"Third Merit—Baron Tudor, Vaerik Tudor."
The moment the deputy's voice fell, the entire banquet hall instantly seemed to have had a magic bomb thrown into it.
The originally solemn atmosphere was shattered, low discussions spreading like an avalanche, instantly sweeping through the entire banquet hall.
"Him?! You've got to be kidding!"
"How old is he? Eighteen? Nineteen? This deserves third merit?"
"Did he... pull some strings?"
"Don't forget his surname is Tudor—that's one of the Empire's eight great families."
"A southerner who's barely been rooted in the Northern Province for half a year, and now he's snatching a medal? Who believes that?"
"Rigged, it's definitely rigged."
Though no one spoke openly, the suspicion and hostility revealed in their gazes almost formed a rain of arrows shooting toward Vaerik sitting in the front row.
Yet that young man remained composed throughout.
Until a furious shout exploded above the hall: "SILENCE!!"
This was Duke Edmund's voice.
