Back in the banquet hall, Desmon had left Emily in the guest room along with her parents, and re-entered the banquet hall, where he met the strange gaze of a certain group.

Mason, Don and Desmon all three simultaneously looked over, which was quite eerie. It was that same black-haired noble who had planned everything. Mason had already told the entire situation to Desmon by now, and he understood everything.

Without hesitation, Desmon walked briskly towards the black-haired noble, followed closely by Mason and the little Don, who looked around the age of 16, but was actually only 11.

Desmon walked up to the face of the noble and just stared at him for a while until the noble began to speak first.

"You! How dare you insult a noble such as me!" For some reason, the man had forgotten that almost everyone present were either nobles or guards, and they were dressed rather distinctly to avoid such a confusion. Nobles were to wear flashy clothes made of expensive, or expensive looking materials, while guards and escorts were meant to wear plain black and or white clothes.

Mason was also following this rule, and was wearing dull white clothes, including his shoes and tier, while Don was in all black. Mason's own silver-grey hair went well with the white clothes, while Don's now trimmed and combed medium-length brown hair somehow matched his black clothing.

Desmon simply ignored the man and looked around for someone else.

This infuriated the black-haired noble even more as he began to yell louder than before, veins bulging from his neck and his white face slowly turning red.

Desmon did not bother one bit, as Mason was blocking the bits of food and saliva flying him way using an extremely controlled wind bullet, as he himself locked onto a man that was already trying to hide himself from existence.

Seeing this cowering man, Desmon called out with a smile.

"Marquise Able!"

The crowd who was beginning to gather around Desmon all turned their eyes to the man who seemed to be becoming smaller in size by the second.

"Duke Desmon…" the man spoke in a shaky and soft voice; however, the black-haired man heard his father's words extremely clearly. He instantly stopped speaking as his face froze in place. Colour draining faster than it was gathering a few moments before from his face as he came to a realisation on who the young man he offended truly was.

"D- D- D- Duke!"

He quickly bowed his head in apology as the matter was resolved just like that, since Desmon could not bother with idiots like them. He just wanted the noble world to know that he was finally back, and standing up for himself.

The last time they had seen him, he was being ordered around by the king, following the instructions like a unsatisfied little brat.

However, the way he had resolved this issue was not for the black-haired man, but actually for all the nobles around to see. It was a statement.

The king and Duke Harmen exchanged looks as they began to smile unnoticeable under their long beard in satisfaction.

'The kid has finally decided to grow up…'

Was the thought in both their minds.

Back in the southern continent, the leader of the slave traders noticed something odd.

It was a huge cloud of sand rushing towards them. This would not have been odd normally, but this cloud was too small to be a natural sandstorm, and there were some figures running inside, and in front of the cloud.

The problem was, that these figures had been maintaining their speed, which was equal to his own full speed, for nearly 3 hours, and were rushing straight for them. What kind of nonsensical logic was that? Even he could only maintain his top speed in bursts for a few seconds at a time.

Just who was coming to attack him?