.
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Soon, another guest arrived, escorted into the banquet hall by a waiter.
Dressed in a black and crimson formal suit, with a tall, lean frame and a sharp, chiseled face, the newcomer was the picture of a young, noble figure from Noxus. Where they had shown contempt for Zaun's leaders, they now practically fell over themselves to bow to Noxian nobility.
The moment Lester stepped into the hall, much like the Zaunite group earlier, all the Piltovan nobles turned their attention toward him.
However, the way they looked at him was entirely different. Instead of disdain, their gazes were filled with respect, admiration, eagerness, and even fear.
In unison, the Piltovan nobles raised their glasses to toast Lester, expressing their deference.
Their earlier disgust forgotten in their rush to curry favor. But that was just how most nobles were.
Disgusting.
Lester responded with a faint smile, a polite acknowledgment of their gesture.
His sharp eyes scanned the banquet hall, as though searching for someone.
Finally, his eyes lit up, locking onto Cipher, who was happily feasting away in the corner.
Ignoring the nobles who eagerly tried to introduce themselves, Lester picked up a glass of wine from a waiter's tray and walked straight toward Cipher.
In all of Piltover and Zaun, there were only two people Lester truly respected. One was Mel, the daughter of the Iron Wolf.
The other was Cipher.
As for the rest of these so-called nobles? They didn't even qualify in his eyes.
"Why are you hiding in a corner? Isn't a banquet meant for mingling and meeting people?" he said, raising his glass to Cipher.
"Those people? I'm honestly doubting whether they even have functioning brains."
Cipher clinked glasses with Lester and continued, "Aside from Councilor Medarda, Councilor Kiramman, and Professor Heimerdinger, the rest of the councilors aren't worth talking to."
"As for the others, forget it. Spending too much time with them might make me lose brain cells," he added with a smirk, pointing at his head with a playful expression.
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30 advance chapters!
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