Published at 9th of October 2023 5:02 am

Chapter 353 Chapter 114

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The two knights fell silent under Maxi’s fierce glare. With a final look, she spurred Rem forward across the vast grounds, and Ulyseon dutifully followed suit.

When at last they reached the basilica, the Temple Knights halted the march. The wagons filled with loot were directed to the depository in the courtyard while the Osiriyan soldiers carried out orders. The knights dismounted and made their way to the guest accommodations. Some, however, rode off toward the west entrance. Since the basilica could only accommodate four thousand, the rest of the army had opted to stay in the city’s inns.

Maxi slid off Rem and observed the soldiers moving with precise coordination like a colony of ants. Following Anton’s instructions, she joined the mages heading for the university. Much like their previous visit, the mages had been assigned the university’s dormitory for their lodging.

“My lady,” Ulyseon said cautiously, a few steps behind her, “should you not stay at one of the lodgings reserved for nobility?”

Maxi glanced over her shoulder, noticing Ulyseon’s visible tension. Feeling remorseful about how she had treated him lately, she said as placidly as she could, “I am here as a member of the Mage Tower, so I shall stay with my friends until the Council concludes its talks.”

“Then… will you be returning to Anatol afterward?”

Maxi’s face clouded as she detected a hint of unease on the young knight’s face. Had Riftan already informed the knights she might be returning to the Tower? If he had, it would be incredibly difficult to forgive him.

Fuming, she turned her gaze to where the Remdragon Knight banner was dancing in the wind. Among the well-organized ranks of knights, she spotted Riftan conversing with Hebaron. Clad in deep gray armor and a navy cloak that accentuated his muscular frame, he stood out like a solitary black diamond amid a sea of dull gravel.

Watching his raven hair billowing in the wind, Maxi bit her lip, her resentment evident. There he was, shining like a knight of legend, while she was slowly transforming into a wretched old hag. It was infuriating.

“You should direct that question… to Riftan,” Maxi retorted coldly.

With that, she spun on her heels and strode away.

***

Riftan and the other commanders of the coalition army walked down the long, gray corridor until they reached the entrance of the precinct. Seven thrones reserved for the Council of the Seven Kingdoms stood inside the spacious, circular hall. Seats for those permitted to attend were arranged around the curved walls, which, along with the towering pillars, were intricately carved with images of Darian the Monarch, his twelve knights, and Rosem Wigrew.

Riftan glanced up at the carvings of the knights, each depicted with their legendary weapons, standing as protectors over the council chamber. At the center was the hooded figure of Wigrew with the holy sword, Ascalon.

He scoffed under his breath when he noticed the placement of the pope’s throne directly in front of Wigrew’s image. The implication was clear.

“You may enter,” a voice called out from above. “I wish to see the heroes who saved the Seven Kingdoms from the monsters.”

A clergyman had entered the hall through an entrance on the raised platform. He appeared to be in his forties and exuded a strong presence. Accompanied by a group of high priests, he walked over to the pope’s throne and took his place. Shortly after, Elnuima Reuben III and the ruler of Livadon, a finicky-looking graybeard, entered the hall. They were followed closely by a white-haired man, presumably the ruler of Balto.

Upon a gesture from the pope, Riftan led his aides to the center of the hall. He carefully studied the faces of the monarchs as he did so. The new pope appeared younger and more vibrant than he had anticipated. His strawberry blonde curls and bright turquoise eyes gave the look of a mischievous boy, while his thin lips, wide forehead, and angular jaw projected authority and dignity — a peculiar combination of features indeed.

Riftan then turned his attention to the others. King Reuben, as usual, wore a facade of boredom. On the other hand, the King of Livadon had a proud smile stretched across his face as he looked at Sejuleu Aren. The elderly ruler appeared genuinely pleased to see his royal knights returned safely.

Finally, Riftan shifted his gaze to the King of Balto, Heimdall VI, who was dressed in a bewildering ensemble that hardly befitted his station. Somehow, despite his haphazardly draped, poorly-pelted wolf fur over his mercenary-style leather armor, he still managed to radiate the air of a monarch.

Riftan narrowed his eyes, assessing the Baltonian ruler. The telltale signs of his seraphim lineage were unmistakable, reflected in his snow-white hair, fiery eyes, and formidable physique that stood in stark contrast to his pallid complexion.

He’s said to be over forty, but he certainly doesn’t look it.

The man looked young enough to be Riftan’s age.

“Come closer, all of you,” the pope’s voice resonated with an edge of impatience. “I wish to bestow upon you my blessing.”

Obligingly, the commanders of the coalition army stepped forward one by one. Sejuleu Aren, Richard Breston, Kuahel Leon, and Princess Agnes knelt before the pope. Riftan positioned himself behind the princess, bowing his head. The words of blessing, spoken in the ancient tongue of Roem, filled the hall, and the pope bid them to rise.

“You have liberated the Roviden Continent from the nightmare that has plagued us for three years. A grand victory banquet shall be held in your honor, and every participant in this campaign shall be duly rewarded.”

Suddenly, a disgruntled voice shattered the pious atmosphere within the hall.

“Shouldn’t we first discuss the distribution of spoils?”

It was Heimdall VI, eyeing the pope with derision as he accepted a goblet handed to him by a nearby cleric.

“This war has exacted a heavy toll,” he continued, his tone skeptical. “I doubt anyone here would object to learning what they stand to gain.”

The pope fixed the monarch with a searing glare, his anger unconcealed. “Something far more precious than gold has been sacrificed in this war. I speak of the lives that have been lost. I will not tolerate your mockery of those who fought to protect the peace and prosperity of this land.”

“Oh, I would never dare mock the subjects of God,” the King of Balto said, sneering. “Didn’t the previous pope proclaim this a holy war? Those who perished in battle should be basking in their heavenly rewards by now, so I fail to see how dividing earthly gold among us would insult them.”

The pope’s face flushed a deeper shade of red. It was clear from the faces of the other monarchs that he was not alone in his rage. Nevertheless, the barbarian from the north continued his provocation.

Taking a gulp of wine, Heimdall VI turned his gaze to the throne on his right. “Balial is truly blessed. Considering that Arex offered the most lives to God in this war, I’m certain they will be rewarded no less than Darian the Monarch himself in the afterlife.”

Only then did Riftan realize the reason for the King of Arex’s absence. It was due to the near annihilation of his army. Moreover, the execution of his commanding officer as a criminal doubled the humiliation, likely leaving King Balial too embarrassed to make an appearance.

This is going to get troublesome.

Riftan furrowed his brow as he watched the snickering King of Balto.

The pope, clearly having had enough of Heimdall VI’s insolence, slammed his cane on the floor. “I will suffer your rudeness no longer,” he declared, his voice ringing with authority. “The council is adjourned. You may all rest until this evening’s banquet.”

As soon as the pope left the council chamber, the monarchs of the various kingdoms rose from their thrones.

After observing them silently, Princess Agnes turned to Riftan. “I have an audience with His Majesty now. Will you join me?”

“No, I have other matters to attend to,” Riftan replied, his gaze fixed on Richard Breston, who was sauntering toward Heimdall VI.

Agnes sighed softly. “Father will be furious if I don’t bring you with me.”

“I’m sure it is nothing you can’t handle.”

Leaving the discontented princess behind, Riftan strode out of the hall. He passed through an empty corridor and leaped over the railing to the second floor. Slipping into the shadows behind a column, he peered out at Breston and Heimdall VI hurrying down a narrow corridor.

Riftan remained shrouded in darkness, watching the two northerners engage in a short conversation. When Heimdall VI ascended the stairs shortly after, Breston went in the opposite direction. Riftan crept after the latter.

By the time Breston noticed his presence, it was already too late. In one swift motion, Riftan cornered the man in the empty corridor, firmly grasping the back of his neck with his armored hand. Before Breston could make a noise, Riftan shoved him against the wall, the tip of his dagger poised just below his Adam’s apple.

Breston emitted a low sound, somewhere between a curse and a chuckle. “I did hear that you were once a renowned assassin. I suppose becoming a knight can’t change old habits.”

“The liege I serve appreciates my skill set, so he would prefer it doesn’t go to waste,” Riftan replied, his voice steady. He pinned Breston’s chest with his elbow and dug the blade deeper into the man’s skin. Leaning closer, he whispered into his ear, “I am absolutely certain that no one saw me dragging you here. Need I say more? I could slit your throat and get away with it. A mysterious murder inside the basilica would make for a most intriguing story, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Are you that afraid to face me honorably?”

Riftan scoffed. “How amusing that you would expect chivalry from someone you consider a lowborn mongrel.”

The sneer on Breston’s lips vanished. He stared at Riftan’s face as if assessing the sincerity of the threat. “Enough empty growling. Get to the point. What do you want to pry out of me, precisely?”

Now it was Riftan’s turn to study the man’s face, his impassive mask sliding into place as he did so. As he had suspected, the northerner’s flippant attitude during the campaign had been a calculated act to incite disorder.

“Were you the one who encouraged Adolf to strike out of turn?” Riftan growled.

“What on earth gave you that idea?”

“I have no shortage of eyes and ears.”

When Breston shifted, attempting to take out his dagger, Riftan slammed the man’s head against the wall.

“The North was well aware that sedition was brewing within the coalition. I know because nothing you did escaped my notice.”

Blood trickled down Breston’s forehead, but he still smirked as he spat, “As expected of a rat.”

“And you behaved like the viper you are,” Riftan hissed through clenched teeth.

Though he appeared to have easily restrained the northerner, the truth was that Richard Breston possessed unnatural strength. Tightening his grip on Breston’s neck, Riftan used great force to pin the man’s boulder-like thigh with his knee.

“Are you trying to start a war by breaking the armistice?” Riftan said viciously. “You deliberately had the Arexian army decimated to weaken their military power.”

“You seem to have already drawn your own conclusions, so why bother asking me?”

Breston chuckled as if amused. Riftan’s grip tightened around the hilt of his dagger as he mustered all of his self-control to keep from slitting the man’s throat. This so-called knight was an insurgent who had flagrantly disregarded the peace agreement. Not only had he caused the deaths of their allies, but he was also covertly rallying opposition against the Armistice of the Seven Kingdoms.

And above all else, the chaos this bastard had sown had placed his wife’s life in danger.

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