Chapter 507: The Night Before the Conference

The weather kept turning colder. The winter that year was stronger than anyone could have imagined.

The banishment of the Unholy Kingdom wasn't simply a matter of land. The act had consumed enormous reserves of energy as well.

The unnatural winter had frozen over the majority of the continent's rivers. Even the ocean itself had begun to freeze in places.

Near Ambrose's newly built Coin Island, large stretches of the surrounding sea had frozen solid as well.

But even with such brutal weather, nothing could slow down Ambrose's business in the slightest.

Food shortages were hitting nearly everyone this year—but Ambrose had just squeezed the druids for an enormous sum.

In order to release those overseas animals and plants back into their original habitats, the druids hadn't only been forced to buy up the creatures themselves. They'd also had to pay Ambrose for the location data on exactly where each specimen had originally been collected.

"Here's the map. Would you like a seat on one of our airships passing that way anyway? We'll have to charge some travel expenses, though!"

Round and round it went, and since the druids couldn't cover it all in gold, they ended up settling the debt in food instead.

Food shortages might strike all other parts of the world, but never the druids. Their nature magic could summon a dense forest into being in an instant, so scarcity of food was never something they had to worry about.

The druids now owed Ambrose an enormous debt in grain, and had no choice but to work it off for him, even in the dead of this brutal winter.

Thus, everyone short on food made their way to Coin Island. The frozen seas and long-distance travel didn't dissuade them. Whatever the cost, they had to make the trip for the one resource in shortest supply that winter.

Teleportation arrays were convenient for people, but not high-mass, high-volume bulk grain shipments. Not every nation was as wealthy as Lyon, able to transport military grain supplies directly through a teleportation array.

Ambrose's drow air-shipping routes began an aggressive advertisement campaign, one so successful that even the Alchemists' Guild started retooling their own production lines to cobble together a few airships of their own and muscle in on the business.

Ambrose didn't turn them away. He even personally walked the guild through how to modify their cargo holds to shield against the interference of dark magic.

Still, the Alchemists' Guild's airship business could never quite match the drow routes, since the drow routes came with a little something extra. Even with Catherine strictly forbidding any funny business aboard the ships, once it came time to unload cargo, the dark-skinned elves had no objection whatsoever to offering "additional services" for a little extra coin on the side.

It was a one-of-a-kind service in this world. The Alchemists' Guild simply had no way to compete.

Neither had Ambrose been sitting idle while the shipping industry kicked into high gear. One by one, custom-built magical constructs were chiseled through the ice and set into the island's very foundation.

Construction on this scale was impossible to hide, and delegates from every kingdom sent people to ask what exactly this magic circle was for. Ambrose gave everyone the same answer: these were preparations for Thanos's wedding.

No one dared press further after that.

After all, mortals had no standing whatsoever to voice opinions about a god's wedding.

And besides, most people didn't seriously believe Ambrose was up to anything dangerous.

Word of Ambrose's exploits had already spread far and wide. He was a lich who cared about nothing but gold. He wasn't about to lure every king on the continent into one place and wipe them all out with some grand spell; doing so would utterly destroy his business empire and get every kingdom in the world hunting him down for the rest of his existence.

Whatever this magic circle actually did, it probably had little to do with the mortal guests at all.

And so, in full view of everyone, Ambrose expanded Coin Island outward. Even someone with zero sensitivity to magic, a total "muggle," would have felt something was off the moment they stepped onto the island.

The ambient magical density had grown thick enough to produce visible distortions in the air itself. Anyone casting a spell there would find its effects amplified several times over.

But that state of affairs only lasted a few days.

Once Ambrose finished installing the final magical construct, which weighed an entire ton, the entire island settled down. Even the visible traces of the magic circles vanished entirely.

By that point, only three days remained before the conference officially began.

The venue for the wedding on Coin Island had already been fully constructed, and lodgings for every kingdom's guests had been properly arranged. This time, Ambrose had gone all out. He had spent an enormous sum to bring in elves to staff the entire reception and hospitality operation.

Those breathtakingly beautiful, elegant elves were every bit as skilled in magic as they were in combat—easy on the eyes, while also more than capable of handling security duties.

With the Court of the Silver Moon so thoroughly closed off from the outside world these days, Ambrose was likely the only person alive with the connections to bring in this many elves to serve as attendants.

Lyon was the closest from the island, and yet the last to arrive.

Only a small party had accompanied the emperor of Lyon. Not counting servants, there were just eight people in total—but their quality more than made up for their quantity, since every single one of the eight was a legend in their own right.

Paladin-priest duos were standard Lyon protocol. One member of the delegation was even a legendary mage, a rather rare class in Lyon.

Angus Watson, a paladin who wasn't even a legend, hadn't qualified to accompany the emperor at all. He remained stationed at the border to guard against an opportunistic orc offensive.

That Lyon was still able to spare this many legends for a diplomatic trip despite being surrounded by enemies on three fronts was only to be expected of the strongest empire on the continent.

By comparison, the orcs had brought only two legends alongside their king. They were nowhere close to matching Lyon's showing.

The young emperor of Lyon, wrapped in heavy robes and flanked by a cluster of towering paladins, looked positively frail by comparison.

To outside observers, the emperor of Lyon was little more than a symbol, a lingering echo of the great Holy King's legendary achievements. People respected him for his bloodline, not for any accomplishment of his own.

The young emperor was more than happy to let people believe exactly that. Despite representing the strongest empire on the continent, he'd made a point of keeping an unusually low profile throughout.

Once he arrived on Coin Island, he retreated with his entourage into the private villa set aside for Lyon's delegation, staying almost entirely out of sight. The dwarven king, on the other hand, had been making the rounds everywhere, eagerly showing off the effects of his "convalescence" to anyone who'd look.

And thanks to Lyon's rather delicate relationship with the other kingdoms, no one bothered coming by to disturb the little villa either.

The emperor of Lyon stayed shut away in his room, reading, while his paladins stood guard outside.

To keep the emperor safe, the paladins took turns standing watch in pairs outside his door, ready to respond to any trouble at a moment's notice.

But the two assigned to the first half of the night found themselves in a somewhat awkward arrangement.

Standing near the window was Allen Watson, the empire's youngest legendary paladin. Stained though his reputation might be, Allen remained the youngest legend in the empire's entire history. His display of formidable aerial combat during the battle against the githarks had even earned him the title of "Sword Angel."

Of course, plenty of people still considered Allen a traitor who was secretly conspiring to split Lyon apart. Plenty muttered behind closed doors that he was really the "Fallen Sword Angel," destined sooner or later to fall to corruption and become a devil, just like Sariel had.

Standing beside Allen was the empire's oldest surviving legendary paladin: William Garrison, Lyon's Shield.

The atmosphere between the two men was rather tense.

Ever since the Silvermoon Knight's death, William Garrison had stood as one of the empire's pillars of strength. During the battle against the githarks, it had been William Garrison who'd turned the tide, personally bringing the emperor and the shattered remnants of the army safely home.

The two of them had technically fought side by side in that very battle, though their paths had never actually crossed.

Afterwards, William had stood firmly by the emperor's side, helping stabilize the empire through its darkest moments, while Allen had once publicly opposed the emperor, nearly tearing Lyon apart at the seams in the process.

Faced with this young man now, William Garrison genuinely didn't know what to think.

With any other young paladin, William would only need to set his face into a stern expression for the younger man to stand trembling, waiting to be lectured. But Allen was different. He radiated overwhelming holy light from the inside out.

Paladins earned the Lord of Dawn's blessing by living out his teachings faithfully. If Allen's power was this immense, didn't that mean his conduct actually aligned more closely with the Lord of Dawn's teachings than William Garrison's own?

Once that doubt took root, William found he could no longer speak to Allen with the easy authority of an elder.

After all, for a paladin, faith stood above everything else.

The two of them would have to stand together for most of the night. It seemed impossible to spend the whole shift in total silence. Just as the older man was steeling himself to break the awkward quiet first, Allen spoke up ahead of him. "Lord Garrison, why do you think His Majesty chose to bring me along on this trip? And to have me personally guard his safety, of all things?"

William blinked, caught off guard. He hadn't expected Allen to raise such a sensitive question so directly, and so early.

Was this some kind of test? Or did the young man have some hidden motive? Was he trying to fish for information?

But Allen's gaze made it clear he was genuinely confused. This was a sincere question, with nothing calculating behind it at all.

Trusting his own read of the man, William Garrison answered with quiet gravity. "Allen, people are capable of growth. Both you and His Majesty are still young men. Look at how much you've changed over this past year or so. His Majesty has changed just as much. A young man's past mistakes don't mean he's incapable of change. Every single decision His Majesty has made lately has been the right one—and, in some cases, better than what many emperors throughout our history managed to achieve.

"I believe His Majesty wants you to find your place back within Lyon again. You're an indispensable strength to this empire. You shouldn't be standing against it."

But Allen couldn't help pressing further. "And what about the mistakes of the past? Are we simply supposed to pretend none of it happened? Lord Garrison, thousands upon thousands of people have died in Lyon over the years because of extremist ideology, and the damage we've inflicted on others is beyond counting. Perhaps we can choose to forget it ourselves, but the orcs will come charging at us because of this blood feud, and so will every other race we've wronged. His Majesty has never once said how he intends to actually resolve any of that."

William's brow furrowed. He hadn't expected Allen to speak in defense of the orcs, of all people.

All he could offer in response was, "Allen, you're overthinking this. This isn't something soldiers like us need to concern ourselves with—especially not on behalf of orcs, who aren't even our own people to begin with."

Allen looked at the gray-haired elder and sighed quietly to himself.

Just as he'd expected, the older generation struggled to understand where he stood.

The Lord of Dawn had never once cared whether the light he cast fell on humans or orcs. The Holy King Arthur Lyon had even been trained by an orc.

It was a shame no one else knew that particular secret. Even if Allen told them, no one would believe him.

He genuinely hoped he'd have the chance to see the Holy King again soon. Allen felt he was still far too young, still in need of the Holy King's guidance.

Surely the Holy King would make a public appearance, with the lich putting on a spectacle of this scale? Allen couldn't help but wonder just how much of a sensation his appearance would cause.

He found himself looking forward to it more than he wanted to admit.

He hoped, more than anything, that the Holy King could guide Lyon back onto the right path at last.