Chapter 367 - 359: Coronation in the Sanctuary

Chapter 367: Chapter 359: Coronation in the Sanctuary

「Three days later, in the Royal Capital’s grand cathedral.」

Morning light pierced the stained-glass windows, illuminating a mural on the opposite wall. The Lord of Eternal Radiance sat upon a throne of clouds, draped in a sunlit robe. In one hand, He gently held a radiant sphere symbolizing the world, while the other reached down toward humanity.

The Choir of the Eternal Radiance Church chanted a solemn hymn, their ethereal harmonies echoing beneath the cathedral’s dome, cleansing the souls of all who entered.

Nearly all the great nobles of the Duchy who held true power were present. Dressed in their most formal attire, they were seated on either side according to their titles and their families’ seniority. The atmosphere was solemn; no one spoke. Marquis Marcus, the Iron Wall, sat impassively in the front row, and the core members of the Imperial Faction beside him all maintained the last vestiges of noble decorum.

The Chief Scribe’s voice rang out in a pause between hymns, echoing throughout the cathedral.

"The enfeoffment ceremony will now begin."

"Presenting the newly appointed Count, Lord Velin Klein."

The great bronze doors of the cathedral swung open silently.

Velin stood outside, clad in a brand-new platinum and white formal suit tailored to a Count’s specifications. The dominant white symbolized the pure white stone of Minas Tirith, the capital of his domain. Golden thread formed intricate, abstract patterns of waves and towers on the collar, cuffs, and hem—understated, yet exquisite.

Count Leman and Countess Diana flanked him from behind.

"Don’t be nervous."

Diana’s voice was low. Today, she wore a gold and white long dress, looking stately and elegant.

"I’m not."

Velin replied. And he wasn’t. ’This is just a necessary procedure, a performance to announce an established fact to the public.’

He strode forward, setting foot on the red carpet that led to the altar.

The gazes of all the nobles inside the cathedral focused on him. There was curiosity, scrutiny, jealousy, and also a well-hidden, venomous resentment.

Velin’s gaze remained fixed forward, his steps steady. He walked past the Marquis of the Iron Wall; the old-school military man’s body was stock-still, his eyes locked on the altar ahead. He walked past the nobles who had once fiercely opposed him, some of whom subconsciously avoided his gaze.

He saw Countess Diana take her seat and give him a firm nod.

He saw Count Leman exchange a look with Marquis Lorenzo, who was not far off.

Finally, he arrived at the foot of the altar.

In the center of the altar, Prince Willandar Orange stood waiting quietly. Today, he had changed into formal royal attire of black with gold trim, the prince’s crest pinned to his chest. He radiated a dignified and tranquil authority.

"First, the Act of Homage."

The Chief Scribe announced.

Velin unfastened the sword at his waist and handed it to a nearby attendant. Then, he ascended the three steps and knelt on one knee before Prince Willandar.

He raised his head and, following ancient custom, placed his clasped hands into Prince Willandar’s outstretched ones.

The Prince’s hands were broad and warm, with the light calluses that came from years of wielding a sword.

"I, Velin Klein, willingly become a vassal to the Grand Duke."

Velin said.

"I, Willandar Orange, on behalf of the Grand Duke’s throne, accept your homage."

With the completion of this ancient ritual symbolizing personal fealty, Velin officially entered the political ranks of the Royal Faction.

"Second, the Oath of Fealty and Investiture."

The Archbishop of the Eternal Radiance Church himself came forward, holding a heavy copy of the Holy Scripture of Radiance. Its cover was fashioned from gold and inlaid with enormous Gemstones.

Velin placed his right palm upon the Holy Scripture of Radiance.

"I, Velin Klein, do hereby swear: I shall be a loyal servant to the Duchy, and I shall uphold the Duchy’s laws and traditions. I pledge allegiance to the honorable council and the lords present, and I acknowledge the lawful authority you exercise on behalf of the Duchy. Within my fief, I will uphold justice and maintain peace. So I swear."

The oath echoed through the cathedral.

Prince Willandar took the articles of investiture from the attendant’s tray one by one.

First was a scepter. Its staff was forged from pure silver, and its top was set with a white Moonstone the size of a dove’s egg. Enchanted, it emitted a soft glow—the symbol of a Count’s authority.

Then came a ring. It had a gold band with a white agate signet, upon which was carved a great white tower standing amidst ocean waves. This was the crest of the "Count of the White Tower."

Finally, there was a rolled-up parchment decree, sealed with the wax of the Council of Nobles. It detailed the borders of the White Tower’s Earl’s Domain and all the privileges the Count possessed.

Willandar placed these three items into Velin’s hands one by one.

"In the name of the Duchy, I bestow upon you the title of Count of the White Tower and dominion over these three fiefs. May you treat your subjects well, expand your territories, and bring glory to the Duchy."

"I will bear it in mind."

Velin accepted the scepter, ring, and decree. The scepter was heavy in his hand, and cool to the touch.

"Third, the Religious Blessing."

The Archbishop stepped forward, holding a silver vial of Holy Water, which he sprinkled upon Velin’s new scepter and sword.

"In the name of Eternal Radiance, I bless this symbol of authority, that it may display justice. I bless this blade, that it may defend peace. May the deity’s light forever shine upon the Earl’s Domain of the White Tower."

Seated, Countess Diana watched the figure in the platinum and white suit on the altar. The sunlight fell upon him, making the scepter gleam.

She felt her heart pounding, a complex mix of pride, joy, and relief filling her chest.

’He did it. He really did it.’

Not far away, Count Leman discreetly adjusted his cuff, but when his eyes met Marquis Lorenzo’s, a smile of a successful plan graced both their faces.

Velin’s enfeoffment ceremony was over.

He put on the ring and, holding the scepter, descended from the altar. Behind him, an attendant carried his sword and decree.

Just as everyone thought the grand ceremony was about to conclude, the Chief Scribe cleared his throat and loudly announced the next item on the agenda.

"Next, the enfeoffment of Lord Hector Este, the ’Marquis of Black Flame’."

The air in the cathedral froze for an instant.

Immediately after, a dull roar sounded from outside the cathedral.

One boom, then a second, and a third.

It was the sound of cannons. The highest honor, reserved only for the enfeoffment of a Marquis or a noble of higher rank.

Velin stopped in his tracks.

He turned and looked back at the altar.

The Archbishop, who had been so solemn just moments ago, was now wreathed in eager smiles. He even took the initiative to descend the steps and personally guide the young man who was about to take the stage.

Among the nobles’ seats, more than half the aristocrats—including many centrists who had merely nodded or given Velin the cold shoulder—now rose to their feet, turning to face the cathedral entrance in a gesture of respect.

This level of pomp and deference far exceeded what had just been shown.

A slender young man walked slowly in through the entrance.

He wore the formal attire of a Marquis, black with red patterns, impeccably tailored to make him appear tall and straight. His skin was pale, as if from a lack of sunlight, which, combined with his overly calm demeanor, made him seem like a walking statue.

He was Hector Este.

The new master of the Este Clan.

The procedure for his enfeoffment ceremony was largely the same as Velin’s, but every detail highlighted his more distinguished status. The one who presented his sword was the captain of the royal guard, and the one who held his articles of investiture was the Prince’s most trusted attendant.

When Prince Willandar bestowed the title, his words were also more intimate. "Hector, your father was a pillar of the Duchy. I hope you can carry on his legacy."

"I will, Your Highness."

Hector’s reply was humble and appropriate.

Velin stood beside his new seat, calmly watching the rest of the ceremony.

His enfeoffment as a Count felt like a brilliant prelude. Hector’s coronation as a Marquis was today’s true main event.

The celebratory reception after the ceremony was held in a side hall of the royal palace.

Nobles gathered in twos and threes, golden champagne bubbles rising in crystal glasses.

"Congratulations, Lord Count of the White Tower."

"Your Lordship, your domain is truly a pearl of the Duchy."

A constant stream of nobles came to congratulate Velin, their words complimentary, their smiles sincere. Velin calmly raised his glass in response, politely dealing with these new "friends."

Just then, the bustling crowd gradually parted, creating a path.

Hector, holding a glass of red wine, walked through the crowd straight toward Velin.

His gait was steady. The surrounding nobles all paid their respects to him, and he responded with a faint smile and a nod. His every step drew the attention of the entire room.

He stopped in front of Velin.

"Congratulations, Count of the White Tower."

Hector wore an impeccably elegant smile as he raised his glass to Velin in a toast.

"Your rise is a true miracle for the Duchy."

Velin raised his champagne flute and lightly clinked it against Hector’s glass.

"Thank you."

His reply was brief.

"You are worthy of this honor."

Hector continued, gazing at Velin with a focus in his deep-set eyes, like an artist admiring a masterpiece.

"After all, managing to secure this position despite opposition from the Marquis of the Iron Wall and so many others is not something one can achieve through luck alone."

His words were barbed. The surrounding nobles sensed something was off, but they couldn’t quite put their finger on it.

Velin watched him back, the intelligence from Leman flashing through his mind. The Este Clan’s shadow had been behind the resistance he faced in the Council of Nobles for this enfeoffment. What role Hector had played in it all went without saying.

"Efficiency is everything."

Velin said, his tone even.

"Seizing the key to the matter and solving the problem is far more important than dealing with a swarm of buzzing flies."

Hector’s smile froze for a moment before returning. He had understood Velin’s metaphor.

"Well said. Efficiency."

He gently swirled the red wine in his glass, the deep crimson liquid leaving trails on the sides.

"I, too, am a believer in efficiency. Clearing obstacles from the path, consolidating resources, and achieving goals with the utmost speed. It seems we have much in common."

He spoke as if sharing a personal philosophy, but every word dripped with the scent of blood.

Watching these two rising stars of the Duchy’s political scene converse so pleasantly, the surrounding nobles all smiled knowingly.

In their eyes, this was the beginning of a mutual admiration between the new generation of noble leaders.