CHAPTER 46: BET-2

Duke Azeron stood silent. He could feel the weight of everyone’s gazes on him, even the Barons were watching, waiting for the Duke’s counter.

What would he say? What would he do?

While Azeron maintained an expressionless face, in his mind he was laughing his lungs out. He had no personal issue or longstanding feud with Duke Rhydion Silvershade, but it seemed the man wanted him to suffer some form of loss during this royal party.

’Since he proposed it, let’s make a killing this time, shall we?’ Azeron thought with a hidden smirk, already counting the amount of money he was about to win in his mind.

His thoughts, however, remained buried deep within. On the outside, his face remained completely still, cold, unreadable, and devoid of any emotion.

Just when it seemed like Duke Azeron wasn’t going to speak, his lips finally parted.

"Fifty percent."

The entire room froze at his words.

Did they just hear that right? Fifty percent? Fifty percent of an entire year’s earnings of a Ducal Household?

If Duke Rhydion’s words were a grenade, then Duke Azeron Wargrave’s reply was a nuclear explosion.

Even Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor doubted his own ears. Even he, an Emperor, though unimaginably wealthy, would not stake that amount on a mere bet over children’s squabbles. But he said nothing. After all, it wasn’t his money. He wasn’t the one suffering any potential loss. And besides, the party had just turned into something far more interesting than it had started out.

All eyes instantly shifted from Duke Azeron to Duke Rhydion like magnets, as if waiting for him to counterbet and raise it to seventy percent.

Duke Rhydion Silvershade’s expression didn’t change drastically, but a subtle frown could be seen if one looked closely enough. That faint crease on his forehead gave away his irritation.

A Ducal Household always ran on yearly incomes, setting aside whatever profits they made for emergencies. Any noble family losing fifty percent of its yearly income would be financially crippled, whether they were a Duke, an Emperor, or even a Baron.

Although these nobles possessed vast savings, funds that could make their yearly income seem like spare change, those savings were never meant for trivial bets. They were meant for war. After all, no one wages war without money. War was an investment. You begin with wealth, and if you win, you gain more than you risked. But if you lose, everything burns down to ashes.

Which meant: if he lost this bet, a lot of the family’s extravagant lifestyle would have to be cut in half, if not more.

But Duke Rhydion couldn’t back down now. He had been the one who initiated the bet to pressure Duke Azeron. But now, the tables had turned. The pressure was on him. If he backed down at this point, he would lose face before all the nobles present.

’Wait. Is this a ploy to get the entire bet canceled? So he can save his family from disgrace and still save some platinum coins at the same time?’ Duke Rhydion suddenly thought.

His eyes turned sharply to Duke Azeron as his thoughts continued to swirl.

’Even if you are a brute, you’re still cunning. But you’re still a brute, Azeron.’

At the sides, the Barons and Viscounts felt a mix of awe and resentment. They would need years, possibly decades, just to save the amount of money being casually used for this bet. Yet here the Dukes were, throwing it around like it was a game.

They suddenly felt too poor to even exist in the same room as these people.

"Rhydion, I advise you to make your decision. Asher has already stepped out of the banquet."

Duke Mauvrek Ravencroft said with a relaxed smile, clearly enjoying the unfolding show.

’He was buying time while his son escapes,’ he thought, before speaking again.

"Let’s do it, then."

At his words, the Emperor instantly acted. Taking out an orb from his space ring, he spoke firmly:

"Stop Asher Wargrave from leaving. Inform him that I require his presence."

Shock rippled through the room as nobles began moving. They started heading down to the floor below. The bet of the century was about to begin.

Present Time.

Asher walked calmly into the banquet hall once more. As he stepped in, his gaze flickered toward the side as he heard the doors opening, the same doors the Royal Twins had entered through earlier.

"The Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor has arrived. The Dukes Azeron Wargrave, Mauvrek Ravencroft, Syvrein Stormveil have arrived in attendance along with other noble figures."

As the announcement tore through the hall, the music that had been playing ceased instantly. Thoughts paused. Movements halted. Then all eyes turned to the door in collective shock.

Many doubted their own senses. They couldn’t help but think: The Emperor has made an entrance?

They would have never guessed that the Emperor himself would attend this party in person.

Everyone instantly bowed in unison, greeting with practiced reverence,

"We greet His Royal Highness, the Emperor."

Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor stood with the grace befitting his status. Behind him, the Dukes and other nobles stood silently, radiating an imposing presence that dominated the room.

"I thank you all for accepting my Royal Invitation," Emperor Zolthemir spoke as his voice, calm and commanding, echoed across the hall. "I hope we continue working together to make this Empire great."

"But," he continued after a pause, "at this moment, we are here for my children, my son and my daughter. And to make the party more interesting, we shall be having a spar between the Tenth Sun, Asher Wargrave, and Ryan Silvershade, both of whom appear to be very much interested in my daughter."

At the Emperor’s words, eyes immediately turned to Ryan and Asher. Everyone had seen them argue a bit earlier, perhaps over the Princess. And now, it appeared they were about to fight because of it.

"Of course, I will not be using my imperial authority to impose this spar," the Emperor clarified. "This battle was proposed by Duke Rhydion Silvershade and accepted by Duke Azeron Wargrave."

He paused again, allowing the nobles and guests to process what he had just said, making it clear that this was not a forced confrontation under royal command.

"And naturally," he added with a slight smirk, "there are stakes involved. The losing Household shall pay fifty percent of their annual income to the victorious one."

At Emperor Zolthemir’s words, many in the room felt weak at the knees. They mentally began calculating the amount of money at stake in this outrageous bet. But the Emperor paid no attention to their reactions.

"This spar will be taking place outside, and I will personally be officiating the match," Emperor Zolthemir concluded.

He then turned and stepped out of the hall. The nobles followed behind him calmly, seemingly unconcerned that the Emperor had made the bet public. After all, only the losing side would suffer immense backlash and humiliation.

Immediately, everyone began scrambling toward the door, racing to secure the best seats for the upcoming duel between two Ducal Households.

’So this was why I was summoned, huh? It seems no noble party ever begins in peace or ends in peace,’ Asher thought with a tired sigh as people rushed past him in excitement and disbelief.

’Besides, I didn’t even know Father would be coming. And for him to agree to a fifty percent bet... is he that confident in me?’ Asher couldn’t help but smile faintly at the idea that the Primarch had such faith in his abilities.

Only if Asher knew...

The Primarch had been the one who proposed the fifty percent stake himself, and was simply using his son to make a quick fortune.