Tower of Avarice: A LitRPG story

Chapter 57 – Floor 6: Part 10

Mercifully, the song ended before the entire pavilion could break out into violence.

With a final flourish on the strings of his lute and a deep bow, the musician left the center of the tent to thunderous applause from the Talrandians and dead silence from the Amadans. Running his hand through his hair, Mathew first took a glance at Rehn to judge her reaction.

The Amadan Princess was still staring forward, as unblinking and unmoving as a statue. Much of the song had been personal attacks against her, judging her against her future husband and finding her lacking. Mathew wasn’t sure how much the Prince was involved in the songwriting, but he certainly sang along with the rest of the crowd during the chorus with gusto.

Still standing and clapping, the Prince was flashing his white-toothed smile at the crowd.

When the tumult finally calmed down somewhat, it was time for the Amadan’s performance.

A trio of performers made their way to the center of the stage. One carried a large harp in his hands as an Amadan servant placed a stool down for him to sit. Placing the harp on the wooden floor, the musician plucked a few gently soft notes before tuning it slightly and trying again.

Flanking him were two women, both wearing pristine white robes. The woman on the right had her eyes closed while her hands made small motions in the air before her.

Satisfied that his harp was ready, the older man, whose robes matched the two women, nodded his head slightly to the young woman to his left. Stepping to the forefront of the trio, she began to sing.

It was a beautiful melody. The young woman’s voice matched the sound of the harp perfectly. Mathew couldn’t recognize any of the words. They were in a language he didn’t know, nor was it what Rehn had spoken to him.

At times, the harp lifted the singer's voice, buoying it, while at other times, it faded and allowed her to carry to tune alone.

But it was the older woman with her eyes closed that stole the show.

Her waving hands began to draw images in the air, and it didn’t matter that Mathew couldn’t understand the song's words. The meaning was being displayed before him.

It was of a battlefield, lines of Amadans wielding weapons and fighting against an army of Talrandians on a muddy field while the grey sky above them poured rain down upon them. The ground was soon soaked red, churned by marching feet and covered in bodies.

The song was of sadness and loss, and the images continued to show the deaths on both sides. Eventually, the tune changed to something more proud and hopeful as the Amadans began to win. Turning the tide, the Talrandians retreated before their army.

‘Oh no.’ Mathew said silently.

This song was obviously created to commemorate a great victory by the Amadans, something that was equally angering to the Talrandians as their performance had been. Seeing the look on the Prince’s face beside him was all the confirmation Mathew needed.

The Prince was livid; his face was flushed red with anger, and he was gripping his goblet in a white-knuckled grip to the point where the metal was beginning to warp and twist, spilling wine over his wrist. Before the performance could end, he stood up and shouted.

“How dare you!” The Prince yelled, hurling his goblet toward the performers before anyone could stop him. The thick metal goblet flew toward the lead singer as the pavilion erupted in furious screaming. As it neared her, it suddenly stopped in midair.

With a flick of his finger, Mathew sent the goblet back toward the Prince. The man was stunned by the action and couldn’t dodge. The goblet struck him in the chest before falling back onto the table with a clatter.

The Prince let out a scream of surprise. The goblet had dented his breastplate. The perfect engraving of the dragon now had a large gouge in it, marring the image and the blue enamelling. At his yell, the Talrandians stopped their yelling and turned to look at their Prince in alarm, thinking he was under attack.

“Behave yourselves!” Mathew roared, standing upright and slamming his hand against the table in front of him. Not realizing how much strength he was using, his hand smashed clean through the table, and the piece of furniture split in half and collapsed.

‘Oops.’ Mathew thought, struggling to keep the enraged look on his face as the shock of what he had done threatened to show. He hadn’t realized how much his level-ups had enhanced his body. He only meant to make a loud noise, not snap the heavy wooden table in half.

“You will all return to your seats. Now.” Mathew said coldly, his eyes taking in the entire room. Before the Prince could argue, Mathew rounded on him.

“Do that again, and I’ll do worse than damage your armour.” Mathew threatened, and for the first time, the Prince was afraid of this Champion.

Mathew had been through wars and battles during the year he had been in the Tower. The Prince and his entourage weren’t as terrifying as an army of Goblins or undead. Before the crowd could respond, Mathew began to applaud.

“Wonder performance! A truly marvellous spectacle for both continents. I am sure the goddess of Serene Reconciliation is equally pleased. “ Mathew said, subtly reminding them all that the goddess desired this alliance.

“Now, I believe it is time for the feast!” Mathew said, directing the servants for both groups to begin arranging tables and bringing out the meals. While they waited for servants to replace his broken table and serve them food, Rehn leaned closer to him and spoke.

“What did you do? I didn’t feel any magic when the goblet stopped, nor when it flew back toward its owner.” Rehn whispered, her voice nearly too quiet for even Mathew to hear. Modulating sound wasn’t an Amadan strong suit.

“Really? I just used a Blessing.” Mathew replied.

Ignoring both Rehn and the Prince after his reply, Mathew searched the room for the next point of trouble. Thankfully, nothing was happening as the crowd was too busy rearranging their seating slightly while servants placed covered meals in front of each of the guests.

Suitably cowed by Mathew’s display of magic, the Talrandians were as silent as the Amadans as they waited. He caught some people amongst the Prince’s retinue whispering frantically, gesturing toward him, but no one approached.

Mathew found Amberlith next to Bargoth. The young woman gave him a small smile and a nod of the head before looking back to her master. The Magus was quietly explaining something, his hand making small motions. They had both received their meals, but neither made an effort to lift the cover until the time for the meal began.

Once the last of the servants departed and everyone had been served, one of the Amadans stood to explain their offering to the celebration. Mathew had difficulty understanding what the man was saying; his words were jumbled together in a way he had come to expect from the nearly non-verbal Amadans.

“The offering today is a white rice porridge, served with a selection of fruits from the continent.” The man continued with some of the other ingredients, but Mathew couldn’t pick out the words. Lifting the cover, he saw it was ‘congee’ topped with slivers of vegetables, a plate of fruits and a small loaf of bread.

Taking a bite, he found that it was rather bland compared to something from his Earth, but it wasn’t bad, and he dug in. He was taking another bite when he saw the offended expressions on the faces of the Talrandians.

“What’s wrong?” Mathew whispered to Rehn, and the young Princess let out a small sigh.

“They consider it ‘peasant’ food. They won’t eat it.” She stated as she delicately dipped a spoon into her porridge and took a bite. Next to him, the Prince refused to pick up the utensil.

“Does everything have to be an insult?” Mathew asked with exasperation, and Rehn shook her head.

“It wasn’t meant to be. This is what I eat every day. It’s their way of honouring me.” She replied.

Soon, the meal was concluded, and the trays were taken away by the servants. By agreement, the meal would be Amadan, but the dessert would be Talrandian. Mathew was sure they would have some elaborate insult planned. It seemed inevitable.

He wasn’t disappointed.

The servants placed more trays in front of everyone. This time, Mathew didn’t wait for anyone else, and he immediately lifted the cover.

It was a small cake, round and fluffy, with a cup of some kind of sweet sauce that would be poured over it. Mathew heard the Prince laughing loudly, while this time, it was Rehn who made no effort to pick up her fork.

Confused, Mathew turned to the Prince, who was already pouring the sauce on the dessert.

“Why are the Amadans not eating it?” Mathew asked. No one on their side of the Pavilion would touch the dessert, while now it was the Talrandians who were enjoying the food.

“You’ve spent time around them, yet you don’t know? They may not eat milk or eggs. The chefs must have overlooked this fact when selecting today's menu.” The Prince said smugly.

Smiling at Mathew, he took a bite, and a look of satisfaction appeared on his face. If he was still upset at the Champion, he did his best to avoid showing it.

Sighing once more, a habit that he hoped didn’t stay with him after today, Mathew set about finishing his dessert.