Chapter 26
The wind that swept across the imperial courtyard was crisp and refreshing, carrying the sweet, heady scent of blooming irises from the castle gardens. The fragrance wafted through the air, mingling with the subtle hint of polished marble and the faint metallic tang of the imperial crest that adorned the carriage. As the breeze danced across the courtyard, it rustled the delicate silk banners that hung from the eaves, their intricate embroidery shimmering in the fading light. The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden streaks over the marble tiles, each slab polished to a mirror finish that reflected the vibrant hues of the setting sun. The Royal Thunder-Tiger Carriage, resplendent in its crimson and gold lacquer, awaited its passengers, its wooden panels adorned with intricate carvings of thunder tigers and auspicious clouds. The carriage's gleaming bronze fixtures seemed to glow with an inner light, as if infused with the essence of the setting sun. The sound of soft murmurs and the creaking of leather harnesses filled the air as the carriage's attendants made final preparations for departure, their movements precise and respectful in the presence of imperial grandeur. The atmosphere was alive with anticipation, the promise of a journey about to unfold beneath the watchful gaze of the imperial court.
Crafted with ancient runes etched into midnight-black wood that seemed to absorb the light around it, and fitted with sapphire-tinted glass that glowed with a soft, ethereal luminescence, the carriage practically hummed with magical power. The wood itself appeared almost alive, its dark grain shimmering like the night sky, as if the very essence of the stars had been infused into its creation. Glowing rune circuits danced faintly along its surface, tracing intricate patterns that pulsed with a gentle, blue-white light. These runes were crafted by the empire's revered Grand Arcanae, master artisans whose knowledge of the arcane was unparalleled. Each delicate carving acted as both a shield and a silencer, weaving a complex spell of protection and secrecy around the carriage's occupants. The runes seemed to vibrate with contained energy, as if the magic imbued within them was a living, breathing entity waiting to be unleashed. No outside sound could enter, no stray noise or curious ear able to pierce the veil of silence that surrounded the carriage. Conversely, no inner word would leave, every conversation, every secret, and every whispered promise safely ensconced within the carriage's magically fortified walls. The air around the carriage seemed to ripple, as if reality itself was bending to accommodate the powerful magic that had gone into its creation. The sapphire-tinted glass windows, like portals to another realm, reflected the world outside in shades of deep blue, giving the carriage an otherworldly appearance that commanded respect and inspired awe.
But the centerpiece of this magnificent vehicle was not the carriage itself—it was the beast pulling it.
The mount was a monstrous thunder-tiger, its body the size of a small cottage, with muscles rippling beneath its thick, blue fur like stormy waves beneath the surface of a turbulent sea. The fur itself shimmered in the light, each strand seemingly infused with an inner glow, and was broken by elegant white stripes that curled into shapes resembling lightning bolts, as if the very essence of the storms it was named after had been etched into its coat. Its long tail, thick and powerful, crackled faintly with visible static, sparks dancing along its length like fireflies on a summer's night, leaving behind a trail of ozone-scented air that tingled the nostrils. Its blood-red eyes, piercing and intense, stared outward with an unnerving intensity—not at the people gathered around it, but through them, as if they were mere specters, invisible and insignificant. The gaze was unnerving, making it hard to meet its eyes, yet impossible to look away. It didn't growl. It didn't roar. Instead, it exuded an aura of calm, controlled power, its very presence commanding respect and inspiring a mix of awe and fear. The thunder-tiger's breath was slow and measured, each exhalation accompanied by a low hum that vibrated through the air, making the ground tremble slightly beneath its massive paws. Despite its fearsome appearance, there was a strange, almost noble elegance to the creature, a sense of ancient power and wisdom that seemed to emanate from its very being.
It simply existed—and that was enough to suffocate most who stood nearby.
Flanking the carriage were seven imperial S-rank knights, each mounted on hellish steeds whose flaming black manes wavered like cursed fire, casting flickering shadows on the ground. The steeds' eyes glowed with golden irises, watching all with hawklike precision, their gazes piercing through the surroundings like sharp arrows. The knights themselves were imposing figures, clad in polished armor that seemed to absorb the fading light of day, their presence radiating an aura of quiet confidence and unyielding vigilance. They did not speak. They didn't need to. Their presence spoke volumes, their silence a testament to their discipline and training. Each knight's face was a mask of stoic determination, their eyes fixed intently on the surroundings, ever alert for any sign of danger.
Lucien stood near the stairs of the carriage, his hands stiff at his sides, his posture rigid with a mixture of respect and anticipation.
Sir Rutherford, the old butler with snow-white hair that gleamed like polished silver in the fading light, and a sharp tuxedo as crisp as a blade's edge, bowed slowly, his movements economical and precise. A soft, gentle smile played on his lips as he waved them off, his eyes twinkling with a deep understanding and a hint of warmth that seemed out of place in the formal setting. The contrast between the butler's aged elegance and the knights' martial prowess was striking, yet they seemed to work in perfect harmony, each playing their role with precision and dedication. As Sir Rutherford's hand descended, his gesture was like a conductor's signal, orchestrating the movements of the knights and the carriage with a subtle authority that commanded obedience.
> "May your journey be peaceful, Young Master Lucien. Lady Valeria."
Behind him, the Emperor and Empress stood tall, nodding their goodbyes, while Uncle Vale grinned wide like a wolf who had just sent two lambs on a shared journey—with one of them blissfully unaware that the other had fangs.
Lucien waved mechanically, his body on autopilot.