The Dragon Emperor of Another World: Awakening of a Legend

CHAPTER 14: Banquet

The torches along the marble columns of Avelline’s Adventurers' Guild flickered like fire spirits in revelry, casting jubilant shadows across rows of newly stocked commemorative merchandise and food stalls. The celebration of Ethan Lockwood's legendary victory was in full swing.

Rumors of his triumph over the elemental hellhound pack had spread like wildfire across Avelline—tales of a mysterious man clad in godslayer armor, wielding void-bending powers with the strength of an S-rank elite. The whispers had become declarations. Awe had turned into obsession.

Celestia Draconyx lingered at the edge of the festivities, alabaster hair cascading down scaled shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight. Her crimson gaze swept over the crowd—nobles, mercenaries, spellcasters—all drawn to Ethan like moths to a flame. Her tail flicked in quiet warning.

"They're gathering again," she said through the mental link, her voice cool as midnight mist.

Ethan sighed and leaned against a column etched with the sigil of an ancient dragon. "I never imagined popularity could be this exhausting."

A noblewoman in a gown of shimmering violet approached, perfumed like an entire rose garden. She curtsied with calculated grace.

"Sir Lockwood," she purred. "Allow me to sponsor your next expedition. In return, I ask only for your presence at my summer gala."

Before Ethan could reply, a scarred swordswoman slammed the hilt of her greatsword into the marble at his feet. "Take me as your companion. I'll earn my share in battle."

A cluster of beastkin alchemists waved vials and scrolls, their voices overlapping in frantic requests:

"Your potion formula, please!" "Just one page, sir!" "We’ll inscribe your name in every alchemist registry from here to Elaria City!"

Ethan maintained a polite smile. On Earth, his social life consisted of VRMMO and energy drinks. Now, he was being swarmed by influential figures of a kingdom he barely understood.

Celestia stepped in like a drawn blade. Her wings unfurled with majestic menace, and the crowd dispersed at the flick of her molten gaze.

Ethan exhaled, thankful. "You saved me from dying by small talk."

"Someone has to keep the flies off you," she replied, her voice softer than usual.

Once the crowd thinned, Tessa and Lysa escorted them into the guild's back chamber, a high-ceilinged room flanked by relics—dragon bones, cursed tomes, and ceremonial weapons still stained with ancient blood.

Tessa, slightly out of breath, said, "Master Lockwood, the Council insists on your attendance at the upcoming Heroic Symposium. Reserved for S-rank elites. It’s an honor rarely granted."

Ethan scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks, but I’m not sure—"

"Your presence is no longer optional," Lysa cut in. "You bring crowds. Crowds bring coin."

Celestia gave a crisp nod. "We'll attend. Briefly."

Tessa exhaled in relief. "Excellent. We’ll handle the preparations."

That evening, Ethan and Celestia found themselves at the center of a banquet held beneath enchanted chandeliers. The feast was unlike anything Ethan had ever seen: flame-grilled dire boar basted in honeywine glaze; ember-roasted wolf ribs served on obsidian plates; skyfruit tarts that floated an inch above the platter; and drinkable mana spheres in crystalline goblets.

"This meat's sweeter than I expected," Ethan said, chewing thoughtfully.

"Because it was raised on fire herbs," Celestia replied, tearing into her ribs with regal grace. "Every bite infuses minor pyromancy."

Their table was swarmed by socialites, quest-givers, and wandering minstrels. A harpist played a melody in Ethan’s honor; a bard recited a ten-verse ballad titled Void-Breaker’s Triumph. Celestia, usually reserved, actually smirked through the fourth verse.

Midway through the banquet, a portly merchant with a jeweled monocle leaned across the table. "Sir Lockwood, I represent the Crimson Trade Syndicate. Your artifacts, your elixirs—we would pay handsomely for exclusivity."

Ethan leaned back. "I’m not in this for empire-building."

"Pity," the man sighed. "But the offer stands."

As the night wore on, the glitter and glamor weighed heavily on Ethan’s shoulders. Despite the luxury, he felt caged.

Later, slipping away from the main hall, he and Celestia ducked into a cobbled alley behind the guild. Lanterns swayed above them, casting soft golden light. The air was tinged with sea salt and roasted chestnuts.

Celestia observed him quietly. "You’re fading. Sleep, before you collapse."

Ethan rolled his shoulders and removed his shoulder plate. "Funny how exhausting diplomacy can be."

She handed him a steaming cup. "Drink. Dragonleaf tea. It grounds your nerves."

He sipped, grateful as the warmth unfurled in his chest.

They walked in silence. A rare moment of peace. No nobles. No schemes. Just them—and the hush of a city briefly at rest.

Back at the Silver Griffon Inn, their suite overlooked the harbor, waves glinting beneath the moon. Ethan unbuckled his armor piece by piece while Celestia shed her enchanted vambraces.

He looked over and murmured, "You were right. About needing rest."

Celestia, already reclining on the plush settee, eyes half-lidded, simply nodded.

As she drifted off to sleep, Ethan crossed the room and brushed a few strands of hair from her face, his fingers gentle against her cheek. Her expression softened even more, breath deep and even.

He whispered, "Thanks for being the one constant in all this madness."

Then, turning toward the other bed, he laid down with the weight of the day melting off him, not knowing what tomorrow would bring—but certain they’d face it together.

Outside, a chill wind rustled the window curtains. And far below, in the city’s oldest quarter, a shadowed figure in midnight robes traced a finger along an ancient sigil, whispering a name now known to all:

"Lockwood."