The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 117 Birthday Feast

Jolthar found solace in the rhythm of the workshop.

For the entire day and the one that followed, he remained there, his presence a quiet but effective one. The blacksmiths, initially wary of his intrusion, quickly recognized his skill. His hands moved with precision and familiarity as he worked alongside them, forging, shaping, and honing. It didnʼt take long for them to see just how interested he was.

The sharp tang of heated metal and the rhythmic clang of hammers on anvils filled the air, creating an almost meditative atmosphere.

Jolthar had always loved the simplicity of this work.

Here, the world outside—filled with politics, expectations, and hidden agendas—ceased to matter. The workshop became a haven, a place where the only concerns were the edge of a blade or the strength of a weld.

His sharp eyes assessed each weapon that came to him, and his clever hands ensured no flaw was overlooked. When he wasnʼt working on Knashii, his own blade, he lent his expertise to the others.

By the time the second day ended, the smithy was brimming with finely crafted and meticulously maintained weapons, each a testament to the relentless focus he had poured into his work.

-

The day of the feast finally arrived, its significance buzzing through the estate like an electric current. It was a celebration of the second young master, a prodigy who had achieved feats unparalleled by any other in the clan at such a young age. His strength, skill, and leadership had cemented his reputation as the brightest star among the clanʼs children—a position that, predictably, excluded Jolthar.

The other children werenʼt far, but considering his sword skills, they said that he was the same as the patriarch. After the eldest had left the clan, he had put more effort into his sword, bringing in the merits of both sword and clan.

For Jolthar, the day began much like any other. He woke up to the maid arriving with a jug of milk and a light breakfast. She had grown accustomed to his routines, and her efficiency elicited a small chuckle from him.

Shortly after breakfast, Jolthar found himself standing in Lady Maenaʼs office.

The air in the room was cool, and her desk was, as always, immaculately organized. She sat behind it, her demeanour calm yet authoritative as she briefed him on a mission that awaited him after the banquet.

”The details will come later,” Maena said, her tone clipped and professional.

”For now, attend the banquet and behave. Youʼll need to leave immediately after it concludes.”

Jolthar gave a brief nod, his expression unreadable as usual. He had no love for such gatherings, but he understood the necessity of his presence.

Without further words, he was dismissed.

-

Jolthar returned to his quarters, where his maid awaited him with a suit she had prepared. It was a simple black ensemble, not luxurious or ornate but clean and well-fitted. Jolthar examined it briefly before nodding in approval.

”Youʼve done well,” he remarked, his tone neutral but with a faint undertone of appreciation.

The maid bowed slightly, her hands clasped in front of her. ”Itʼs my duty, young master.”

Once dressed, Jolthar regarded himself in the small mirror in his room. The suit, though plain, suited him perfectly. His silver hair, was neatly combed back; the maid insisted that he did; she tied the long hair into a ponytail. Seeing him in the suit, the maid couldnʼt hide her blush; even in the simplest suit, he was strikingly handsome. His porcelain-like skin glowed under the soft lighting of the room, enhancing his features and giving him an air of elegance. Jolthar smiled at the maid, thanking her for her assistance before heading out for the day. His sharp features and calm, observant demeanour made him stand out even without the finery others would undoubtedly wear.

-

The banquet was held in the grand hall of the estate, a space designed to impress. The ceilings arched high above, adorned with intricate carvings and chandeliers that cast a warm golden glow over the room.

The long table at the centre was laden with an array of delicacies—roasted meats, exotic fruits, and an assortment of pastries and drinks. Servants bustled about, ensuring everything was perfect, while knights stood watch, their eyes scanning for any sign of trouble.

Jolthar entered quietly, his sharp eyes immediately taking in the room. Guests had not yet begun to arrive in large numbers; only a few knights and attendants were present, overseeing the final preparations.

He chose a seat in the corner, deliberately positioned to give him a clear view of the entrance.

From here, he could observe everyone who entered without drawing attention to himself. He was lazily seated in the chair, watching the hall and its occupants, every one of them.

As he sat, his expression remained neutral, almost bored. But those who knew Jolthar well—though they were few—would have recognized the glint of sharp calculation in his eyes. To most, he seemed like a young man uninterested in the grandeur around him, but beneath the surface, his mind was always working, always analyzing.

The hall began to fill slowly as the hour drew closer.

Guests arrived in pairs or small groups, their laughter and conversation creating a growing hum of excitement. Each one was dressed in fine clothing, their appearances polished and their demeanours confident.

Jolthar remained in his corner, his presence understated yet unignorable to those who noticed him. His simple attire starkly contrasted the extravagance around him, but he wore it with an air of quiet self-assurance that made him seem entirely out of place and yet exactly where he was meant to be.

As he sipped the drink brought to him by one of the servers, Joltharʼs eyes flickered toward the entrance.

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He saw Lorryll entering the hall and his wife beside him, her hand coupled with his. And they werenʼt alone, and Jolthar could see men dressed in robes, pale red coloured robes, bearing the sigil of Naemarys clan.