In Another World, All Milfs Will Be Mine-Chapter 152: [ - - ] - The Feast of Fools

"Cheers!"

The Banquet Hall of Baron Volkov’s official estate in Auravale smelled of expensive cigars, roasted pork, and the sour, fermented reek of wine.

It was the smell of victory. Or at least, the smell of men who thought they had won.

Baron Volkov sat at the head seat of the massive table. The Baron had always been big, fat and pig faced.

But today he felt especially fat and greasy. His face was flushed crimson from hours of drinking. Sweat beaded on his receding hairline, dripping down to stain the collar of his overly tight robes.

He had a half-naked courtesan perched on each of his massive thighs.

One was feeding him strips of dripping honey-glazed ham, which he snapped at like a trained seal, his thick fingers digging into her hip with bruising force.

The other was lazily massaging his chest, her eyes dead and bored, clearly waiting for the coin pouch at the end of the night.

"More wine!" Volkov roared, slamming his empty goblet onto the table, "And bring the good stuff! none of that local swill from this barren town! Bring out the one I had brought with myself!"

A servant scrambled to obey, nearly tripping over his own feet in fear.

The guests erupted in laughter. He was not alone, the room was filled with nobles that once tailed behind Caelum, but now they were leeching onto Volkov’s leg.

Leo had made sure of one thing. None of them no longer had any place in Auravale.

Then there were the high ranking captains and knights from his army.

"To Lord Caelum!" Volkov shouted, raising his refilled glass, slopping red wine onto the tablecloth, "Our dear Bastard Lord!"

"The fastest runner in the Kingdom! He could be halfway to the capital by now, pissing his pants every time a twig snaps!"

"If he is still alive! Hahahaha!"

"Here, here!" A captain bellowed, slamming his fist on the table, "The man ran so fast he left his treasury behind! A true philanthropist!"

The room dissolved into guffaws and jeers.

"And to the so-called ’Hero’!" another captain sneered, carving a piece of meat with a dagger, "The boy managed to survive the Endless Forest."

"Only to die in the hands of the mighty Baron! Poor kid."

"What poor kid?" Volkov slammed his wine glass on the table as he eyed that captain, "That nobody. That bastard... He dared to stand against me? Huh!"

"He dare threaten me?"

"He was courting death," Volkov threw his head back and laughed, his multiple chins wobbling, "A died like a dog! He was a pest. A mosquito! And mosquitoes get swatted."

He grabbed the courtesan on his left and squeezed her breast hard enough to make her wince. He leaned in, his breath heavy with garlic and alcohol.

"A shame about Lady Seraphine though," Volkov mused, his eyes glazing over with a dark, twisted lust.

"I always wanted to break that cold bitch. Caelum was too soft. He let her walk around like she owned the place. Once I take control over formally... once the Crown confirms my claim... I will drag her out of the castle."

He took a messy bite of a pear.

"She can scrub my floors," Volkov chewed loudly, juice running down his chin. "Naked."

"On her hands and knees. And when she is done with the floors, she can polish my boots with that pretty tongue of hers. My wife will hate it, of course."

"That old hag is probably at home right now, knitting and plotting my murder, but who cares? I am the man now! I make the rules!"

"To the Baron!" The ministers cheered, raising their glasses.

Volkov basked in the adoration. He pushed the girls off his lap, standing up with a grunt of effort. The chair creaked in relief. He walked to the center of the room, swaying slightly, feeling like a god.

"Listen to me!" He bellowed, silencing the room, "Tomorrow, we start making the preparations. My brother-in-law, that useful idiot, will sit on the throne to keep the peasants happy. But we all know who pulls the strings."

He pointed a greasy finger at the window, towards the city.

"And that bitch Ryana? The ’Red Queen’?" Volkov scoffed, spitting on the floor, "She thinks she can side with that scrawny kid."

"She thought she could monopolise the trade routes? She thinks she can dictate prices to me? Tomorrow, I will double her taxes."

"I will squeeze the Silver Route until it pops. If she complains, I confiscate her stock. If she resists... Well, you captains need some entertainment, don’t you?"

"We do! We do!" Everyone cheered, hearing the Baron..

Volkov spread his arms wide, encompassing the room, the food, the women, the power.

"This city is ours!" he roared, his voice booming off the walls, "No one can stop us! Not the Gods! Not the King! And certainly not some dead adventurer rotting in a ditch!"

He raised his glass high for the final toast.

"To absolute pow—"

BOOM!

The world exploded.

It wasn’t a knock. It wasn’t a push. The massive double oak doors of the banquet hall didn’t just open; they disintegrated.

A shockwave of kinetic force blasted into the room, carrying with it a storm of splinters, twisted iron hinges, and dust. The sound was deafening, a thunderclap that shattered every crystal glass on the table instantly.

"ARGH!"

A guard who had been standing on the other side of the door was launched into the room like a ragdoll.

He flew through the air, screaming, before crashing violently onto the banquet table, sliding through the roasted pig and sending platters of food flying everywhere. He came to a stop in front of Volkov, groaning in pain.

The music died instantly. The courtesans screamed, scrambling under the tables, covering their ears.

Dust and debris billowed into the entrance, choking the candlelight, turning the golden glow of the room into a hazy, grey twilight.

Volkov stood frozen, his wine glass shattered in his hand, red liquid dripping down his fingers like blood. He blinked, his drunk brain trying to process the sudden violence.

"What...?" he stammered, coughing in the dust, "Who dares...?"

Silence fell over the room. A heavy, suffocating silence that was far louder than the explosion.

Then, the footsteps started.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Slow. Rhythmic. Calm.

Through the swirling smoke, four silhouettes emerged. They didn’t rush. They didn’t charge. They walked with the terrifying, casual arrogance of predators entering a pen of sheep.

The man in the center stepped into the light first.

It was Leo.

But it wasn’t the boy they remembered. He was wearing a long black noble’s coat with gold trim. It was unmistakably Lord Caelum’s, but worn with a swagger Caelum never possessed. His chest was bandaged underneath, visible through the open collar, but he didn’t look injured. He looked bored. His hand rested casually on the pommel of his sword.

But it was his eyes that froze the blood in Volkov’s veins. They were glowing. A faint, predatory purple light pulsed in his irises, the sign of a Bloodline that viewed humans as nothing more than cattle.

To his right walked Belladonna. The Bandit Queen had shed her travel cloak. She was prowling in tight leather pants that clung to her powerful thighs like a second skin, and a fur-lined vest that did nothing to hide the deep, generous cleavage of her heavy breasts. She held a massive, serrated blade lazily over one shoulder, grinning like a shark that had just smelled blood in the water.

To his left was Seraphine. She wore a mourning gown of black lace, but it was cut dangerously high, exposing a long, pale leg with every step. Her face was a mask of icy, imperious contempt. She didn’t look even a bit sad, though. She looked like the Queen, here to judge the souls of the damned.

And bringing up the rear, flanking them, was Ryana. She wore no armour, no weapons. She was dressed in her pristine red merchant robes, her hands clasped behind her back. She looked pale, the scent in the room making her nauseous.

The four of them stood amidst the wreckage of the door, a tableau of vengeance.

Volkov’s knees knocked together. The color drained from his face so fast he looked like a corpse. The piece of pear fell from his open mouth.

"G-Ghosts?" Volkov wheezed, stumbling back until he hit his chair. "You... You’re dead! The reports said..."

Leo stepped forward.

He kicked a piece of the shattered door aside. The wood skittered across the floor, the sound echoing loudly in the terrified silence.

He looked around the room. He looked at the spilled wine. He looked at the trembling mercenaries who were slowly reaching for their weapons. He looked at the fat, sweating Baron.

A slow, cruel smirk spread across Leo’s face.

"I heard there was a party," Leo said, his voice smooth, carrying effortlessly through the hall, "Celebrating my death, apparently."

He walked over to a nearby serving cart. A waiter was frozen there, holding a tray with a bottle of wine. Leo plucked the bottle from the tray, inspecting the label casually.

"I was a little hurt I didn’t get an invite," Leo drawled, popping the cork with his thumb.

He took a swig straight from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His glowing purple eyes locked onto Volkov’s.

"So I decided to crash it," Leo said, his grin widening, revealing teeth that looked just a little too sharp. "Don’t stop laughing on my account, gentlemen... I am not here to kill the celebration."

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