The fact that snow had begun to flutter down was a trivial matter to the people in this venue. Conversations filled with mockery—about how the grape wine from the southern territories was delicious, while the north had no famous products in comparison—were permitted in this place.

As people moved, the topics changed, and with each shift, new rumors and intentions began to spread. They grew tails, became twisted, and like butterflies fluttering through the gaps between flowers, they sipped the nectar of rumors and scattered scales before flying away.

Amidst such typical high-society scenery and conversation, a beautiful man with white hair narrowed his eyes boredly and leaned his back against the wall, bringing his glass to his lips with a gesture that seemed even too bothersome to perform.

The white silken hair flowing from his shoulders was soft, and though the emerald and sapphire eyes peeking through the gaps shone like jewels, they reflected nothing. His luxurious black formal wear transformed the man—Belfair—into something like a messenger of the night, exuding a beauty like a work of art and an air of unapproachability.

Black leather gloves pinched the stem of the glass, and as he gave it a light swirl, the pale amber fruit wine reflected the chandelier, shimmering like the surface of water.

Several young ladies, their cheeks flushed, approached Belfair amidst the buzzing voices. Their desire to get close to the famous Duke Vifenst was transparently obvious.

Belfair felt a growing sense of disgust inwardly at the sight, but on the surface, he responded with his usual mocking, faint smile. With every word exchanged, his interest waned, and once he mentally judged them as worthless, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand and a convenient excuse to move away.