# Chapter 10:
The Salt in the Wound
The Royal Banquet was a display of excess that turned Rin’s stomach. Long tables groaned beneath platters of silver-glazed pheasant, their feathers still glistening with edible gold leaf; towers of crystalline sugar sculptures shaped like frost drakes and phoenixes shimmered under the floating candlelight; wine poured in endless rivers from crystal decanters, each vintage older than the Frost family lineage and worth more than an entire borderland village earned in a year. The air was thick with the mingled scents of roasted meat, spiced honey, and the cloying sweetness of overripe fruit. Every breath felt heavy, as though the very atmosphere had been gilded.
The Frost family sat at one of the long tables perpendicular to the raised Royal Dais, positioned just close enough to be honored, yet far enough to remind them of their rank. Lily sat between Alfons and Prince Cade, who had maneuvered himself beside her with the effortless grace of someone accustomed to getting what he wanted. Rin sat between Albert and Alfons, her back to the wall, her eyes constantly tracking the servants who moved through the room like shadows in gold-trimmed livery.
She remembered the Guild scout’s warning: *Keep your eyes on the kitchens.*
While Lily was distracted—her cheeks flushed, her laughter soft and genuine as Prince Cade leaned close to murmur something charming—Rin’s attention remained elsewhere. The rest of the room was focused on the King’s toast, glasses raised in a sea of glittering crystal. The monarch’s voice rolled over them, deep and resonant, praising unity, prosperity, and the strength of Eldoria’s ancient houses.
Rin noticed it then.
A waiter in the distance—carrying a tray laden with salt-crusted fish—had a slight tremor in his hand. At first glance, it might have been nerves from the weight of the tray or the grandeur of the occasion. But Rin’s eyes narrowed. The tremor was rhythmic, almost mechanical. She recognized it instantly: *Mana-fever*. The telltale side effect of consuming high-grade Berserker Potions, the kind extremist cells in the borderlands brewed in hidden caves using stolen mana-crystals and forbidden herbs. The potion burned through the body like wildfire, granting unnatural strength and speed for a few minutes before the user collapsed into convulsions—or worse.
Her gaze flicked upward. In the rafters, a faint glint caught her eye—a Guild medallion, the same one her contact from the balcony had worn. He had seen it too. But the Palace Guards, resplendent in their ceremonial gold armor, remained oblivious, lulled by the festive music and the warmth of the wine.
Rin’s mind raced. This wasn’t a simple assassination. It was a suicide strike. The wine being poured for the Princes wasn’t poisoned; it was a catalyst. When combined with the specially treated salt on the fish, it would trigger a volatile chemical reaction—a “Living Bomb” spell. The explosion would be small, contained, but devastating: a burst of superheated mana that would incinerate the Royal Dais and everyone within ten feet. The borderlands’ splinter group didn’t want a quiet death; they wanted a spectacle.
She felt a flicker of grim curiosity: *How much hatred does it take to walk into death like this?* But curiosity was a luxury. The priority was to save.
Rin had seconds.
If she shouted a warning, she would be dismissed as a mad commoner ruining the King’s toast. If she did nothing, the dais would become a crater.
She acted.
Under the table, her boot connected hard with Albert’s shin. He jolted, eyes wide, but before he could speak, Rin leaned in and whispered, “When I move, get Lily under the table. Don’t ask. Just do it.”
Albert stared at her for half a heartbeat, then nodded. He had seen enough of her instincts to know she didn’t act without reason.
As the King raised his glass for the final toast of the night—“To Eldoria, eternal and unbroken!”—Rin moved.
She “stumbled.”
Her foot caught on the hem of her indigo skirts—deliberately—and she lunged forward, arms outstretched as though trying to catch her balance. The motion was too fast for any noble to follow, too precise to be accidental. She collided with the servant approaching the Princes, shoulder slamming into his chest.
In the same instant, she released a burst of Sub-Zero Flash Frost.
The air around the tray turned frigid in a heartbeat. A wall of absolute ice erupted from her palm, encasing the tray, the wine, the salt-crusted fish, and the servant’s hands in a block of black-tinged frost. The chemical reaction was snuffed out before it could ignite; the volatile mixture froze solid, neutralized.
The room went silent.
Crystal shattered as glasses slipped from shocked fingers. The King’s toast died on his lips. Lilian’s hand flew to her mouth. Felix’s face drained of color. Prince Cade blinked in confusion, his arm still raised in mid-toast.
Prince Kieran stood slowly. His grey eyes locked on the ice.
It wasn’t normal ice. It was black-tinged—the same Void Frost that had once saved a merchant caravan in the Silver-Needle Woods two years ago, a detail sealed so tightly that even the Guild archives barely mentioned it. Kieran had seen reports of that incident during his time undercover in the borderlands; he knew what he was looking at.
His gaze moved to the servant, who was now foaming at the mouth, eyes rolling back—the telltale sign of a failed Berserker Potion.
Before the Palace Guards could seize Rin, Kieran raised a hand.
“Do not touch her.”
He stepped forward, boots clicking on the marble, and drew a small dagger from his belt. With careful precision, he chipped away a piece of the ice. The air hissed with the sharp, acrid smell of sulfur and unstable mana—proof of the spell that had been averted.
Kieran looked at Rin. Admiration flickered in his eyes, but he kept his voice low, speaking only for her ears.
“You didn’t trip, did you, Lady Rin?”
Rin stood up, dusting off her indigo dress with deliberate calm. Her face was a mask of indifference.
“The vintage was poor, Your Highness,” she said quietly. “I thought I’d save you the headache.”
The others looked between them, bewildered by the riddles. Albert’s mouth twitched in the beginnings of a grin; he knew exactly what she’d done. Trouble had come, and Rin had succeeded in controlling the situation.
Rin met Kieran’s gaze. “I apologize. I am not used to the nobility way. I am still learning.”
Kieran’s lips curved in the faintest smile.
“Some lessons,” he murmured, “are learned faster than others.”
The guards moved in to secure the servant as ordered by Kieran. The room began to murmur again—shock, confusion, awe. Rin felt the weight of every stare, but she did not look away.
She had saved the Princes.
The smart ones—few though they were—knew there had been trouble, and that she had controlled it.
And in doing so, she had revealed more of herself than she ever intended.