Chapter 280

Volume 2 Ch 23: The Investiture Ceremony

At daybreak, as the first light broke over the horizon, the Imperial Capital of Augustus seemed to awaken from its slumber—yet it was more boisterous and feverish than on any ordinary morning.

The streets had long since been decked out in festive splendor. Imperial golden griffin banners and ribbons of celebration fluttered in the wind, draped across nearly every window and every colonnade.

The crowd surged of its own accord toward the heart of the city, the Triumph Square before the imperial palace, vast enough to hold tens of thousands.

This magnificent square, paved in great slabs of gray-white stone, had witnessed countless glorious moments in the Empire’s history: rewards bestowed upon victorious armies returning home, coronations after the climactic duels of the national magic tournaments, and even great rites and celebrations tied to the fate of the nation itself.

And today, it would once again gather the eyes of the entire Empire and bear witness to another triumph—the investiture of the heroes who had conquered the ancient Starfall Ruins and brought hope and power back to the Empire.

News that the Elven ruins had been successfully explored had already spread like wildfire through every street and alley of the capital, even reaching the Empire’s distant provinces.

To the overwhelming majority of the populace—and even to many ordinary nobles and scholars—the word “Elf” itself signified mystery, antiquity, wisdom, and power beyond reach.

Those beings who existed only in poetry, mythology, and fragmented ancient texts—their ruins could only be imagined as treasure vaults overflowing with knowledge, mighty Magic, and lost relics.

And now, that treasure vault had been opened by the Empire’s champions.

Though the details remained shrouded in secrecy, the heroes’ return alone was enough to ignite the passions of the masses.

At a time when friction with the northern Orc Empire was growing more frequent by the day, any joyful news capable of strengthening the Empire was reason enough for national celebration. The Empire’s glory would shine all the brighter for it, and its frontier defenses would stand all the firmer.

The reviewing stands surrounding the square were already filled with nobles dressed in full regalia. Judging by the heraldic crests adorning their garments, nearly every family of consequence in the Empire was represented there. The Marquis Wilier of the North and his vassals wore complicated expressions. Delegates from the East exchanged hushed words among themselves. Southern nobles carried themselves with elegant poise. The capital’s great powers sat with imposing dignity.

There were military officers in immaculate formal uniforms, civil officials wearing splendid sashes, court mages in austere robes, and even several high-ranking clerics from the Holy Church, peaceful in bearing yet radiating immense power.

Today, the true ruling stratum of Imperial power had gathered in one place.

Beyond the outer perimeter of the square, separated by the Royal Knights in a strict yet orderly formation, stood the common people, craning their necks in anticipation. Their faces were alight with pure excitement and pride.

On the highest balcony of the imperial palace, the ruler of the Empire, Augustus III, had not yet appeared. Yet beneath that balcony, within the hall connected to the inner palace, the atmosphere could not have been more different from the fervor outside.

It was a side hall used for brief rest and preparation before the ceremony, richly adorned yet carrying an air of cold solemnity. At this moment, only three people stood within.

To the left, Second Prince Keynes Ishtar stood with his arms folded across his chest, leaning against a marble pillar. He had inherited the imperial family’s typically tall frame, and his short golden hair stood upright like the tightly drawn line of his brow and the restless agitation that still lingered there.

To the right, Third Prince Aster Ishtar held himself in an entirely different manner. He reclined at an angle against a velvet-backed chair, his figure longer and more elegant than his elder brother’s.

Though he shared the same golden hair of the royal bloodline, he wore his slightly longer, its smooth strands falling over his shoulders and shining softly in the morning light filtering through the high windows.

Standing a little forward, closer to the direction of the balcony, was Princess Cecilia. Her gown trailed along the floor, her golden hair carefully pinned up to reveal the graceful line of her pale neck. She stood straight and poised, her hands elegantly folded before her, her ice-blue eyes calmly fixed on the sea of people and fluttering banners beyond the balcony. In the morning light, her perfect profile looked as though it had been carved from cold jade.

Within the side hall, time seemed to pass slowly amid silence and diverging thoughts. The distant roar of the crowd outside rolled in like the tide, making the hush within all the more pronounced.

Servants moved quickly and soundlessly, making one final adjustment to the princes’ and princess’s attire, ensuring that every crease had been smoothed away and every ornament gleamed flawlessly.

Today’s attendees included not only every noble house of rank in the Empire, representatives of the military, and key figures from the Court Mage Corps, but even a high-ranking Archbishop from the comparatively aloof Imperial Holy Church.

With a spectacle of this scale, it was nearly a state rite in all but name, enough to show just how seriously the imperial family regarded the conquest of the Starfall Ruins—or rather, how determined they were to control the political symbolism and public impact that would arise from it.

As the imperial family’s representatives present today, Emperor Augustus III and his three children had to jointly uphold the most exalted image of the Empire.

The Emperor himself stood still at the edge of the shadows near the balcony entrance, his back turned to his children, leaving none of them able to read his expression.

Beneath the intricately adorned imperial regalia, his broad shoulders looked steady as a mountain. Yet that silent back seemed to be weighing matters far more far-reaching than the ceremony before them.

Second Prince Keynes felt as though he might crush his own fist beneath the sleeve of his ceremonial attire.

Parker had been the sharpest blade among the younger generation under his banner, and one of the subordinates he valued most. He had been an important part of his future designs. Now that blade had snapped in that damned ruin, taking years of effort and expectation with it.

And that little upstart called Ryan—along with his foolish vase of a sister, Cecilia—had instead ascended this platform of glory.

How could he not be consumed with rage? Yet at this moment, he could only endure it, forcing the fire down beneath an icy expression.

Third Prince Aster’s gaze drifted, vague and elusive, once more toward Cecilia standing slightly ahead of him.

His younger sister was exceptionally still today, like a jade statue carved to perfection, merely gazing at the boiling tide of public sentiment beyond the window.

What was she thinking? Was she savoring the prestige about to fall into her hands, or already calculating the gains and losses of her next move?

How interesting. This sister of his rarely made a sound, yet somehow always managed to create the greatest stir.

Cecilia could feel the gazes of her brothers on her back—one scorching like a volcano on the verge of eruption, the other deep and frigid as a bottomless pool.

“Your Majesty, the time has come.”

An elderly man dressed in the attire of the Lord Chamberlain appeared soundlessly and bowed as he reported.

Emperor Augustus III slowly turned around. It was a face worthy of his reputation as a diligent and benevolent ruler, majestic yet steady, with the faint lines of age and labor gathered at the corners of his eyes.

He gave a slight nod, and his voice was calm and full of strength.

“Let us go.”

“Yes, Father.”

The three children bowed almost at the same time, their posture flawless.

The Emperor stepped forward first, his three children following in order behind him. Together they passed through the final archway and stepped onto the Royal Reviewing Platform, one of the highest symbols of imperial authority, overlooking the entirety of Triumph Square.

And at the very instant their figures appeared—

“Look! It’s His Majesty the Emperor!”

“And the princes—and the princess!”

“Long live Emperor Augustus!”