Chapter 282

Volume 2 Ch 25: The Apex of Imperial Power

The first to emerge were Lillian and Rex.

Lillian wore a pale violet court gown, its hem embroidered with subtle patterns bearing her family’s crest. Her chin was slightly lifted, and her steps were light yet steady. Though her palms were perhaps faintly damp, the poise drilled into her by years of noble upbringing made her appear composed and graceful.

She even managed, amid the deafening cheers, to offer the gathered masses a restrained and beautiful smile.

Half a step behind her walked Rex, presenting an entirely different sight.

He wore a perfectly tailored knight’s formal uniform, but the dark fabric looked almost too tight across his large frame.

His face was completely stiff, his lips pressed into a straight line, his ice-blue eyes fixed rigidly ahead as though he were marching into a life-or-death battle.

Every step he took was excessively forceful. In fact, there was even the faint suspicion that he might have been moving his arms and legs on the same side together.

Walking ahead of him, Lillian perfectly ignored the clumsy, endearingly obvious tension of the guard behind her. Or rather, she wisely chose not to look. In a setting like this, there was no way she could possibly turn around and correct him.

Next came Vera, stepping out in a fresh, elegant long dress of pale watery green. Her emerald-green hair swayed faintly in the breeze, and her face carried a calm, well-bred smile that was neither too eager nor too aloof.

As she walked, she lightly raised a hand toward the cheering crowd on either side, her posture graceful and natural. Clearly, she was no stranger to grand occasions like this and handled the balance with perfect ease.

A little behind Vera came Ilis.

Michel was merely the surname Cecilia had casually assigned her, and Ilis herself cared little for it.

She wore a long gown of classical style, colored mainly in silver-gray and moon-white. There were no excessive decorations upon it, yet it possessed a quiet, understated nobility all its own.

Her black hair, dark as the night, flowed smoothly down her back, making her skin seem all the fairer. Her violet eyes gazed calmly ahead, deep and still, as though the mountain-shaking roar of the crowd around her existed in another world entirely.

Her steps were light and steady, as though she were simply walking through a silent courtyard rather than through the very center of power and the attention of countless thousands.

When the first four had all stepped onto the red carpet, the Master of Ceremonies paused briefly, drew in a breath, and then called out the final name in a louder, more forceful voice:

“And finally—the one whose extraordinary courage and wisdom led the others in this great feat, whose merit stands above all others—the eldest son of House Velt, Ryan Velt!”

The Master of Ceremonies’ voice rose sharply, ringing with stirring declaration.

At the mouth of the passage, the final figure stepped forward, neither hurried nor slow.

In that instant, it felt as though even the ceremonial music gave way for him.

His short silver-white hair gleamed with a cold luster beneath the sunlight, perfectly complementing the formal attire he wore, tailored to flawless precision in tones of silver-gray and midnight blue.

The design of the outfit was simple and elegant, devoid of any unnecessary ornamentation, yet it perfectly outlined his tall, well-proportioned figure. He carried his head slightly raised, revealing a face at once too young and yet strikingly handsome, sharp and commanding.

His gray-blue eyes swept calmly across the sea of faces before him, deep and utterly undisturbed, as though the frenzied cheers that might have swallowed anyone else whole were nothing more than an irrelevant gust of wind.

A fresh wave of uproar exploded from the square.

The roar grew even greater. People rose onto their toes and craned their necks, all wanting to get a better look at this legendary central hero.

Young, powerful, handsome, and carrying a quiet composure far beyond his years—those traits, layered one upon another, instantly ignited an even fiercer devotion and curiosity.

And amid that overwhelming tide of sound, the gazes from the reviewing platform above wove themselves into an invisible net, locking firmly onto the silver-haired figure on the carpet.

Emperor Augustus III watched with deep eyes and a faint smile of approval and encouragement resting upon his lips.

Second Prince Keynes looked as though fire might burst from his ice-blue eyes at any moment. His fingers clutched the railing so hard the knuckles had turned white, as he stared at Ryan like a man wishing he could devour him alive.

Third Prince Aster narrowed his eyes, and a sharp glint flashed within them.

So it was him.

This was the man.

Princess Cecilia stood in flawless poise slightly behind the Emperor’s side, and her ice-blue gaze too rested upon Ryan.

And it was not only the imperial family.

Throughout the noble viewing section, countless eyes with countless meanings had also settled upon him—curiosity, probing, jealousy, caution, calculation...

Among them, one gaze in particular was especially cold and predatory, like a hawk fixing itself upon its prey.

It belonged to a hard-featured man with an especially prominent hooked nose. He wore a deep gray formal coat symbolic of northern authority, and on his chest gleamed the snow-wolf crest of House Wilier.

The Marquis of the North, Rosen Wilier.

He was almost certainly the one person in the entire square whose stare lingered the longest—and whose face was the coldest.

What he had lost was not merely a few talented subordinates. He had lost the cutting edge of the North’s younger generation, and with it, some portion of the prestige that edge had upheld. And all of it was inextricably tied to the silver-haired boy now receiving the adoration of the multitude upon the red carpet.

Ryan seemed wholly unaware of every one of those looks.

His steps remained steady as he walked along the crimson carpet toward that viewing platform which symbolized supreme honor, but also carried with it countless hidden currents.

Each step fell atop the tide of applause, and each step also landed beneath the scrutiny of countless minds turning in countless different directions.

The center of the storm was always the calmest place—and the most dangerous.

Bathed in thunderous cheers and solemn music, Ryan, Lillian, Rex, Vera, and Ilis advanced step by step along the crimson carpet toward the lofty Royal Reviewing Platform.

The Master of Ceremonies’ ringing voice continued to thunder out, embellishing their deeds with carefully polished phrases. He spoke of how they had braved the Starfall Ruins, solved ancient puzzles, descended into the underground labyrinth, fought powerful guardian beasts, and at last successfully obtained part of the precious inheritance hidden within the Elven ruins, bringing back an invaluable dawn for the Empire’s magical and historical studies.

Each part of the account stirred a new wave of cheers from the crowd, as though they had truly witnessed with their own eyes those adventures, simplified and glorified though they were.

The voice echoed in Ryan’s ears, but it felt strangely distant.

His face remained calm, his pace steady, his gray-blue eyes passing over the excited masses on either side, over the ceremonial knights standing in solemn formation, until at last they fixed on the viewing platform ahead, drawing nearer and nearer.

The figures standing upon it became clearer with every step.

And only when he finally mounted the last stair and stood upon the golden-patterned carpet at the center of the platform, with merely a few paces separating him from the most exalted people in the Empire, did the true pressure of the place seep into the air.

It was not only because of the natural authority emanating from the Emperor and the princes and princess before him.

Nor was it only because of the ministers and court dignitaries in magnificent attire standing quietly behind them, their eyes deep and inscrutable.

It was because of the place itself.

One of the highest pinnacles of Imperial power.