A brave man may not live, but he cannot die

Chapter 153 The Waltz on the Night of Departure (Part 1)
June 30th, 7 PM.

It was the height of summer, and although dusk had passed, it was still not dark; the sky was a pale, oil-painted blue. The bustling city center of Ashwell was already lit by streetlights, gas flowing through slender Roman columns, casting a bright orange-yellow glow. At the end of the brightly lit road, people came and went in front of the domed museum building.

Law enforcement officers and honor guards stood tall on both sides, while luxurious carriages came and went at the gate. Those who got out of the carriages were all prominent officials and dignitaries from East Wales, or distinguished guests who had come from neighboring countries or even more distant continents.

If any passersby tried to peek, they would be driven away to a safe distance by mounted law enforcement officers. It was customary for the city council to hold a banquet on the eve of the Arcane Festival, but this year's security was not as tight. People speculated whether it was due to the jewelry store terrorist attack two months ago, or whether some important figure had arrived, which required such a martial law-like setup.

In Miuland, sixteen is the legal age of adulthood; in other words, the coming-of-age ceremony for the eldest daughter of the Fernandez family is being held there.

As the lord of the province of Vall and one of the wealthiest men in the entire empire, it was common knowledge that Grand Duke Fernandin doted on his daughter. Judging from the scale of the event, there were probably at least several hundred guests. It was said that even His Majesty, far away in the capital, had sent an envoy to offer his congratulations.

Among the many ornately decorated carriages, an unassuming chocobo carriage passed through security and stopped in front of the museum.

The driver was an exceptionally handsome white-haired man, and the two had a brief conversation before the passenger got off.

"Together?"

"No, it's inconvenient." The driver paused, then whispered, "Keep a low profile, don't do anything unnecessary, it'll be over tomorrow."

The man took off his top hat, and his otherwise unremarkable features became more refined with the change in hairstyle. He handed the invitation and a gold pound tip to the waiter, and calmly walked through the double wooden doors.

The smiles of the greeters grew even brighter, and even the surrounding guests stopped in their tracks, casting scrutinizing glances at his retreating figure.

The newcomer was young, and his formal attire in a suit and tie suited him perfectly for the dinner party, but that was not why everyone was paying attention to him.

A gleaming gold lapel pin adorned his collar, and Grindelwald's school crest proclaimed his identity like a medal.

Normally, it's rare to see academy members at banquets hosted by the powerful and wealthy. Grindelwald doesn't get involved in politics, and even if teachers attend, they won't reveal their identities. The banquet on the eve of the Arcane Festival is one of the very few social events the academy participates in, so if you want to curry favor with the academy, now's the time to act.

In previous years, the academy always sent Vice Dean He Mo, an old man with a snake wrapped around his neck who practically had "get lost" written all over his face. Even the councilors could barely exchange a few words with him. But this year, the person who came was suddenly different, and no one knew who this black-haired youth was.

Teacher? Headmaster?
Quinn followed the waiter into the main stage of the banquet, and was then momentarily blinded by the overly bright lights.

A huge crystal chandelier, estimated to be at least seven meters high, hangs above the hall. This was originally the hall of a museum, but in order to hold this banquet, all the obstructing exhibits were removed, leaving only the Merlin sculpture in the center of the hall.

Wearing a pointed wizard's hat, holding a golden sling ring in his left hand and the Elder Wand in his right, a stylish cloak lifted him up, and a grimoire made entirely of crystal floated in the air, shining brightly.

This is the scene where Merlin moved Mount Axwell from the Northern Continent. The hero who created the academy used supreme magic, and this majestic mountain instantly spanned thousands of miles, demonstrating to the world what arcane power is.

The sculpture was recreated by Merlin's students. Quinn looked up at his fellow countryman. Merlin, who had moved to Aswell, looked to be about the same age as Quinn. His gentle face, like that of an oriental scholar, made Quinn feel inexplicably close to him.

The solid wood floors were waxed to a mirror-like finish, and the pale blue sky spilled into the glass dome. Hundreds of musicians played strings in unison around the room, and waiters moved back and forth carrying drinks. Such extravagance was truly astonishing.

The champagne bubbled with golden bubbles, and even the appetizer bread served on the waiter's plate was covered with caviar imported from the South Pacific islands.

Keep in mind, this isn't Earth with its advanced transportation capacity and booming productivity. Even with airships and steam trains, the transportation costs for these delicacies with extremely short shelf lives are exorbitant. Yet, they are served in unlimited quantities at the banquet, which gives you an idea of ​​how high the cost of organizing such a feast must be.

A middle-aged, overweight man with a cane was the first to walk up to Quinn.

He extended his hand, adorned with diamond rings, and smiled ostentatiously, saying, "Greetings, Your Excellency, I am Dale from Kraft Securities. Please allow me to extend my greetings on behalf of myself and my family—"

Quinn, who was chewing on caviar bread, glanced to the side and saw that the fat man next to him was wearing a British lace dress and had wavy hair parted in the middle. The family he mentioned should be the Kraft family, one of the wealthy families in Eswell.

Quinn did not shake hands, but simply nodded casually.

"Hello."

Seeing that he was ignoring him, Dale was not annoyed and continued to say, "If you want to invest, please give me a chance—I guarantee you won't have to worry at all. Kraft Securities has projects with whatever return on investment you want!"

It's so blatant, they practically have bribery written all over their faces.

In Axwell's mind, Grindelwald Academy's Star Flower, costing 120 gold pounds, was nothing compared to this. If Quinn nodded, he would be able to witness a project that could return 3,000 percent of the monthly income in a week with an investment of 100 gold pounds. The dirty money from bribery would be continuously deposited into his account in the form of investment returns.

The Alexandre family, simply by having the ability to "connect with the college," could reap hundreds or even thousands of times more benefits than by offering bribes.

Quinn wasn't very familiar with the political landscape of Eswell, and mostly heard about it from Ancouya. The Alexandre family seemed to be having some bad luck lately. Their backer, the British government, was in turmoil, and it was a foregone conclusion that Elon would take away the Alexandre family's parliamentary seat. After the parliamentary elections at the end of the year, the decline of the Alexandre family was almost foreseeable.

"No need, I have stocks I've invested in."

"Oh? What stocks do you currently hold? I can help you analyze them—"

"Butt." Quinn left the stunned businessman and went upstairs.

Along the way, there were many powerful and wealthy people who came forward to flatter him. Real estate developers, retail tycoons, and newspaper owners were all among the richest people in Eswell. They had almost no connection with the mystical world and were eager to seize the opportunity to gain the Academy's protection. However, Quinn's attitude was like that of a cold but not mean traditional arcanist. He would at most give a greeting, but no conversation.

Quinn was somewhat dazed; the last time he'd been the center of attention like this was during his college entrance exams. Police cars flashing red and blue lights, reporters blocking the road, ambulances blaring their sirens.
He stood on the second-floor viewing platform surrounding the hall, his gaze sweeping from left to right. The guests in suits and ties and the waiters moving among them instantly came into view, as if a high-speed computer was running. Each of their faces flashed through Quinn's mind like a swarm of bees, their appearance, build, features, and what valuables they carried.
This is the Thief's Eye, further enhanced by the thief. His ability to discern and select has reached a terrifying level. Quinn did not find Amamiya Nene, but he did see many familiar faces.

Elon, and the other members of Congress who frequently appeared in the newspapers, were the center of the crowd below.

A black man sitting in the shadows on the second floor was also sizing up Quinn, the leader of the Golden Wind, Ike Capone, who was dressed like a philanthropist.

The owner of Mirror Lake Restaurant, the lobby manager of the Clock Tower Bank in Broom Lane, and Father Sissa of the Church of the Holy Tree were all chatting happily with women. Caitlin, whom Elon hadn't seen in a long time, followed him like a bodyguard.
Xia Dai'er.

The girl was fully made up and looked radiant under the dazzling lights. Her expression was indifferent, and she put on a perfunctory smile. She was surrounded by a lot of people. Girls with impeccable family background, appearance and age are often the focus of such banquets.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment before turning to the surroundings.

One, two, three. The thief's intuition told him that there were at least three extraordinary individuals around, all of them combat-level eight or nine, probably bodyguards.

"Good evening." A clear, melodious female voice came from behind.

Quinn didn't turn around. "Good evening. I don't invest, I don't speculate in stocks, I don't like women, and I don't like men. Goodbye."

"Heh~" The woman covered her mouth and chuckled. "I've heard that a young teaching assistant has come to the academy. I didn't expect him to be such an interesting person. Hello, Mr. Quinn, it's an honor to meet you."

Quinn was taken aback, then turned around to examine her closely. The newcomer was a woman holding a glass of champagne, her face half-covered by a black veil, revealing only a pair of exceptionally beautiful black eyes.

Is he a person from the East with black hair and black eyes?

The woman wore no jewelry and only a long black gauze dress that didn't accentuate her figure, with almost no skin showing. Yet, a hint of surprise flashed through Quinn's mind.

His extraordinary intuition told him that of all the guests he had seen since entering, she was the one most worth stealing.

It wasn't that she was a superhuman or that she possessed any valuable items, but rather her aura. Even with her face veiled, this woman exuded an indescribable air of nobility that Quinn could sense.

Nobility is the weariness that comes after all desires have been fulfilled. It's hard to imagine that such an aura would appear on a woman who shouldn't be that old. Quinn is willing to bet that this woman is rich, extremely rich, and perhaps even a noblewoman.

"And you are?" He put away his indifferent attitude. Grindelwald had some alumni who had been donating to the academy for a long time. Most of them were graduates or their descendants. They were different from the rich people downstairs who were good for nothing but money. Even in the mystical world, they were well-known veterans.

"Just here to watch the fun." She took a step forward and leaned against the fence with Quinn, about half a person's distance between them.

The pleasant scent of iris wafted into my nose. It wasn't overpowering or jarring; it was like a natural fragrance drifting through the air, and the person wearing it seemed as harmonious as the flower itself. Amamiya Nene also owns this sophisticated perfume, though hers is orange-scented.
Quinn glanced at her long black hair, which was as lustrous as silk. No, that couldn't be right. How could her mother be so young? Even with her face covered, Quinn felt that this woman was at most around twenty years old.

"You refused quite decisively." She asked with interest, "Actually, the principal doesn't mind teachers using the college's influence for personal gain, as long as they don't violate the college's moral standards. Those old professors with students all over the world are one thing, but you're so young, don't you want to develop some connections at Aishwell?"

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Tomorrow I'll blast a hole in Axwell and kill the hero along the way. What connections do I need to settle this?"

"If someone asks me to take care of them in the future, I'll say yes, yes, but if they actually get into trouble, I won't help them. Actually, that's not very good, so I'll just say sorry, I don't want to help, and then give them a cold shoulder. As someone who tends to be people-pleaser, this is how I train my sincerity and courage."

The woman paused for a moment, then covered her mouth and chuckled softly, her laughter as melodious as a clear bell.

“My husband said something similar.” The woman laughed for a moment before looking at the Merlin sculpture in the center of the hall. Several waiters were setting up a podium in front of the sculpture; the banquet was about to begin.

"So, are you planning to help next?"

“Help?” Quinn was slightly taken aback.

"Tonight is more than just a banquet." She rested her chin on her hand, her black silk sleeve slipping down to reveal a sliver of her fair, alabaster arm. Her tone was leisurely: "The Duke of Lawrence of Britain has declared war on the King, and it seems it won't be long before full-scale hostilities break out."

"The Duke of Lawrence is a royalist who supports the former King of Britain. Another purpose of this dinner is to raise funds for the royalists. Now it depends on whether the gentlemen of Eswell choose to believe that the British monarch's throne will last forever, or that the prophesied son will reclaim the crown."

Quinn's eyes narrowed slightly.

A tall young woman in a gold dress followed behind an elderly man as they walked nervously into the hall.

Celia. Why is she here?

“Mr. Quinn,” the woman tilted her head to look at him, smiling as she asked, “do you believe that the yet-to-be-revealed Prophet of Britain is a hero?”

(End of this chapter)