8: Metatron's Birthday Banquet (1) - Hyacinth in Bloom

After raising Ruthfel for so long, just a few days of not seeing him left me feeling like I’d lost my own kid. So on the afternoon of Metatron’s birthday, I started getting ready early, determined to show up looking sharp and dashing, just so that little brat could witness his big bro in all his handsome glory.

Drying my hair with one hand and pulling on some plaid boxer shorts and a black tank top with the other, I shuffled around in cotton slippers, dabbing at my reflection in the mirror. I spritzed a bit of discounted cologne—second-tier Heavenly brand—under each arm, and was immediately struck dizzy by the sheer sophistication of the man staring back at me.

Next, I took another look at Metatron’s characteristically chaotic invitation and noticed the small red liquid orb attached to it. Next to the orb was an arrow, and beside that, a chibi version of Metatron with an inscrutable smile. Without thinking, I spritzed a bit more cologne under one arm and casually pressed the orb.

You would never expect something so small to pack that much explosive force.

When the deafening blast finally subsided, I found myself standing in a bustling forest, surrounded by people. I held the invitation in one hand, a razor and cologne in the other, my face covered in a thick layer of shaving foam, wearing nothing but plaid boxer shorts and a black tank top, feet snug in dirt-yellow cotton slippers.

My mouth opened in shock, though not nearly as wide as those of the onlookers. After pressing the little red orb again and confirming it was a one-time item, I finally accepted my fate. I wiped the shaving foam off my face with the back of my hand, and looked around.

Purple lightning spasmed overhead. Thunder cracked, and several unknown objects plummeted from the sky. Normally, I’d be all over that kind of spectacle, but I was in no mood for excitement. I deliberately avoided the thunderstrike zones and finally spotted a mansion that looked exactly like the one drawn on the invitation. Remembering what Metatron had said when he gave it to me, I couldn’t help but clutch my forehead.

“Little Isar, this is a godly invitation made just for you!”

A crowd was scrambling outside Metatron’s mansion trying to get their hands on the invites. The poor four-winged couriers were being beaten half to death.

Of course, there was no way I could just walk in like that. I might’ve lost my one-shot teleportation opportunity, but there should still be time to fly back and change into something decent.

Shaking my head, I fixed my eyes on the blazing sun above, ignored the gawking, finely dressed angels around me, and spread my wings to soar into the open blue sky—

BOOM.

A deafening crack split the air. A flash of purple burst overhead. Before I could even see what hit me, gravity took over, and I gracefully completed a free-fall maneuver.

…

One Ruthfel zapping me from the sky was bad enough, now I can’t even fly without being blasted out of the air?! This isn’t even proper Jerusalem yet, why are these damned angels so obsessed with smiting people?! Smite your own fk-ing self!

A sea of people surged toward me. I lay sprawled on the ground, stuck in a frog-style kung fu pose, completely unable to move. There was no pain, just a deep, numbing tingle all over.

A familiar, boisterous voice echoed overhead:

“During Lord Metatron’s birthday banquet, all members of the divine race are forbidden to leave the city premises!”

I looked up and saw the wing repairman.

My head spun as I rubbed my face. My hand had turned black in one spot.

Had I been… roasted?!

Tyrael pointed toward a long line.

“Angels with white invitations, form a line over here.”

Then toward an empty path:

“Angels with gold invitations, this way.”

A golden six-wings flew low overhead, trailed by a group of Thrones that seemed to glow with their own light.

“It’s Lady Gabriel!” someone whispered nearby.

I hurriedly raised my invitation with trembling hands. “I have a golden invitation…”

“Isar, your invitation is black.”

“…”

“A distinguished guest has arrived. Please stand up.”

What does that have to do with me? My invitation was gold. You guys zapped it into charcoal! I’m just going to lie here. Let them trample me to death!

“Please, get up quickly, Lord Lucifer has arrived.”

—Why didn’t you say so earlier!

I struggled to lift myself off the ground, but it felt as impossible as asking a roasted turkey to stand up.

At that moment, a pair of slender, narrow silver boots stopped in front of me. The two legs above them were unusually long, straight and elegant, just looking them made one instinctively want to look further up. But I couldn’t even lift my head.

“Tyrael, what happened to him?”

Before Tyrael could answer, all the angels around had already kneeled—some on one knee, others on both. Tyrael also raised a hand to his chest and bowed in salute.

Then, that familiar white-gloved hand appeared again. Four fingers lifted slightly, and with that subtle gesture, everyone stood up in unison.

I had seen Lucifer many times recently at Gospel of the Dawn, but at this very moment, I felt inexplicably nervous.

Tyrael answered, “He violated the rules by flying in the restricted airspace. I shot him down.”

I quickly turned my head to the side, facing the crowd, trying to keep Lucifer from seeing my face.

The worst part though, was that at such a tense moment, my head was filled with images from the Mirror of Thunder, especially that half-lidded profile of Lucifer as he kissed Isar. Stop it! What was I even thinking?!

The silver-white boots shifted slightly as Lucifer adjusted his stance, gem-studded clasps glittering.

“Are all Powers present?” he asked.

“All female Powers have arrived.”

Lucifer didn’t move.

I’m not nervous. I’m not nervous…

Hundreds of eyes were fixed on him. Even those at the front of the line forgot to hand over their invitations, turning instead to stare. It seemed many were seeing him for the first time and most had already forgotten I was still sprawled out on the ground.

Tyrael chuckled. “Your Highness, shall I help him up?”

They were definitely talking about me now. Instinctively, I looked up at Lucifer. For a brief moment, our eyes met.

“It’s fine,” Lucifer said.

Today, he looked devastatingly beautiful: a watery-blue cloak draped over his shoulders, delicate silver necklaces, strung with diamonds the worth of full cities, layered across his chest. The hem of his robe angled downward, drawing soft, fluid lines as he moved. The emerald at his brow flickered, yet not matching even one-tenth the glory of his eyes.

Everyone’s gaze was riveted to him, as if trying to uncover secrets just by looking. Understandable. Dressed like this, he could’ve walked straight into a wedding ceremony. But soon enough, his attention shifted—back to me.

Panic-stricken, I averted my gaze.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic… He might not remember me. In this half-roasted state, if he could recognize me, I volunteer to change my name to “R-A-S-I.”

But then, the white-gloved hand extended before me.

I had heard before: Lucifer is too noble to touch anything directly. He wears gloves to avoid being soiled by others.

I stared at that hand. Even through the fabric, those fingers looked long and slender.

A raven passed overhead.

These angels are strange. Why are they all staring at me with those round eyes?

What am I doing wrong?

I looked at them. They looked at me.

I looked again. They looked back.

At last, Tyrael couldn’t hold it in. “His Highness is inviting you. What are you doing?”

I slowly looked up at Lucifer. He paused for a second, then took out a square handkerchief and placed it in my hand. I blinked, then used it to wipe my hands.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

After wiping my hands, I wasn’t sure whether I should stuff the handkerchief into my pockets or toss it away. Neither felt appropriate. I certainly couldn’t return it. What if I dirtied his noble gloves and got sentenced? That wouldn’t be fun. After thinking it over, I decided to just clutch it in my hand and stay still.

Then Lucifer extended his hand to me again.

I placed the handkerchief in his palm.

He took it back—and then reached his hand out once more.

Now I had nothing left to give. I just stared at him blankly, our eyes locked in mutual confusion.

Tyrael spoke up urgently: “What are you doing?”

“You should ask him what he’s doing!” I gestured at Lucifer.

Tyrael covered his eyes. “His Highness is inviting you in, and you…”

So that’s what he meant. I quickly placed my hand in his, and with a gentle pull, he helped me to my feet. The crowd around us finally stopped staring with their saucer eyes.

Then, flanked by a procession of Cherubim, we walked down a crimson carpet toward Metatron’s estate, just like a wedding ceremony.

“How did you end up like this?” Lucifer suddenly turned and smiled at me.

“Well, um… it’s kind of a long story. I don’t think Your Highness would want to hear it.”

“I do want to,” His gaze locked onto mine, eyes the envy of stars. “Tell me.”

He had never looked at me like that before, never spoken to me so gently. Except… except in the Mirror of Thunder. I quickly shook my head to drive those chaotic memories away, then told him everything about Metatron’s scribbled invitation and the thunderstrike ambush.

“You pressed on something Metatron gave you without hesitation? You really are different from most people.”

“Your Highness, how could you mock a victim like this? Look at what I’m wearing. Don’t you think it’s humiliating enough?”

Lucifer gave me a once-over, then sighed. “Your taste in boxers really hasn’t improved at all.”

“…Huh?” I must’ve heard that wrong.

“Don’t worry. From now on, with me around, no one will dare bully you.”

I pondered those words of his for a long time, then finally couldn’t hold it in and murmured,

“Lord Lucifer, are you sure you haven’t mistaken me for someone else? I mean, it’s not your fault, of course. I’m kind of charred and blurry, it’s natural to mix me up with them. So if you’ve picked up the wrong person, you can still go back now, before it’s too late.”

“Isar, you’re unusually agreeable today.”

“……”

He hadn’t mistaken me for someone else.

And not just that, his attitude was so baffling I couldn’t help but overthink. How did he go from cold and terrifyingly strict to this gentle and kind? Even his gaze felt strange. Am I suffering from the side-effects of viewing the Thunder Mirror in excess?

“Did you come with someone today?” he asked.

“Huh?” I was completely confused.

“If you don’t have a partner, would you accompany me tonight?”

E-explosion!

Isar holding onto a pole, Lucifer holding him, swaying…

My head was filled with that one image—Isar holding onto the pole, Lucifer swaying with him—

“What are you thinking about?” Lucifer asked after watching me for a moment.

Then he leaned into my ear and whispered with a smile:

“I meant during the banquet.”

……

At the entrance of Metatron’s private estate, golden and silver carriages, pegasi, unicorns, and gryphons lined up in an international exhibition of mythic mounts.

The grand path leading to the mansion was flanked by ice-blue marble columns, each topped with an angel statue in solid gold. The different levels of the castle were also sectioned off by lavishly dressed angel sculptures. Outside the passage stood two female Powers—judging by their figures and demeanor, they should be Metatron’s newest flames.

As we walked in, I gathered from passing conversations that this luxurious estate contained seventeen bedrooms, twenty-one washrooms, four studies, three prayer halls, five sanctified water chambers, and even a private theater with thirty seats. The backyard featured a swimming pool, a gym, a wing-purification chamber, and a teleportation room. Just Metatron’s master bedroom alone spanned fifty Celestial Units—which, converted, would be about five hundred square meters (TLN: 5,382 square feet) —complete with a dressing room, a five-unit bathhouse, and stairs leading up to a rooftop garden.

This wasn’t an estate. It was a full-blown, gold-laced castle.

Of course, Lucifer didn’t seem to notice the pressure I was under. I could only quietly follow him while scanning the surroundings for any sign of Farthead.

When we reached the fountain plaza in front of the castle, three Seraphim approached. They’d all accompanied Lucifer before to the Gospel: The Ram-horn Earrings, the Serpent Tattoo, and the Golden Irises.

Serpent Tattoo was visibly startled by Lucifer’s arrival.

“Your Highness actually came.”

Golden Irises added, “Didn’t you say you disliked going anywhere below the Sixth Heaven, Your Highness? What brings you to Jerusalem today?”

“Work’s wrapped up lately, so I came to relax a bit,” Lucifer smiled, then gestured toward Serpent Tattoo.

“This is Samael.” He pointed at Golden Irises. “Sariel.” And finally, the Ram-horn Earrings. “Azazel.”

Azazel had looked the most aloof and lean—seemed like the cool, silent type. But then he raised an eyebrow, opened his mouth, and said, “Your Highness, who’s this? Looks like a lump of charcoal. Don’t tell me that’s your chick.”

Chick?

Chick??

Had I really gotten so scorched that people couldn’t even tell my gender anymore?

Lucifer smiled faintly. “Not yet.”

Azazel snorted. “Your taste is getting more and more… unique, Your Highness.”

Sariel slung an arm over Samael’s shoulder. “Ooh, not yet, huh?”

Samael nodded seriously. “I see. Not yet.”

The two exchanged a knowing glance, their eyes clearly saying: We all get it.

Lucifer: “Where are Rahab, Samyasa, and the others?”

“I saw her—I saw Rahab,” Sariel said, his golden irises suddenly lit up. “She was just chatting with Her Highness Gabriel.”

Azazel shook his head.

“Same as ever. Mention Gabriel and you get all excited. I’ll never understand what’s so appealing about that old spinster fossil of an angel.”

“She’s the Flower of the Heavens!” Sariel argued, child-like.

Samael: “Your Majesty, Samyasa said if you weren’t coming, he wasn’t interested either. I bet he’s going to regret it hard tomorrow.”

Lucifer: “Let’s head inside. I need to speak with Rahab.”

Azazel: “About Lilith?”

Lucifer nodded, then removed his sky-blue cloak and draped it over my shoulders.

“Wait here. I’ll be back soon.”

I finally had the chance to look for Farthead. Of course I wasn’t going to just stand there and wait like an idiot.

The moment I stepped into the castle, the blinding gold interior forced me to shut my eyes. The entrance hall stretched a good fifty meters long and over a hundred wide, flanked on either side by towering columns. At the end lay an even grander great hall, resplendent with gold and opulence.

In a place this majestic, two kinds of people stood out the most: those breathtakingly beautiful—like Lucifer—and those who looked like they’d been charred to a crisp—like me. Not that I could blame anyone; if I saw a clump of unknown darkness walking around in an astronomically pricy blue cloak, I’d stare too.

From the main hall came a deafening cheer.

Atop the sweeping staircase, lined with a red carpet, stood Metatron himself, smiling like a king surveying his court. Behind him stood Gabriel, Sandalphon, and several other archangels I didn’t recognize, though Raphael was nowhere to be seen.

Metatron was in a fitted high-collared shirt and again, red boots, with deep garnet gloves on his hands, and the usual oversized crucifix hanging on his chest. Fine white fur lined his cuffs and collar—he looked like a perfect fusion of prince and priest. It was then I realized: as long as Metatron kept his mouth shut, he could actually appear quite dignified and holy.

“Welcome, everyone, to my birthday banquet! Have you all brought your gifts? If you bring anything worth less than an iron coin… you’ll turn into a monkey, ahaha.”

The moment he said that, the lively hall became quieter than a chapel.

Turns out, Metatron’s ability to kill the mood was like tree rings, measurable in layers. At this point, a single sentence from him could chill a room twice.

After circling the crowd a few times, I was forced to accept a harsh truth: the little bee had stood me up. With how unique Ruthfel looked, even if he were short, just one twitch of those weird wings in the crowd would’ve caught my eye instantly.

So yes, I was sure of it. He stood me up!

Just as I was plotting how to deal with that little brat later so he’d finally understand there are consequences, I overheard two people talking:

“Wait, you’re giving His Highness Metatron a harp? Don’t you know Lady Gabriel is also gifting one? You really think yours can compare?”

“No way, seriously?”

“When giving a gift to an archangel, you’re supposed to pick something rare, not too practical, and not too expensive. Didn’t you know that?”

“I didn’t really think it through… What about yours?”

“A Gemfish.”

“You mean the Gemfish from the Tigris? I hear that it supposedly boosts magic if you raise it?”

“Yeah. I had to travel a long way to get it. But to His Highness Metatron, it’s nothing. It’s the thought that counts. Don’t worry—he probably asked for gifts as a joke. There’s nothing Sancta Faylia doesn’t already have.”

“Hmm… sigh, another opportunity wasted. I spent over four hundred gold on mine…”

I wiped the sweat from my brow, remembering the birthday gift I had prepared but left at home: a feather quill worth twenty gold. I had thought I was doing pretty well for myself, but clearly, I was still just a frog at the bottom of a well.

In the center of the grand hall stood a towering fountain, layered like a giant cake. Clear spring flowed from the top tier all the way down. Around the base were tables laden with gourmet delicacies and small wooden boxes carved with golden roses. I edged my way over, lingering in front of the boxes, only to realize they were condiment containers.

What the hell is this extravagance?

Seizing a moment when no one was looking, I took one of the boxes, emptied its contents into a flower pot, shoved my shaving cream and cologne inside, closed the lid, and slipped it into my pocket.

Just in time. The gift presentation was starting.

Iophiel stood beside Metatron and proclaimed loudly, “The first gift: Lord Sandalphon’s sapphire crown.”

Two angels dressed in the same deep blue as Sandalphon flew in from the entrance, each holding one side of the crown. They glided through the crowd like a skiff over a still lake, stopping at the base of the stairs and dropping smoothly into a one-knee kneel. Those who had undergone professional flight training were for sure on a different level: one flap, one glide, clean and precise. Even their landings were like an aircraft’s, with a short slide to prevent stumbling.

Sandalphon adjusted the crown on his head and stepped forward. “Lord M-M-Metatron, the s-s-s-s-sapphire symbolizes loyalty and nobility. M-May l-lo-loyalty and n-n-nobility always accompany you.”

Metatron nodded and immediately accepted the jeweled crown, placing it on his head. He glittered pride all over—as if he hadn’t caught the sarcasm in Sandalphon’s words at all.

“The second gift: Her Highness Gabriel’s harp, ‘Radiance of the Sun’.”

The two angels stepped back, and two others flew in, landing at the foot of the steps in the same graceful pose. Gabriel wore a pale blue, low-cut evening gown with her golden curls . Even an 8,000-yuan BJD would cry beside her.

“This harp was custom-made by me. The strings are drawn from sea-whale bristles, the body carved from diamonds of the Infernal Realm, and the lacquer distilled from mermaid tears. Happy birthday, Lord Metatron. May you find the lost ‘Radiance of the Sun’ in the year ahead.”

I wasn’t sure if it was just my imagination, but when the phrase “Radiance of the Sun” was spoken, I caught a flicker of emotion in Metatron’s eyes. Still, he quickly walked over to Gabriel and kissed her once on each cheek.

“The third gift: Lord Uriel’s Book of Thunder.”

“The fourth gift: Lady Rahab’s Spear of Wind’s Wings.”

“The fifth gift: Lord Sariel’s Wheel of Demons.”

“The sixth gift: Lord Samael’s Forbidden Fruit of Severance.”

“The seventh gift: Lord Azazel’s Horn of the Goat-Demon.”

…

There was no mistaking it — the ones who hung around with Lucifer played on a whole different level. If the gifts weren’t rare artifacts from the Infernal Realm, then they were trophies ripped straight off demons themselves. Especially that goat-demon horn: it was a massive, black, bloodied demon horn.

Back in our Upper Realms History class, the professor had mentioned that goat-demons were a high-tier species of demon, rarely seen outside the deeper layers of the Infernal Realm — extremely dangerous beings. Although the current Demon King, Hadar, was a brute with no magic and the Infernal military was far less developed than Heaven’s, infiltrating the depths of the demon world was still no easy feat.

Azazel had just handed over a priceless trophy like it was nothing. Who knew if he was flaunting his triumph or simply didn’t care. But that’s the kind of luck Seraphim have. Being pure spirit, their wings never stain unless they come into contact with demonic forces whose corruption outweighs even their divine nature. No matter how many demons they encounter, unless that threshold is crossed, their wings remain pristine.

Then came the announcement:

“The thirteenth gift, from Lord Lucifer… um, what is this?”

The festive clamor died instantly. Everyone turned toward the entrance. Iophiel held a scroll and studied it for a long while, frowning.

A blue six-winged Intelligence stepped forward and said, “That is a deed scroll. Our Lord’s gift to Lord Metatron is the City of Parnor.”

The silence grew heavier.

Parnor. Capital of the Third Heaven. A city wreathed in halcyon stars.

About ten seconds passed before the room exploded again.

Lucifer had just given away Parnor.

Can I say anything about that?

Of course I can’t say anything.

Metatron asked, “Where is His Highness Lucifer?”

Samael whistled from within the crowd and grinned. “His Highness lost something and went out with attendants to search for it. He told us to head in first.”

Metatron raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Lost what? Perhaps I can help.”

Azazel added, “It’s getting late so it’d be hard to find it. That thing’s way too dark.”