Chapter 123: The Banquet (Part II)

The appearance of "The Emperor" signaled the official commencement of the ball.

Melodious music, figures swaying in dance, and an array of fine wines and delicacies laid out nearby—it was almost indistinguishable from the galas of the high society before the Great Catastrophe. The only regret was the absence of a live orchestra; having to play music through speakers felt somewhat underwhelming. Yet, in the grand scheme of things, this minor grievance hardly mattered.

Dancing was, of course, the heart of the ball. Soon, caught up in the rhythm, restless young people began to flirt and pair off, inviting one another onto the dance floor. Though initially stiff, the atmosphere grew increasingly lively as more people joined in.

Feron did not participate. He sat lazily in a corner, savoring the delicious food while stroking the black cat in his lap. The Seven Sovereigns rarely took to the floor themselves; their reputations in District 9 were simply too imposing. Those qualified to attend the ball were all too familiar with the terrifying power the Sovereigns wielded. Dancing with such figures would likely leave them paralyzed with fear, unable to enjoy a single moment. That was clearly not the intention behind the Black Stone Group’s gala.

"No plans to join them?"

The old man approached Feron with a wine glass in hand, looking at him with a cryptic smile. Feron simply spun the scalpel in his hand, sliced a piece of ham, and popped it into his mouth.

"No interest. Besides, I don't know how to dance."

"That doesn't really matter. Not many people here do, either."

As he spoke, "The Emperor" gazed at the chaotic dance floor. He was right; such leisure was a luxury for those living in the post-apocalyptic world. Most of the men and women on the floor knew only the simplest steps, but it mattered little. As long as the dancers were enjoying themselves, that was enough. Moreover, most were more concerned with what would happen after the dance than the dance itself, rendering the act of dancing even less significant.

"You did well this time."

After a long silence, "The Emperor" finally spoke. "They won't say it out loud, but you know as well as I do that they think you did a good job... though, it would have been better if you’d shown a bit more mercy."

Feron offered only a faint smile at the old man's complaint, saying nothing. The old man didn't seem to mind; he simply stood there, glass in hand, surveying the scene with a long, weary sigh.

"To be honest, I don't much care for these balls. Every time I’m at one, I think about what ridiculous creatures humans are. Look at us—we lived like this before the catastrophe. Now, everything has changed; the world has been transformed, and yet, humans still yearn to return to their old lives. Don't you find that laughable?"

The old man spread his hands. "What I mean is... we’ve evolved over thousands of years, from cavemen with nothing to civilized beings in suits and ties. We’ve gone from wielding clubs to creating weapons capable of total annihilation. But human desire hasn't changed in the slightest: food, survival, women... Well, I suppose in the distant future, humanity might change, but it’s just as likely that nothing will. I used to think the Great Catastrophe would transform us, but I’ve come to the dismal realization that unless humanity is wiped out, we are forever doomed to walk the same spiraling path."

"You’re putting a lot of pressure on me with that kind of talk," Feron replied, finally shrugging.

"All living things are the same; there are no exceptions. Pandas have evolved for eons, yet all they do is act cute. Rats have spent their lives digging holes, and their descendants will do the same. Every creature on Earth follows its own nature; there’s no reason to think humans are an exception. Look..."

Feron reached out, his sharp scalpel swiftly slicing into the steak beside him. "To me, there isn't much difference between this steak and a human. My only real concern is whether it’s edible and whether it tastes good. Beyond that, I don't care about much else. So, old man, don't overthink it. If you’re that worried, just try to live a few more years. You might just live to see a different future."

"Perhaps..." The old man sighed deeply. "Ah, this damn weather. It’s so depressing. Honestly, whenever I look at that gloomy sky, I feel sick. If only for once, I’d love to see that blue sky again, instead of this hellish, cloud-covered mess."

Realizing the topic had become too heavy, the old man shook his head with a smile and looked at Feron. "By the way, where are those three subordinates of yours? I heard they’re quite exceptional women. Didn't you bring them along? Aren't you worried that the green-eyed wolves down there might try to take liberties with them? Even if the reputation of the Seven Sovereigns carries weight, there are some people who lose their minds the moment they see a woman."

"No need to worry." Feron wore a look of smug confidence. "They are women born in the wasteland. If they couldn't handle a little thing like that, they wouldn't have survived this long. But, old man... there is something I need to tell you."

Feron’s expression turned solemn.

"Oh? What is it?" "The Emperor" looked surprised. He had known Feron for a long time and had never seen him report anything—the Seven Sovereigns were not subordinates to one another, and none had the authority to question Feron’s actions. The fact that Feron was volunteering information piqued the old man's curiosity.

"You actually have something to tell me? That’s the most surprising gift I’ve received in years. Go on, then. Don't tell me you need my help? If so, I’ll go call 'The Butcher' and the others right now to discuss it. You know, there’s strength in numbers..."

The old man’s previous melancholy had vanished, replaced by a gloating, mischievous grin. It was no wonder; as the most unrestrained of the Seven Sovereigns, Feron was a constant source of envy and frustration. If they had a chance to mock him, the others wouldn't pass it up. But Feron ignored the sarcasm, keeping his eyes on the dance floor below.

"I am going to leave District 9 for a while."

"Oh?" "The Emperor" paused, immediately sensing the gravity of the situation. Feron often disappeared without a word, but for him to explicitly mention it meant... this time, it was different.

"How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know. It could be a short while, or it could be a very long time..."

Feron didn't provide a specific timeline, but he knew that if the mysterious girl was truly connected to the Great Catastrophe, he might never return to District 9. This wasn't his birthplace, and he had only lived here for a few years, but he had to admit, District 9 had treated him well. Because of that, he didn't mind sharing a bit of information with the old man.

"Have you decided?" As an elder, "The Emperor" had seen much and quickly grasped the subtext.

"I don't know what you're planning to do, but... fine. Good luck. I’ll keep your room for you. But I hope you settle your business quickly. If you drag it out for decades and come back to find this old man dead, you won't have any old friends left to open doors for you."

"Don't worry. By then, I'll have my own ways."

"…I’d prefer it if you didn't use those 'ways' of yours."

The old man’s face stiffened at Feron’s reply, then returned to normal. He smiled faintly, tilting his chin toward the floor below. "But for now, it seems you have other troubles to attend to..."

"Oh?"

Following the old man's gaze, Feron spotted a young man in extravagant clothing holding a girl’s hand and leading her out of the hall.

"Young love, drifting through life in a haze—truly enviable... Aren't you going to do something about that?"

"No."

Watching their backs disappear into the corridor, Feron shrugged and refocused on his plate. "They know what to do. Besides, please bring me another charcoal-grilled steak."