God-Tier Extraction Talent: Reincarnated in a Game-like World! Chapter 500: The Banquet [2/3]

A flicker of surprise crossed Gabriel's face upon spotting Scarlet seated there, but it faded swiftly. Within moments, comprehension struck him. Scarlet commanded immense prestige in the Valerian Kingdom—not only as Hero Rank, but also as Vice Leader of the Adventurer Guild. For someone of her caliber, an invitation to this elite banquet was utterly expected.

He gave his hat a subtle adjustment and resumed his silent scan of the hall, eyes drifting from table to table.

Soon enough, another recognizable figure caught his eye.

Jack Arefield.

The blond-haired Vice Guild Leader of Olympus occupied a spot at a central table close to the main section. Clad in a finely tailored suit, he lounged with effortless poise, clearly at home in such surroundings. Nearby ladies stole glances his way amid their chatter, and Jack met them with courteous smiles and steady dialogue. Evidently, he thrived under the spotlight without a hint of unease.

Sitting next to him was Arya.

She remained her usual silent self, posture rigid and serene, though a faint scowl marred her features. Words rarely escaped her lips; she only replied when Jack addressed her. Occasionally, her gaze wandered the hall with evident boredom, suggesting reluctance to attend yet compelled to stay.

Gabriel observed them briefly before averting his eyes once more.

Yet amid all the tables in the grand banquet hall, one commanded the fiercest scrutiny.

There perched a stunning woman draped in a veil that shrouded much of her visage. Delicate and sheer, the veil concealed her traits just sufficiently while permitting clear sight. She held herself upright, gestures poised and graceful. Nobles streamed to her table in turn, offering deferential salutes before withdrawing.

The deference shown toward her screamed of extraordinary rank.

Gabriel's thoughts instantly leaped to Sophie upon beholding her.

Sophie too favored such veils, even in combat. Her bearing, fluid motions, and subdued sophistication all evoked the enigmatic figure at that prominent table. The longer he stared, the stronger the sense of familiarity grew.

Gabriel long harbored suspicions of Sophie's noble lineage, yet he'd refrained from probing. Privacy mattered to him, and Sophie shared little of her history save when essential. Thus, he never pressed.

Now, witnessing this veiled beauty in the royal castle at the banquet's premier table, pieces began falling into place.

Sophie's true standing might surpass his wildest guesses.

Gabriel eased back in his seat, sipping leisurely from his glass while tilting his hat-shaded head low. Calmly, his gaze swept the hall anew, mind already dissecting the sights so far.

For the moment, he stayed put, biding time to slip from the hall and venture deeper into the castle. Departing prematurely or milling about excessively risked drawing eyes. Guests largely remained seated, conversing, imbibing, awaiting the banquet's core events.

Thus, Gabriel lingered in place, watching unobtrusively.

After a while, a host advanced to a modest dais at the hall's heart. A light tap on the microphone hushed the gentle melody as attention converged on him.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the host intoned with polished grin, "thank you all for attending tonight’s banquet in celebration of General Aston’s eighty ninth birthday."

Courteous claps echoed through the hall.

The host recited General Aston's feats—bygone conflicts, triumphs, decades of loyal service to the realm. Listeners attended, nodding here, applauding there.

Then he yielded space, motioning to the head table.

General Aston rose.

Though aged, his spine stood firm, countenance stern. Applause and focus barely stirred him; a single nod sufficed, eyes piercing and steady, befitting one accustomed to command over acclaim.

His brief address done, music swelled anew.

"This is now the dance session," the host declared. "Please, enjoy the night."

Pairs drifted toward the dance floor languidly. The hall's vibe loosened as folk rose—some to whirl, others to mingle afresh.

Slow, measured tunes guided the nobles' expert footwork, honed by repetition. Servants glided silently, topping glasses, righting seats, all without intrusion.

Soon his gaze swung back to Jack's table.

No sooner had dancing commenced than young women queued before Jack, smiles demure, stances assured—clearly anticipating this.

"Vice Leader Jack, may I have this dance?" one ventured courteously.

Jack offered his signature soft smile. Rising deliberately, he dipped in a slight bow.

"I’m honored," he answered evenly, "but I’m afraid I already promised someone else."

Disappointment flickered across her face, yet she departed with grace.

Another approached shortly, then a third. Jack rebuffed each with identical composure, navigating flawlessly as one seasoned in such encounters.

At last, he pivoted to Arya, proffering his hand.

"Arya," he murmured steadily, "shall we?"

Arya eyed his hand, then his visage. Her look stayed neutral, but she accepted and rose.

Silently, they proceeded to the dance floor.

Gabriel propped his chin on his hand, eyeing their opening steps.

Scarlet, meanwhile, hadn't budged from her table.

Unmoved since the dances began, she'd drawn no suitors despite passersby. Nor did she acknowledge any. Rigid-backed, one hand on the table, the other clutching a scarcely touched glass, she exuded detachment.

Her face blank and remote, she seemed present solely for guild duty, not festivity.

Gabriel figured as much—she shunned revelry.

Setting down his glass, he prepared to rise and stealthily exit amid the diversions.

Abruptly, the unforeseen struck.

From the chief table, the veiled woman ascended. Onlookers parted instantly, many tracking her path as she traversed the hall.

Her trajectory was...

Straight toward Gabriel.