Chapter 22: Dragon’s Calling Ceremony [2]

The colossal obsidian doors leading into the grand audience chamber swung open with a resounding, heavy thud that echoed off the high marble arches.

"We welcome Craig von Darkstar, Seventh Young Master to the Duke of Rynchester, youngest child of His Majesty Duke Oscar von Darkstar, Baron of Lucerion and future seventh successor of Rynchester Duchy"

A baritone voice echoed through the audience chamber and what followed next was the sound of footsteps.

Craig von Darkstar stepped across the threshold, his head held high.

He was draped in an exquisite crimson ceremonial coat woven with golden thread, the stylized dragon crest of his house emblazoned boldly across his chest.

Walking half a pace behind him was his Guardian Knight, Ser Hughway, whose hand rested firmly on his sword hilt, radiating the silent, suffocating presence of a Sword Master.

The grand audience chamber was vast—a magnificent, cavernous hall built to comfortably hold ten thousand souls.

Today, however, fewer than a thousand guests occupied the expanse, lending the room an exclusive, intensely potent atmosphere.

To the left stood the high nobility of the Rynchester Duchy, flanked by imperial ministers, grand battle commanders, and regional governors.

Yet the crowd extended far beyond local borders.

Representatives from neighboring domains had traveled across continents to attend, alongside renowned Sword Experts, arch-mages, and high-class Rankers whose heavy, unyielding presences filled the ambient air.

Craig could feel the weight of hundreds of sharp, discerning gazes cutting toward him like physical blades.

In the elevated diplomatic gallery, the delegations from the four allied Great Houses observed the entrance with quiet intensity.

Craig’s golden eyes swept across the gallery, briefly locking onto two specific figures.

Young Master Arex of House Varax, who watched him with a sharp, martial curiosity, evaluating Craig from where he stood and Lady Alyse of House Veraxes.

Lady Alyse leaned slightly over the marble balustrade, her sapphire eyes narrowed in intrigue.

Like many in the room, she found herself captivated not only by his sharp, breathtaking features and flowing crimson hair, but by the unmistakable aura surrounding him.

Whispers immediately rippled through the gathered crowd like a sudden gust of wind.

"Look at the Seventh Young Master..."

"Is that... pure crimson mana vibrating around his physique?"

"How is that possible? A Darkstarian awakening his core before stepping into the Temple of Dragons?"

"What a prodigy!"

To the foreign delegates and uninitiated nobles, it was an absolute impossibility—a anomaly that shattered centuries of known martial tradition.

Expectation and intense anticipation vibrated through the chamber, with many wondering what kind of monster the youngest son of House Darkstar had truly become during his five years on the frontier.

Craig paid no heed to the rising whispers, shifting his focus entirely toward the far end of the hall.

To the right of the central aisle stood the core members of the Darkstar bloodline.

Over thirty royal descendants stood in rigid, immaculate rows, all draped in matching crimson ceremonial attire, their sleek crimson hair and predatory golden eyes marking them as true offspring of the dragon lineage.

Among them, Craig’s older half-siblings watched his approach with cold, veiled hostility.

At the apex of the chamber stood the seat of absolute power: the Scarlet Throne.

Carved from a single piece of volcanic blood-obsidian, the throne rested atop a massive, elevated altar reached by a staircase of precisely one hundred marble steps.

Seated upon it was Patriarch Oscar von Darkstar, looking down at the world with the effortless, terrifying dominance of a Sword Demigod.

Directly below the first step of the altar, four young figures knelt in a neat row, their foreheads pressed respectfully toward the cold floor.

They were Craig’s cousins—four elite teenage prodigies chosen from the vassal branches to undergo the trial alongside him.

Craig brought his stride to a smooth halt ten paces behind them.

Ser Hughway immediately stopped and stepped back into the shadows of the pillars, bowing his head in silence.

Craig dropped onto both knees, placing his right hand over his chest as he bowed deeply toward the Scarlet Throne.

"Greetings, Lord Patriarch," Craig spoke, his voice echoing clearly through the silenced hall.

From atop the hundredth step, Duke Oscar exhaled a soft, low sigh that seemed to cause the very air in the chamber to vibrate.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the armrests of the Scarlet Throne, his dark golden eyes sweeping over the five kneeling youths.

When the Patriarch spoke, his booming voice resonated directly within the minds of every person present.

"Rise your heads, children of the blade," Oscar commanded calmly.

The five youths lifted their gazes toward the altar.

"Today, you stand at the threshold of our ancestral heritage," Oscar began, his tone laced with solemn majesty.

"The blood that flows through your veins is no ordinary mortal liquid. It is a lineage refined through centuries of blood, steel, and absolute loyalty to the sword. It is the blood of rulers destined to stand at the absolute pinnacle of humanity."

Oscar gestured lightly toward the massive, sealed bronze doors situated behind the Scarlet Throne—the entrance to the volcanic mountain domain.

"Beyond those gates lies the Temple of Dragons—the sacred sanctuary where the almighty dragons and their offspring dwell," the Duke continued, his voice echoing with profound weight.

"The eternal bond shared between the Dragon Race and our bloodline is the foundation of our Great House. It is the secret that represents our glory, our strength, and our supreme right to rule the northern skies."

The Patriarch’s golden eyes narrowed slightly as he laid out the absolute rules of the trial.

"You shall venture into the depths of the Temple of Dragons entirely alone. No guardians, only your blade, and no external aid shall follow you across the threshold. You are granted a window of exactly seven hours."

Oscar raised a single finger. "Within those seven hours, you must navigate the volcanic caverns, prove your worth before the mystical abominations, and either tame an adult dragon or forge a soul-bond with a newborn dragon.

Once the bond is successfully forged, the ancestral grace shall descend upon you, forcing your pathways open and igniting your dormant mana core."

The room fell into an expectant, breathless quiet.

The ritual of the Dragon’s Grace was the absolute peak of a Darkstarian’s youth.

Then, Duke Oscar’s gaze subtly shifted, locking directly onto Craig.

A faint, unreadable smirk touched the corner of the Patriarch’s lips as he looked at his seventh son

The sole youth standing before the sacred throne who had already shattered the ancestral restriction and awakened his core on his own terms.

He had expectations for his youngest child.

"Let the 90th Dragon Calling Ceremony begin!!"