Chapter 174: Ghost Repellent

The Archduke’s ambient dark mana, the absolute domain of the Reaper, was radiating outward from the carriage like an invisible fortress.

To the ghosts of the Capital, the approaching carriage did not look like a vehicle; it looked like a rolling, apocalyptic black hole of annihilation.

As the Vanguard drew closer, the chaotic spectral activity abruptly ceased. The arguing guards scattered. The poisoned nobles fled in terror.

The ghost population of the Capital practically stampeded out of the way, parting like the Red Sea, terrified that if they brushed against the Archduke’s aura, their souls would be permanently frozen and shattered into the Abyss.

Seraphina smiled, leaning back against the velvet cushions. ’My dad is officially the best ghost-repellent on the market!’

"We are approaching the Gates," Kaelus announced, his voice snapping her out of her spectral observations.

The Archduke was no longer relaxed.

He was sitting with perfect, rigid posture. He had donned his full, imposing formal regalia, a cape of pure, woven midnight-spider silk over his darkest armor.

Requiem was polished to the point of shining. His face was set into an expression of unfeeling cruelty.

He was preparing for the political theater.

"Sir Lucas," Kaelus ordered, not raising his voice, knowing the commander could hear him through the communication tube. "Status of the primary gates?"

"They are wide open, Your Grace," Lucas’s grim voice echoed back. "The Emperor has ordered a full public thoroughfare. The main avenue is lined with civilians. It is a parade formation."

Kaelus’s violet eyes narrowed, a scoff of disgust escaping his lips.

"A predictable, pathetic maneuver," Kaelus sneered, crossing his arms.

Seraphina tilted her head. "Why is it pathetic, Papa? Don’t they want to say hello?"

"They are not saying hello, Seraphina," Kaelus explained, his voice taking on the cold, analytical tone of a political tutor. "The Emperor ordered the gates opened, and the citizens gathered to witness our arrival as a display of psychological control."

Kaelus gestured out the window toward the towering white walls.

"The Vanguard is composed of large, heavily scarred men from the freezing, harsh North. We wear black iron and mythril. We do not smile. We ride warhorses bred for slaughter," Kaelus elaborated smoothly. "The Emperor wants the soft, pampered citizens of the Capital to look upon us and feel visceral terror. He wants them to see us as barbarians. As monsters."

Kaelus’s eyes glinted with dark understanding. "If the populace fears the North, they will view the Emperor as their shining protector. It reinforces his political power. He is parading us like caged beasts to make himself look like a god."

Seraphina frowned.

Her mind didn’t grasp the political machinations well.

But she understood that it was a classic, manipulative PR stunt. Demonize the military asset from the provinces to unify the central power base.

She looked out the window.

As the heavy warhorses of the Vanguard thundered through the Platinum Gates, the reality of Kaelus’s words became instantly apparent.

The main avenue of the Capital, a street wide enough to march ten horses abreast, was lined with tens of thousands of citizens. There were wealthy merchants in silks, commoners in simple wool, and wide-eyed children clinging to their parents’ legs.

But there was no cheering. There was no festive music.

The atmosphere was thick with a palpable dread.

The citizens stared at the Black Bastion with wide, terrified eyes. Mothers actively pulled their children behind their skirts as Sir Boris rode past, his seven-foot frame and scarred face looking like something out of a horror story.

Sir Lucas’s cold, dead-eyed assassin stare made several wealthy nobles shudder and take a step back.

The Vanguard looked like the literal harbingers of the apocalypse rolling through a pristine, white-marble paradise. The silence of the crowd was oppressive, broken only by the heavy, rhythmic, intimidating CLOP-CLOP-CLOP of the armored warhorses.

Inside the carriage, Kaelus sat back, his expression turning even colder, feeding into the role he was expected to play. If the Emperor wanted a monster, the Reaper would give him a monster.

"Do not look at them, Seraphina," Kaelus advised softly, not wanting the terrified stares of the crowd to upset her. "Their fear is manufactured. It is irrelevant."

Seraphina sat on the velvet bench.

She looked at Kaelus, who was projecting an aura of pure, isolated misery beneath his arrogant mask.

She looked out the window at Sir Boris, who was staring straight ahead, accepting the terrified gasps of the women as a normal part of his existence.

She looked at Sir Gallahan, whose pristine white cape was doing nothing to offset the lethal reputation of the North.

A stubborn, fiercely protective spark ignited in Seraphina’s chest.

’They aren’t monsters,’ Seraphina’s internal monologue flared with sudden, intense indignation. ’Sir Boris makes balsa-wood swords, so I don’t get splinters! Sir Gallahan braids my hair! Papa Duke spent forty-five minutes brushing my teeth while I was asleep! They are the best, softest, most loving people in the world! And I am absolutely not going to let some shiny, manipulative Emperor Uncle use them as a scary parade float!’

The Emperor wanted a psychological operation?

Seraphina was going to give him a psychological operation that would completely shatter his narrative into a million sparkling, floral-scented pieces.

Seraphina didn’t obey Kaelus’s order to ignore the crowd.

She stood up on the plush bench. She reached out with her small hands and grabbed the heavy brass latch of the carriage window.

"Seraphina, what are you—" Kaelus started, his eyes widening in confusion.

CLACK!

Seraphina shoved the window all the way down.

The warm, perfumed air of the Capital rushed into the carriage. The oppressive, terrified silence of the crowd flooded the cabin.

Seraphina leaned her upper body out of the window.

She was wearing a pristine, bright yellow sundress embroidered with tiny white daisies, a matching yellow ribbon tied in her dark hair. She looked like a literal manifestation of sunshine and innocence, contrasting the towering, black war-machine she was riding in.