Chapter 112: The Harvest Festival Banquet

The meeting concluded, and the magical barriers sealing the council chamber dissipated as the councilors began to depart one after another.

Yet Patrick remained deep in thought, pondering why the council was pushing to increase investment in the urban planning and development of the central city of the Ghostlands—Taer’Quin. What strategy did the council have in store against him?

After all, in terms of rank, he was the highest-ranking official in the Ghostlands. As an executive councilor alongside five others, Patrick stood at the pinnacle of elven administrative authority. Even the chieftain of the Windrunner family was only an ordinary council member. So why hadn’t the council simply transferred the administrative control of Taer’Quin directly to him this time?

Moreover, the council had never paid much attention to places outside Silvermoon City before. Their unprecedented decision to ramp up urban planning efforts in Taer’Quin and increase certain civilian quotas suggested they had ulterior motives.

Such abnormal behavior warranted serious contemplation.

Perhaps the council had other schemes in mind—one could not say for sure.

Back when he was at the Sixth Circle level, the council never anticipated that this unassuming young mage would suddenly rise to their level. Yet each faction adhered to the elves’ venerable “tradition”: political struggles remained discreet affairs, never resolved through force.

His Majesty the King had always taken a tacit stance on internal council conflicts. As long as these struggles did not threaten Quel’Thalas’s stability or undermine the Sunstrider monarchy, the king preferred to remain uninvolved.

When Patrick was at the Seventh Circle, though still a regular councilor, he had noble status and a fief. To the upper echelons, he was neither insignificant nor dominant but had become a fledgling player within the Silvermoon Council. Now, his status had changed dramatically. He could sit at the grand chessboard of the council alongside everyone else, making moves that unsettled the other executive councilors, who feared losing ground for their own families.

In truth, the executive councilors had done little beyond political sidelining. The rise of a new power inevitably threatened the old guard’s strength.

Back at the Sixth Circle, Patrick had already foreseen this: unless he chose to collude with them, the council’s ostracism would persist indefinitely.

So let them be. They had not yet interfered with him, and Patrick was too indifferent to bother with their machinations.

The council’s administrative body would announce the resolutions to all of Quel’Thalas. That evening, during the Harvest Festival, the celebrations reached their zenith. Every corner of Silvermoon City rejoiced in its own way.

Unlike the annual gathering of the Mage Association, the Harvest Festival was the grandest feast across all of Quel’Thalas.

The banquet was held in the grand hall of the Silvermoon Council’s front chamber—a vast and opulent space. Compared to the human noble banquet Patrick had attended before, the one in Lordaeron was utterly outclassed.

Everywhere one looked, there were top-tier delicacies; the hall gleamed with gold and splendor. Bards performed alongside a symphony orchestra, and elves gathered to exchange pleasantries. Invitations to such a nationwide event were extended only to prominent figures from all walks of life or noble houses.

Male elves wore double-breasted formal coats with soft shirts adorned with cufflinks crafted from magical pearls or gold. Their vests combined black and white or gold and red hues, cinched with waistbands embroidered in gold thread and red trim. Every detail spoke of the banquet’s high standards.

Female elves kept their adornments simple—precious jewelry without excessive embellishment. They wore golden or white silk gloves paired with understated evening gowns—simple yet refined. Their perfumes were subtle or sometimes absent altogether, replaced by the unique aura of arcane energy. There were none of the heavily made-up, coquettish elves; instead, they were fresh and elegant, beautiful without losing their nobility.

Royalty and nobility used such formal social occasions because their elevated status forbade casual friendships with commoners. These formal dinners expanded their social circles and alliances, while large families attracted promising youths into their spheres of influence.

Much of the upper class’s sense of responsibility and values stemmed from this. Beneath the surface, political exchanges flowed like undercurrents. Onstage and backstage were interconnected and mutually dependent, together forming the past, present, and future of the High Elven Kingdom.

King Anasterian and Prince Kael’Thas appeared early in the banquet to deliver speeches. The royal family and the entire council convened on the dais to announce the successful conclusion of this political meeting and to highlight their achievements.

Afterward, King Anasterian departed, leaving the prince to mingle and forge new connections or conduct business discussions. The other nobles freely conversed and danced as the soirée formally commenced.

...

“Why aren’t you out dancing with the female elves? That’s not like a young man’s style,” came a familiar voice beside him. Patrick looked up to see Ox Dawnblade, an executive councilor.

“...” Patrick said nothing, merely smiling faintly, though inwardly he thought, “That elf hasn’t shown up yet.”

“Well? Won’t you invite me to sit?” Ox said without waiting for a response, as his attendant courteously pulled out a chair.

Both men held ranks just below royalty, and no other elves dared disturb their conversation.

“Are you puzzled by our proposed cooperation last time?” the Dawnblade chieftain asked with a faint smile.

“Please enlighten me, elder,” Patrick replied. Though equal in status, he showed deference out of respect for the elder who had labored for the sake of Quel’Thalas for many years.

“This city has been my companion for over three millennia; I know it intimately. You’re surely familiar with Silvermoon’s system. And judging by your recent actions, you understand its weaknesses well, don’t you, Councilor Patrick Kaboron?” Ox smiled lightly as he spoke.

Patrick remained silent, tacitly acknowledging the insight. No wonder the Mage Association’s chairman had such a keen eye.

“The future is rife with uncertainties, so I seek a promise from you.”

“Please, speak, elder.”

“Young elf, you possess vision and courage worthy of my trust.” Ox’s excitement grew, though his false smile began to shift. “I want you to offer part protection to the Dawnblade clan in the future, to shield it from being absorbed by other council members. The Dawnblade currently lacks a qualified successor. My vitality wanes with age, and I may not endure until the day a new councilor arises. I fear that once I am gone, the others will seize the opportunity to scatter and annex the Dawnblade.”

“Do you truly believe I would harm the Dawnblade, Councilor Ox?” Patrick countered.

Ox chuckled wryly. “Others might, but not you. I have carefully analyzed your administrative system in the Sun Temple and reached a conclusion: your wisdom astonishes me. You have decentralized administrative power and require each department to provide detailed reports to decision-makers.”

“In other words, when handling matters, you gather comprehensive intelligence from multiple departments simultaneously. Decisions are piloted before full implementation, thus avoiding adverse effects from erroneous policies. Each department fulfills its duties independently, not to check and balance but to reduce administrative costs while ensuring coordinated development. I am very curious how you conceived such an administrative approach.”