Devouring Dragon Heir-Chapter 59: Ch The banquet -1

Listening to his words, Ria’s cheeks immediately flushed a deep crimson.

Klaus’s tall, well-built frame and undeniably handsome features were already a striking presence, one that most women found irresistibly attractive.

And now, the "devil" wanted her, a mere floor manager, to accompany him on a personal outing. Her heart pounded in her chest.

She tried to resist, stammering, "Umm... Young Master, my shift is... my shift is still going on. I can’t just leave..."

Klaus simply smiled, a disarming gesture.

"It’s fine. I’ll talk to Grandpa about it," he said, already rising from his seat.

Before Ria could protest further, he calmly took her hand and, with a gentle but firm pull, dragged her with him out of the Association building.

Ria, still blushing furiously, meekly followed, her mind a whirlwind of confusion, embarrassment, and a strange, undeniable thrill.

He picked up Ria and drove to the biggest shopping plaza in the city, a towering structure of glass and chrome, filled with high-end boutiques and designer stores.

The plaza hummed with activity, Surprisingly, Ria was quite famous among the people.

Klaus noticed her getting quite some attention from the crowd. Whispers followed them as they walked through the bustling corridors.

"Hey, isn’t that Ria from the Association? Who’s that guy with her?" A young man whispered to his friend, his eyes wide.

"Whaaa! My goddess! How can you make a boyfriend so fast?!" Another exclaimed, a note of genuine distress in his voice, clearly one of Ria’s many silent admirers.

Klaus, due to his tall build and naturally handsome features, didn’t receive much outright hate, mostly curious stares.

Many observers noted that they looked quite a couple, their contrasting forms, Klaus’s imposing stature and dark clothing beside Ria’s slender frame and professional attire created a striking visual.

Ria, meanwhile, was blushing heavily, her head slightly bowed, as she walked meekly beside Klaus, acutely aware of the dozens of eyes on them.

They both entered various clothing stores, browse through top-notch brands.

Klaus picked up quite a few outfits he liked, practical yet stylish ensembles for daily wear.

However, he couldn’t find something truly elegant, something that projected the subtle, yet overwhelming, aura he desired for a formal banquet.

Everything seemed too generic, too ordinary.

That was until he saw a very big store at the far end of the plaza, almost secluded from the other shops.

Its facade was simple, unadorned, but exuded an undeniable sense of timeless class. It was filled with classic suits and attires, tailored with exquisite precision,

as if all the nobles from various historical dramas and the most discerning figures of society purchased their garments from this singular, exclusive establishment.

The shop was surprisingly empty, with no other customers present.

Only one shopkeeper stood behind a polished mahogany counter. The man was tall and thin, with a neatly trimmed beard and sharp, intelligent eyes.

He had the classic, understated demeanour of a seasoned butler, radiating an formidable aura.

"Welcome, esteemed customer," the man greeted, his voice smooth and refined, with a slight bow.

"What would you like to wear?" His gaze swept over Klaus, assessing his build with a practiced eye.

Klaus offered a faint smile.

"Something elegant," he began, his voice low,

"but also overpowering. I want to suppress everyone with its aura, not just with my presence, but with the very clothes I wear." he said in a cryptic tone.

"Ooh!" the man’s eyes widened perceptibly with a rare spark of excitement.

A genuine, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.

"It has been years, perhaps decades, since someone has spoken to me in this language, the language of aura.

Most simply ask for ’fashionable’ or ’expensive.’" His tone held a hint of nostalgic satisfaction.

"Customer, what will be the theme of this suit?" the tailor asked, his professional demeanour solidifying.

He understood that Klaus wasn’t simply asking for a suit but a masterpiece.

Klaus smiled again, a cold, confident glint in his eyes.

He lifted his hand, and without a word, a perfectly formed, razor-sharp crystal of ice, pulsating with a faint, ethereal blue glow, manifested and now floated silently above his palm.

The air around them grew noticeably colder.

"Ice," Klaus said, the single word cutting through the quiet shop.

"My lord!" The tailor’s eyes widened further, a gasp escaping his lips.

His usual composure completely broke, elemental affinities were too rare in this world and signified great status and power.

"When do you need this suit, my lord?"

Klaus chuckled softly at being called "lord" so suddenly, a title he hadn’t anticipated but found strangely fitting.

"This evening," he replied.

The tailor straightened, a renewed sense of purpose and challenge in his gaze.

"Then I guess I’ll have to begin immediately. It will be a tight deadline, but for a request of this magnitude, it is an honour."

He then moved with a surprising burst of skill and precision, taking Klaus’s measurements with practiced ease,

his hands moving quickly over Klaus’s form, noting every curve and dimension.

Once the measurements were complete, the tailor stepped back, bowing again.

"My lord, your suit will be prepared in a few hours. I will contact you directly once it is ready for fitting."

Klaus nodded, satisfied. He turned and walked out of the store,

Ria, who had been standing silently throughout the exchange, she was amused at the display of Klaus’s power and the tailor’s reaction, meekly following him.

He spent the rest of the day with Ria, having lunch at an exclusive restaurant within the plaza.

He asked her questions about the capital city’s hidden gems, places of power, and potential training spots, soaking in the knowledge she possessed.

They browsed through other shops, though Klaus didn’t buy anything else. He observed the city’s inhabitants, their interactions, their priorities.

He allowed himself to enjoy the brief reprieve from his intense life, finding a strange, quiet contentment in sharing a meal and conversation.

-------------------

The evening air, cool and crisp, carried the distant hum of the bustling capital city.

The Blackwood estate itself was a sprawling mansion, an architectural marvel of polished stone and dark wood, framed by expansive, meticulously manicured gardens.

Tonight, these gardens were a vibrant spectacle.

Hundreds of guests, arrayed in formal attire, mingled under the soft glow of myriad fairy lights strung between ancient trees.

Laughter and polite chatter drifted on the breeze, punctuated by the faint, insistent clicks of media cameras.

The sheer scale of the gathering indicated the importance of the event, the coming-of-age celebration for one of the Blackwood children, a significant moment in the social calendar of the Legacy Families.

Inside the grand ballroom, the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes, aged wines, and delicacies.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the impossibly high ceiling, casting a warm, shimmering light across the polished marble floor.

Various guests, adorned in ceremonial attire, formed localized groups, their hushed conversations and animated gestures painting a picture of intricate social dynamics.

One group, however, stood out, drawing attention.

It was Lady Crimson, the current matriarch of the prestigious Crimson family.

She was a woman of striking presence, her red ceremonial attire shimmering under the lights.

Beside her stood a young girl in her early twenties, her features sharp and confident, clearly her daughter.

They were standing in front of a middle-aged, bearded man in a sleek black attire with intricate silver patterns, Edward Ravenstein, a prominent figure from the Ravenstein family.

With him was a young boy, roughly the same age as Lady Crimson’s daughter, his expression a mixture of arrogance and impatience.

Lady Crimson, a subtle, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips, engaged Edward Ravenstein.

"Mr. Edward, I’ve heard your son has awakened a peculiar magic skill," she stated,

her voice carrying a sophisticated edge, though her tone suggested a polite inquiry more than genuine curiosity.

Edward Ravenstein chuckled, a dry, brittle sound.

"You jest, Lady Crimson. My son’s talent is nowhere near your daughter’s."

There was a glint in his eyes, however, that contradicted his humble words.

It was the glint of veiled jab. "Although, unfortunately, certain unworthy rumors are spreading about her these days."

Lady Crimson’s clever smile did not falter.

"Oh? Care to tell me about those rumors, Mr. Edward?"

Her tone remained deceptively pleasant, but it held a hidden sharpness.

Edward leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret, though his voice was clearly intended to be overheard by others in their vicinity.

"Rumour has it that your daughter, the esteemed Elara Crimson, might be interested in a peasant boy.

Someone entirely unsuitable for a Legacy Family scion."

He allowed his gaze to drift pointedly across the hall, seeking out the object of his disdain.

Lady Crimson’s smile tightened, but she remained composed. "Oh, you mean him?"

she said, her eyes briefly scanning the crowd before settling on a dashing, handsome youth standing somewhat awkwardly near a food counter.

His dark, slightly unruly hair and a kind, almost innocent smile on his face made him stand out. He seemed utterly out of place among the glittering elite, yet carried himself with a quiet dignity.

"Oh, you mean him?"

Edward looked at the back of the youth, a sneer twisting his lips.

"Yes, that boy. Arthur, I believe his name is. I am sorry to be blunt, Lady Crimson, but what do you see in him?

As one of the Paragons, the head of the Crimson family, shouldn’t you be keeping a much closer eye on your daughter’s associations? Such rumours reflect poorly on your family’s standing."

Edward’s son, James, standing beside Edward, mirrored his father’s sneer, his eyes filled with contempt.

Edward clearly expected Lady Crimson to recoil, to express anger or embarrassment. But her reaction was entirely unexpected.

A low, humorless chuckle escaped her lips. "Oh, you don’t need to worry, Mr. Edward,"

she said, her voice dropping to a dangerously sweet tone that was far colder than any open hostility.

"He can absolutely thrash your son to the ground." Her words, delivered without a shred of doubt, hung in the air, instantly deflating Edward’s smugness.

Edward’s face contorted, a mixture of shock and outrage, along with his son James Ravenstein, whose own expression mirrored his father’s sudden fury.

Edward was about to retort, his mouth opening to unleash a stream of indignant protests, when Lady Crimson casually kept a hand on his shoulder.

Her grip seemed light, but Edward Ravenstein visibly flinched, a subtle tremor running through him.

"Don’t mind the harsh words, Mr. Edward" she said, her voice was calm and dismissive.

"If you truly want to prove me wrong, there will be a conclave of talents organized here after the banquet. A small display for the younger generation. Please do so then."

Her meaning was clear to make your son challenge Arthur directly, in a controlled environment, if he dared.

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