Chapter 43: A Pointless Party

The incident at the chancellor’s soirée spread through the capital’s noble society like wildfire.

“The third son of House Arkwright defied Prince Alphonse in public.”

“The cold-blooded Zenon declares the kingdom’s traditions corrupt.”

The rumors grew ever more exaggerated as they spread. The name Zenon von Arkwright had now become synonymous in the royal capital with “the most dangerous” and “the most insolent” of men.

For the three days leading up to the royal inquest, invitations poured into the Arkwright estate like an avalanche—balls, teas, luncheons.

But few of them were born of genuine goodwill.

Some were open displays of hostility from nobles aligned with Prince Alphonse: 

“If you have the courage, attend our gathering and see what happens.”

Others came from the neutral faction, motivated by sheer curiosity: 

“We’d like to see this so-called dangerous man for ourselves.” Like an invitation extended to the star attraction of a freak show.

“What shall we do, Zenon-sama?”

Gray looked despairingly at the mountain of invitations before him.

“Reject them all.”

As ever, Zenon’s answer was succinct.

“For the next two days until the audience, I will not take a single step outside this mansion. I will devote myself entirely to intelligence-gathering and preparing my presentation for His Majesty.”

“B-but, my lord! If we refuse them all, our standing will only worsen! Could we not at least attend one—?”

“Gray.”

Zenon set down his pen and fixed his attendant with a sharp gaze.

“You still don’t understand. I did not come here to be liked.”

“…”

“My purpose is not to play nice with them. I need only one thing: to have His Majesty recognize the legitimacy of my reforms, and to end the kingdom’s unjust interference in the Arkwright territory. Emotional appeals are meaningless. What matters is logic—and irrefutable results.”

He handed Gray a sheet of parchment.

On it were beautifully drawn graphs showing every economic indicator before and after the reforms in the Arclight territory:
Tax revenue, agricultural output, population growth rate, and average income per citizen.

Every number showed astonishing improvement within just a year.

“This is my weapon. Not empty smiles or small talk.”


Zenon’s tone was final.

“If I spent hours trying to please them at some pointless party, I could instead use that time to refine this data and make my argument even more compelling. Which of the two options serves my goal more efficiently? The answer is obvious.”

Faced with that flawless reasoning, Gray could only lower his head.

Lord Zenon is right.
He always chooses the most efficient, most effective path.
It would be folly to cloud his grand design with my own shallow common sense.

“…Understood. I will politely decline all invitations.”

Gray bowed deeply and left the room.

From that day on, Zenon quite literally barricaded himself inside the mansion.

From dawn till dusk, he remained in his study, poring over endless data.

He translated the successes of the Arkwright domain into universal economic models that even laymen could grasp—charts, figures, and flawless counterarguments to every foreseeable objection.

With superhuman focus, he honed his ultimate presentation for the coming final battle: the royal audience.

Meanwhile, in the capital’s social circles, Zenon’s “reclusion” only served to fan the flames of his infamy.

“Did you hear? The Arkwright boy ignored every invitation!”

“He dares to defy Prince Alphonse and snub the entire nobility?!”

“A mere provincial upstart—he clearly knows nothing of proper etiquette.”

“Or perhaps he’s just hiding, too frightened to face us after that incident. A coward in truth.”


Zenon’s reputation, once that of an “arrogant upstart,” now carried an added brand: “rude and cowardly.”

None of them knew—nor cared to know—that he was in fact sharpening his blade of logic for the battle ahead.

Naturally, the rumors reached Prince Alphonse himself.

“A coward, they say…”

He murmured the words softly.

“No. That man is no coward.”

He recalled the night of the banquet—the cold, piercing blue eyes that seemed to see through everything.

Those were not the eyes of a timid man. They were the eyes of someone who looked down upon all others from a height unreachable by ordinary men.

“He’s deliberately ignoring us.”

Alphonse’s tone grew firm with conviction.

“He truly believes that social niceties are a waste of time. He intends to fight on a completely different battlefield—and he assumes we’re too blind to realize it.”

It was an astute analysis.

Alphonse might be emotional, but he was not a fool. He could feel the alien, almost inhuman quality that set Zenon apart.

“Interesting.”

A bold smile spread across the prince’s lips.

“Then I’ll face him head-on—on his battlefield of arrogance.”

He rose and looked out the window over the glittering royal capital.

“I look forward to the day of audience, Zenon von Arkwright. Let’s see how your vaunted ‘rationality’ fares against my father—and against the weight of this kingdom’s traditions.”

On the grand stage of the royal capital—

One man cloistered himself in silence, sharpening the sword of logic.
The other stood in the glare of society, gathering both hostility and expectation, armoring himself in tradition.

The unseen battle between these two young geniuses had already begun.

And in just two days, it would culminate before the throne of the king himself.

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