Chapter 30 Proof of the Heavenly Stage
A row of grand buildings lined Hero Square, each capable of serving as a symbol of the Monstoke Republic. At this moment, a bustling, lively crowd gathered in front of the fourth structure from the left.
Refugees and onlookers packed the steps, cordoned off by two parallel iron barriers. A long red carpet stretched from the entrance down to the road, where a queue of carriages waited. Each carriage pulled up to the carpet to let off distinguished guests.
A black taxi carriage pulled to a stop. Amidst the sea of luxurious, gilded carriages, it looked rather threadbare.
The guards maintaining order looked on in surprise.
The carriage doors opened, and five passengers stepped out.
The sole male was Richie, with Margaret clinging tightly to his arm like a doting lover. Dana, Richie’s mentor, walked slightly ahead of them, while Robin maintained a deliberate distance. Lina was busy paying the driver.
All of them wore formal dress uniforms.
The women wore white uniforms, the mark of formal Knights. Lina’s uniform was slightly different, adorned with a gold sash denoting her status as an Ace Knight, while the others wore standard yellow sashes.
Richie’s uniform was red, similar to a standard recruit’s uniform. Compared to the others, his attire lacked presence.
Looking at the towering crimson facade of the Red Palace, Richie felt a surge of excitement. He had never imagined he would set foot in such a place. When he had first heard the ball would be held in the Red Palace, he had lain awake all night.
Fortunately, he had spent the last week digesting the news, allowing him to maintain an air of outward calm.
“Is there any need to be so nervous? Your steps are light,” Margaret remarked coldly. Her tone was a stark contrast to her intimate posture.
She nudged Richie, pointing to a corner of the plaza. “Those pests have already arrived.”
Richie looked over. A group of youths his own age—some Knights, some civilians—stood gathered in a corner.
As the two wondered why they had congregated, an official approached.
“You two, follow me.”
The official gestured to Richie and Margaret. They glanced at Dana, then at Lina.
Lina waved them off. “Go on. Do as he says.”
The official led them into the middle of the youth group, thrusting a bouquet of flowers into each of their hands before rushing off to corral other latecomers.
Richie grumbled in frustration, “When I received the invitation, I thought I was a VIP. I didn’t expect to be a flower boy.”
His complaint prompted several nearby youths to take a step back, shooting him looks of disdain. The snobbish glares actually helped Richie relax, dispersing his nervousness.
Though most of the group avoided him, two youths approached. One was the arrogant Gerold, and the other was Reta.
Richie ignored Gerold, offering a warm nod to Reta. Gerold, likewise ignoring Richie, stepped up to Margaret to offer his charms.
Richie nudged Reta with his shoulder, complaining, “You’re a poor friend. Why didn’t you warn me we’d be flower boys today?”
Reta showed no remorse. “Everyone here is a guest, but there’s a hierarchy. Most are confined to the outer hall. Only the truly distinguished gather in the inner salon. Handing them flowers is a privilege, giving us a chance to catch the eye of the high command.”
“Do you care about that?” Richie asked, looking at Reta.
“Of course not, and neither does Gerold. We’ve seen these events too many times to care. It’s boring. But for them, it’s different.” Reta gestured to the others. “Their parents serve in the civil government, and they hope to secure posts in the future. This is their best chance to build a pedigree.”
Richie returned their disdainful looks. As a former street kid, he had no love for government officials, equating them with corruption, inefficiency, and deceit.
While Richie stood alienated from the crowd, Dana was facing her own trouble.
A stern-faced Knight stood before her. The youth had short brown hair, sharp eyes, and a blade-like jawline. He wore a gold sash like Lina.
Beside him stood a middle-aged Knight, whom Dana regarded with obvious dread. He was her father, Caron, the Vice-Captain of the Seventh Legion.
Caron was a massive, imposing man. Dana was tall, but beside her father, she looked small and fragile. They shared no family resemblance; Caron was rugged and ugly, with bulging eyes, a thick nose, a wide mouth, and a dark shadow of stubble.
“I raised you all these years, only for you to ignore my commands,” Caron barked, his natural authority sending a shiver through the surrounding crowd.
Realizing where he was, Caron quickly suppressed his presence. This was a gathering of VIPs, not his barracks.
“Did I mistreat you? What displeases you about the husband I chose? If you had objections, you should have spoken. I would not have forced you. But what did you do? You fled to the front lines without a word.”
The father’s anger grew as he spoke, and he struggled to contain his mental pressure.
Dana stood in silence, her eyes fixed on the floor. Experience had taught her that reasoning with her father was pointless. If he decided someone was outstanding, no amount of evidence could convince him that the man was a manipulative hypocrite.
Dana had not arrived alone; Lina and Robin accompanied her. Lina stayed back, knowing Caron had no love for her and that her presence would only make matters worse.
But Robin did not care. She walked over, inspecting the young Ace Knight beside Caron.
With a smirk, Robin remarked, “Carvin, how did someone like you even become an Ace? I have no idea how you broke through your bottleneck.”
At Robin’s approach, Caron felt a headache coming on. The eccentric girl was a terror he dared not offend. Her grandfather was a legendary powerhouse who possessed no concept of reason, and her uncles were cut from the same cloth. Caron was a blunt man, but he was practical enough to avoid those he couldn’t afford to cross.
Carvin, the young Ace, was even more pragmatic. Had his family status been higher, he might have pursued Robin. But knowing the vast gulf between them, he simply offered a polite smile.
Robin ignored him, turning to Caron. “My cousin is here today, and she wants to see Dana. Can I borrow her for a bit?”
“Your cousin? Trisli, the genius?” Caron looked startled, though he quickly recovered his composure. Trisli was a genius, but she was still a junior. Showing too much respect would make him look weak.
Seeing Caron offer no objection, Robin dragged Dana toward the inner salon. Lina, seeing the matter resolved, followed close behind.
The inner salon was a stark contrast to the outer hall.
The outer hall was grand and solemn, adorned with oil paintings and crystal chandeliers, but contained little of true value. The inner salon, however, was gilded in gold. The floor was paved with imported imperial marble, the walls and ceiling decorated with gold leaf, and the crystal chandeliers custom-carved into the shape of roses. The paintings on the walls were masterpieces of immense value.
The salon was elegant and quiet, lacking the crowded din of the outer hall. Only those of the highest status were permitted entry. Caron possessed the rank to enter, but to comfort his prospective son-in-law and nurse his own pride, he chose to remain outside.
When the time arrived, a side door was opened, and the youth group was ushered inside.
Seeing Lina, Dana, and Robin, Richie led Margaret over. Gerold and Reta followed close behind, along with two other noble scions. In Peines, the four were known as the “Four Young Lords.”
“You didn’t tell me we’d be flower boys today,” Richie grumbled to Lina.
“Most would beg for the chance,” Lina countered. She turned to Reta, waving. “Reta, you’ve become a Knight. Your parents must be thrilled. What did they gift you?”
“Cousin, look at yourself. You wear a gold sash. Uncle was boasting about it for a week,” Reta laughed, knowing he didn’t need to stand on ceremony with his family’s black sheep.
“Really?” Lina offered a dry smile. “The old man is so stubborn. When I saw him, he ignored me. I thought he was still angry.”
Reta glanced around to ensure their family members were out of earshot. “You know how he is. He cares about you.”
As they chatted, the main doors swung open. A chamber orchestra in the corner began to play.
The room fell silent.
The doors opened to a long corridor. With his sharp hearing, Richie could hear a crowd approaching.
He felt a nudge from the other youths, who were already raising their bouquets. Not wanting to stand out, Richie raised his as well.
Someone clapped, and a round of applause rippled through the salon. Richie did not mind the gesture; the Republic had few tedious protocols, and even bowing was unnecessary.
A group emerged from the corridor, led by a woman.
Richie recognized her. Randy had prepared foreign currency for their escape, including banknotes from the Packington Holy Empire, which bore this woman’s face.
In person, Empress Annielia was far more beautiful than her portrait. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties, with red hair styled in an elegant bun. She possessed a classical oval face, a straight nose, and full cheeks.
Suddenly, Richie felt a wave of dizziness, his mind shaking as though his soul were being drawn from his body.
The sensation passed quickly.
As he recovered, he realized the Empress was staring directly at him, her gaze so intense it felt as though she could pierce through him. Richie quickly lowered his head, avoiding her eyes.
He rubbed his forehead. The dizziness had passed, but his brow throbbed.
He felt a wave of dread. This was the second time he had experienced this sudden dizziness; the first had been when the mysterious librarian touched his forehead. He worried it was a side effect of the X23 serum that had triggered his awakening.
Shaking his head, Richie forced the dark thoughts from his mind, trying to focus on the present.
The Empress was accompanied by a large retinue, including several noble youth. The most prominent was a young princess of twelve or thirteen, with red hair and a small crown.
The princess nodded toward their group. Richie was surprised, but noticed Reta waving his bouquet in return.
“What’s going on? Do you know her?” Richie whispered.
“A distant cousin. It’s nothing,” Reta replied, though his face flushed with pride.
Lina nudged Richie from behind. “You’ll understand in time. The Knight circle is small. If you trace their bloodlines, most Knights share a few legendary ancestors. You and I might be cousins, for all we know.”
Her words were comforting, though Richie cared little for bloodlines. It was hard to regard Lina as a noble princess when he knew the exact depth of her passage and the duration of her climax.
The ball officially began. It resembled a public reception rather than a dance. The Empress made a brief appearance, accepted the flowers, spoke with a few dignitaries, and departed.
Most of the guests remained. A few couples took to the floor, all professional dancers hired to maintain the atmosphere.
High-ranking officials and diplomats gathered in corners, their casual conversations laced with subtle political maneuvers.
Richie debated heading to the dining room, having already mapped out the layout. But the dining room was currently empty, and he had no desire to gorge himself alone and look like a glutton.
As he hesitated, a group approached, surrounding two women. One was the young princess, and the other was Trisli.
“Lina, congratulations. I didn’t expect you to reach the Ace rank so quickly,” the princess offered.
Trisli inspected Lina’s gold sash. While Lina’s achievement at twenty-three was modest compared to her own, it remained impressive.
But Trisli’s attention soon shifted to Margaret. She could tell Margaret trained in frost Aura, a manual notorious for its slow progress. Achieving formal Knight status at sixteen was a remarkable feat. This was why Gerold and Reta had been drawn to her. While Margaret was beautiful, she was not a peerless beauty; it was her exceptional talent that commanded interest.
“This salon is filled with geniuses today,” Trisli remarked.
Her words prompted the retinue to inspect their corner. Most ignored Richie, looking only at Margaret.
But the young princess stared at Richie, her eyes wide with astonishment. Her mouth parted slightly.
Richie felt her gaze and looked back. To his horror, the princess’s yellow eyes flashed a bright gold. The golden hue filled him with an instinctive urge to kneel.
The urge passed, but it left him with goosebumps, and the familiar dizziness returned, though milder this time. He realized the princess was staring at the space between his brows. He raised his hand to touch it, but felt nothing.
“Hey…”
Gerold nudged him. He resembled Dana’s fiancé—handsome but calculating. But Gerold’s noble birth meant he had no need for desperate social climbing, and his goals were far grander.
“I’ve invited Lady Margaret to dance, but she says she requires your approval,” Gerold said smoothly, flashing a polite smile.
Richie knew the youth was playing mind games, trying to embarrass him. Lina had warned him that Gerold might use underhanded tactics. The scion had little chance of victory in a direct duel, so he would attempt to win outside the arena.
They had resolved to cut through his schemes by forcing the issue of the duel immediately.
“Didn’t we agree the last fight was a draw, and we’d duel today? Why waste time with dancing?” Richie cut in.
“A duel? Excellent!” the retinue whispered, their interest flared.
Gerold’s expression stiffened. Richie’s bluntness had ruined his plans. He had intended to display his superior grace to convince the crowd that a noble scion was far more suited for Margaret than a late-awakened commoner. His followers were prepared to support him, and an influential figure had been lined up to speak on his behalf.
All those plans were now useless.
Gerold noticed the amused smirks on Lina and Robin’s faces. He realized his mistake; his opponent also had powerful backers.
He was prepared for a duel, having modified his training suit to boost its output by thirty-five percent within the safety regulations. Against an equal opponent, the modification was decisive. Furthermore, he had reviewed Richie’s combat logs and devised a counter to his resonance strike.
But now, he felt his confidence wavering.
“Is today appropriate for a duel?” Gerold smiled, attempting to look like the mature, cultured one.
“Margaret, what did he say the other day?” Richie countered.
“He doesn’t want to fight you. Why press him?” Margaret added coldly.
Their tag-team remarks put Gerold on the defensive. The surrounding Knights understood the situation. Gerold’s supporters tried to defend him, but the princess’s retinue was less polite.
“A formal Knight is afraid of an Apprentice?”
“The Apprentice didn’t start this. The Knight challenged him and is now backing out.”
“You believe the Apprentice?”
“I believe the lady. She is his girlfriend.”
The whispers made Gerold’s face turn a shade of green. But he knew that fighting now meant a certain defeat, as his mind was unsettled.
“You misunderstand. I only meant I would challenge you here, at this ball, in front of everyone,” Gerold claimed, using his charm to carry the lie. His handsome looks won over the crowd, and several cheered his bold declaration.
Though forced into the duel, Gerold had a trump card. His family had asked their senior relations to devise a counter to Richie’s technique. But he needed time.
Robin pulled Trisli and the princess away. She wanted to prevent her cousin from associating with Richie. Every woman who grew close to him ended up in his bed, and she feared a diplomatic incident if the princess fell under his spell.
With the princess departing, the retinue followed.
“Can we watch the duel?” one of the youths asked.
“Of course. We’re staying for a few days anyway. Who will find out the schedule?” the princess asked.
Several volunteered.
“Who will win?”
“The Knight, obviously. One is an Apprentice, the other a formal Knight.”
“I’m not so sure. The Knight was clearly making excuses. If he were confident, why hesitate?”
“True. A apprentice Knight defeating a Knight has happened before. And Gerold only recently broke through; he isn’t much stronger than an Apprentice.”
“Let’s place bets. Who wants to book?”
The young Knights were eager for excitement. But the princess cut them off, her face stern. “You can play your games elsewhere. But war is upon us, and we need unity.”
“We didn’t start this,” someone grumbled.
The princess let out a cold snort, and a powerful presence flared from her. It was not a Knight’s mental pressure, but a deeper authority that struck the heart. Even Lina and Trisli felt a chill, their expressions shifting in surprise.
The bloodline of the Holy Emperor was indeed terrifying.
“Dueling over a woman is a game that has run for thousands of years to maintain a Knight’s competitive edge. But in war, those who cannot adapt are simply eliminated. The game is useless now. I believe Mother will ban duels shortly. You would do well to focus on the conflict.”
Her words carried a weight that silenced the group.
“I am going to see Mother,” the princess said, leaving them.
Empress Annielia was in the inner salon, guarded by two close Knights. The princess knew her mother was holding a private meeting. The ball was merely a cover to meet those she couldn’t summon openly, laying the groundwork for secret treaties.
The princess waited outside. The meeting was brief, and the doors soon opened. The guest had departed via a secret passage.
The Empress gestured for her daughter to sit beside her. “Is there something on your mind?”
“I’m not certain,” the princess hesitated. “I saw something impossible.”
The Empress smiled, stroking her hair. “Have you so little faith in our bloodline? Whatever you saw, it is real. Tell me.”
“The Proof of the Heavenly Stage,” the princess whispered. “On an Apprentice Knight.”
“You did not see wrong,” the Empress consoled. “But it is not called the Proof of the Heavenly Stage.”
“Then I did see wrong?”
The Empress laughed. “I will rest for five minutes. Summon Lord Reni after that,” she ordered the guard.
Turning back to her daughter, she explained, “Apart from our bloodline granting the Proof, there is another path to break the Heavenly bottleneck. It is called the Sword Saint Inheritance.”
“The Sword Saint Inheritance? How is that possible?” the princess looked startled.
The Packington Holy Empire commanded respect because of their bloodline. Any Knight, no matter how talented, required the aid of the Holy Emperor’s bloodline to break the Heavenly bottleneck. Thus, the elite Knights of all nations regarded the Empire with respect.
The princess’s shock was understandable.
“The inheritance was a method created by several proud Sword Saints who refused to rely on our bloodline,” the Empress explained. “But the conditions are exceptionally harsh, and it has rarely been used.”
“How harsh?”
“I don’t know the details. But one must train in the identical divine art to receive the inheritance. And we suspect it must be performed before becoming an Honor Knight—the earlier, the better.”
“The youth is still an Apprentice. He fits the profile. What should we do?”
The Empress tapped her daughter’s head. “Remember this, but tell no one. And leave the youth alone. The conditions are too harsh to pose a threat to us. The descendants of the Holy Emperor must maintain their grace.”
The princess felt a wave of relief. But as she prepared to leave, the Empress stopped her.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
The Empress leaned back in her chair, her mind working rapidly.
She had not told her daughter one detail: the three successful recipients of the inheritance had all become Sword Saints.
The youth had the potential to become a Sword Saint. If they secured his loyalty now, before his talent was discovered, he would feel a deep gratitude toward the Empire. Investing in a future Sword Saint was a highly profitable business.
“It seems my stay in Peines must be extended,” the Empress sighed.