Chapter 254: The Starlight Banquet. (3) (Kofi Donation Bonus)

[That brings us to the end of the bonus mass release! Another super gift, anyone?]

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Director Kaien stepped forward onto the edge of the floating silver platform.

"Students of the Ambassadors Academy," the Director’s voice boomed, carrying neither artificial amplification nor vocal strain, yet filling every cubic inch of the grand hall with absolute, primordial weight. "Honored guests, alumni, and officers of the Alliance. Welcome to the Starlight Banquet."

A wave of respectful applause swept through the room.

"Tonight, we set aside the blood of the rifts and the bruises of the sparring rings," Kaien continued, his piercing gaze sweeping over the crowd, lingering for a microsecond on Creed before passing smoothly over the other freshmen.

"Tonight, we celebrate the stars that have chosen to gather under our banner. Feast. Dance. Forge the bonds that will keep your backs guarded when the beasts scream at your gates. For when the midnight bell tolls... the stars will align, and the sorting of the Four Houses shall begin."

Kaien raised his golden goblet.

"Let the banquet commence!"

BOOM!

The floating chandeliers flared with warm, golden light.

Instantly, the back panels of the ballroom opened, and an army of automated floating service trays swept across the room like an aerial armada.

The feast was obscene in its luxury.

Massive platters of roasted Stage 4 Fire-Horn Drake ribs sizzled on hot volcanic stones, filling the air with the rich, smoky aroma of charred perfection and exotic spices.

Bowls of glistening, luminescent celestial fruits that hummed with ambient mana floated over the tables.

Delicate pastries infused with Sun Dew Sap, towers of iced shellfish from the abyssal ocean rifts, and casks of sparkling starlight wine were uncorked by the dozens.

Creed’s eyes lit up like a kid walking into an all-you-can-eat arcade.

"Now this," Creed declared, grabbing Amara’s wrist and practically dragging her toward the nearest carving station, "is what I call proper academic tuition utilization."

"Creed! Slow down, you’re the Class Captain!" Amara hissed, though she was laughing as Creed effortlessly loaded four thick cuts of dragon-steaks onto a single silver platter.

"Class Captains need protein, Amara," Creed replied solemnly, stabbing a piece with a small fork and chewing with profound spiritual enlightenment.

"You can’t maintain a Peak Stage 5 Physique on academy propaganda alone. Try this. It’s braised in magma-wine."

Amara hesitated, looking around at the refined nobles delicately nibbling on salad leaves, then sighed and took a small bite from his fork. Her eyes widened slightly in pure bliss. "Oh... that’s actually incredible."

"Told you," Creed grinned, already reaching for a skewer of spicy lamb.

Nearby, Pascal had already established a territorial boundary around the dessert table.

The golden-robed boy was shoveling tiny lemon tarts into his mouth three at a time, his sleeves tucked into his waistband, lecturing an appalled second-year girl about how the digestive system of a true dragon required high glucose intake to manifest elemental breath.

As the feast progressed, the heavy symphonies softened into a smooth, rhythmic waltz that echoed across the shining obsidian floor.

Couples began drifting toward the center of the ballroom. Ryan Griffith was already twirling a stunning senior instructor with practiced, effortless charm, laughing as they glided beneath the floating fountains.

Nicholas Grey and Emerald stepped onto the floor with sleek, lethal elegance, moving in perfect, razor-sharp synchronization that looked less like a romantic dance and more like two master duelists mirroring each other’s fatal strike patterns.

Creed set his empty plate onto a floating tray and wiped his fingers with a linen napkin.

He turned toward Amara, offering his hand with a low, mocking bow.

"Well, my lady? We’ve eaten their food. Do you know how to dance, or do you only know how to freeze people’s feet to the floor?"

Amara raised an eyebrow, placing her delicate, cool hand into his warm palm.

"I’ve been trained in high-court waltzes since I was six years old, Walden," she smirked, stepping onto the polished obsidian. "Try not to step on my toes with those heavy boots."

"I have profound-realm footwork, Amara," Creed chuckled, his right hand settling firmly, comfortably against the small of her bare back, his fingers feeling the smooth, burning warmth of her skin. "You’re safe."

They moved.

And to the surprise of every gossiping noble in the room, Creed Walden did not stumble once.

His comprehension of the Path of Freedom translated effortlessly into his motion.

He moved with zero inertia, guiding Amara through the sweeping rotations of the waltz with light, fluid, and breathtaking grace.

Her frost-silk gown swirled around his navy trousers like a blossoming winter flower, their movements matching the tempo of the starlight runes dancing above their heads.

Amara looked up into Creed’s dark blue eyes, the faint rosy flush returning to her cheeks beneath the chandeliers.

For a moment, the academy, the looming Starlight Realm, and the pressure of their lineages faded into the background. It was just the cool night air, the rhythm of the strings, and the steady, unyielding beat of Creed’s heart beneath his silk coat.

"You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?" Amara whispered softly, her fingers tightening slightly against his shoulder.

Creed smiled—a warm, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "I told you. I’m a man of many talents."

GONG.

A sudden, deep chime resonated from the grand dais, sending a physical shockwave through the ballroom floor that brought the dance to an immediate halt.

The floating fountains froze mid-air.

The lights across the ceiling shifted from warm gold to four distinct, brilliant elemental hues: Crimson, Obsidian, Azure, and Radiant White.

Above the Director’s high platform, four massive holographic banners unrolled across the sky, each bearing a colossal runic crest that made the air grow heavy with terrifying, competitive pressure:

The House of Hearts.

The House of Spades.

The House of Clubs.

And the House of Diamonds.

Director Kaien stepped forward once more, his sharp voice cutting through the silent room like a thunderclap:

"The hour has arrived. Freshmen of the Ambassadors Academy... step forward to receive your House."