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 didn't take long for them to see just how interested he was.

The sharp tang of heated tal and the rhythmic clang of hamrs on anvils filled the air, creating an almost ditative 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 beca 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 ca to him, and his clever hands ensured no flaw was overlooked. When he wasn't working on Knashii, his own blade, he lent his expertise to the others.

By the ti the second day ended, the smithy was brimming with finely crafted and ticulously maintained weapons, each a testant 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 cented his reputation as the brightest star among the clan's children—a position that, predictably, excluded Jolthar.

The other children weren't far, but considering his sword skills, they said that he was the sa as the patriarch. After the eldest had left the clan, he had put more effort into his sword, bringing in the rits 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 accustod to his routines, and her efficiency elicited a small chuckle from him.

Shortly after breakfast, Jolthar found himself standing in Lady Maena's office.

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

"The details will co later," Maena said, her tone clipped and professional.

"For now, attend the banquet and behave. You'll need to leave imdiately 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.

"You've 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. "It's 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 couldn't hide her blush; even in the simplest suit, he was strikingly handso. 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 deanour 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 ats, exotic fruits, and an assortnt 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 imdiately 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 seed 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 excitent. Each one was dressed in fine clothing, their appearances polished and their deanours 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 ant to be.

As he sipped the drink brought to him by one of the servers, Jolthar's 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 weren't alone, and Jolthar could see n dressed in robes, pale red coloured robes, bearing the sigil of Naemarys clan.