Inside the Throne Hall, the glass lanterns shimmered like a sea of stars, and silver-white silk draped from the vaulted ceiling, swaying ever so gently. Fine, crystalline ice petals drifted in mid-air, refracting a frigid, brilliant light amidst the interplay of shadow and radiance.
Yet, beneath this magnificence and tranquility, there lurked a sharp, suffocating tension—a menace so profound that a single spark felt capable of detonating the entire hall.
Among the nobles of the Lunaris Kingdom, two parties of guests stood out most prominently:
One, Helan Blackwood;
The other, Allen Graven.
Each had brought only four elite guards, standing amidst the crowd like two blades of silent, sharp, cold light. No one dared to look down on them.
Helan glanced sideways, a mocking smile curling his lips. He lowered his voice, "You've got guts. Walking into this wolf's den with only four followers."
Allen's expression remained composed, his tone as light and calm as water. "General Helan, are you not doing the same?"
Helan grinned, his eyes gleaming with dangerous interest. "My men are brothers who would die beside me. The ones you brought—are they also sworn to death?"
Allen's gaze was steady, his tone neither humble nor overbearing. "No. These four are enough to ensure my safety."
Helan let out a hearty laugh that echoed throughout the hall. A rare glimmer of appreciation flashed in his eyes. "Interesting. I've heard your Lunaris Royal Army has the 'Quad-Guardians', every one of them capable of taking on a hundred, and carrying those magical weapons left over from the Great War."
Allen bowed slightly, humble and restrained. "Merely relics of the past. On a true battlefield, individual prowess ultimately struggles against a thousand armies."
Just as the two were speaking—
A voice, elderly yet remarkably steady, cut slowly into their conversation from the side.
"General Helan, I did not expect to see you at this banquet."
Prime Minister Renault Darwin approached with slow, measured steps, his expression heavy, his eyes brimming with an unreadable complexity.
Helan narrowed his eyes and suddenly laughed aloud, making no effort to mask his hostility. "Renault Darwin! You old bag of bones, you're not dead yet? The very thought of butchering you myself after this banquet puts me in a fantastic mood!"
The Prime Minister rolled his eyes, seemingly long accustomed to his crude insults, and replied in a flat tone: "Helan, your mouth is as foul as ever."
He paused, his tone shifting to one of composed gravity:
"Since you have chosen to come, it implies you have no immediate intention of starting a war. In that case, you might as well wait for Her Majesty to arrive, and we can discuss the terms of your withdrawal."
Helan scoffed, his tone dripping with obvious disdain. "Withdrawal? The goal of the Ember Alliance's campaign—is to overthrow the Kingdom of Lunaris. Do you really think I'm here to talk to you about peace?"
The Prime Minister smiled faintly and countered: "Then why have you come? Is it merely to flaunt your martial might, or do you intend to slaughter every noble present here all by yourself?"
Helan arched a brow, his tone calm, yet chilling enough to freeze the blood:
"Exactly."
He raised his hand, fingers tapping lightly against the tabletop, his voice low:
"I simply want to see—if the enemies of the past still have the courage to face the edge of the blade in my hand."
The Prime Minister fell silent for a moment, ultimately offering only a sigh: "Suit yourself."
As he turned to leave, he added one final remark:
"Today is the Winter Moon Festival, the most sacred day of the Kingdom of Lunaris. We would not set traps on a holiday such as this—you may set your mind at ease."
"Traps?" Helan laughed suddenly, snatching up a wine goblet from the table and draining it in one gulp, the liquid trickling down the corner of his mouth. "My life isn't worth much to begin with; what is there to fear?"
The Prime Minister offered no further response, merely shaking his head as he walked away.
Allen glanced at Helan, a faint, indefinable smile playing on his lips: "General Helan, your spirit truly remains undiminished."
He paused slightly, his tone shifting to one of placid ease:
"However, I have a few old acquaintances to greet, so I will not keep you company any longer."
With that, he turned and departed, his figure blending into the magnificent yet treacherous crowd. Helan nodded slightly, though his gaze did not shift from the hall. His eyes roamed slowly through the throng like an unsheathed blade, searching silently—as if, should that person appear, he would sense them the instant they arrived.
Meanwhile · Outside the Palace
The cold wind cut like a blade, and the snow showed no sign of stopping. The world was a canvas of pale, silent white, with only the intermittent sound of footsteps crushing the snow echoing through the air.
Rena hauled the small cart carrying Gerald, complaining impatiently: "Just how exactly are we getting into the palace? This guy Gerald is still sleeping—didn't he say he wouldn't wake up until the 'decisive moment'?"
On the cart, Gerald's breathing remained steady; he was even emitting a faint, rhythmic snore, completely out of tune with the suffocating tension of the atmosphere.
Owen scratched his head, sounding indifferent: "Then let's just walk in. What are we waiting for?"
Gareth immediately rolled his eyes: "Are you tired of living? Do you really think we can just charge in like this?"
Milia pondered for a moment before whispering: "Otherwise... should we disguise ourselves as servants and sneak in?"
Rena"I saw Commander Helan enter the palace just now. For the Kingdom of Lunaris, the Winter Moon Festival is the most sacred day of the year—they will not make a move so lightly on a day like this."
He paused, a light flickering in his eyes that bordered on obsession:
"Besides—I must make my entrance for all to see."
It was not an impulse, but a calculated choice—a declaration of war.
"Her Majesty, the Queen!"
With the herald's booming announcement, the clamor of the hall vanished into sudden, absolute silence.
Every gaze converged upon the throne.
The Queen approached, her pace measured and graceful. Her ornate robes flowed like moonlight, trailing across the floor. Her frigid, piercing gaze seemed to frost the air itself; wherever she looked, the very atmosphere stagnated. Yet, there was a subtle furrow to her brow, a faint, imperceptible shadow lingering over her features.
Everyone present understood the unspoken truth—
With two armies pressing in, the storm was ready to break. Even a monarch could not remain entirely unaffected by the encroaching hand of fate.
The Queen ascended the dais and settled slowly onto the throne. She swept her gaze over the ministers and guests, her tone indifferent, bordering on impatient.
"Very well. I have no desire to waste time on pleasantries. Let the banquet begin."
The words fell, yet the tension did not lift; instead, it curdled, growing more suffocating than before.
Suddenly, Helan let out a resounding laugh. He stepped out from the crowd, facing the throne without a hint of hesitation. "I had heard that the Queen of Lunaris was decisive and forthright. Having seen you now, I must say—the rumors were true."
The Queen arched a brow, her gaze falling upon him like a guillotine blade. "And who might you be?"
The Prime Minister hurried forward, lowering his voice: "Your Majesty, this is the Commander of the Ember Alliance—Helan Blackwood."
"The Ember Alliance..." the Queen repeated softly. There was a faint, genuine note of confusion in her tone.
The Prime Minister bowed slightly, whispering in her ear: "The rebels of the South, Your Majesty."
The moment the sentence landed—
The laughter on Helan's face froze, then vanished into ice.
A flash of cold light sparked in his eyes, his voice dropping to a low, razor-sharp hiss. "I see... so that is how it is."
He spoke slowly, every syllable laced with restrained fury:
"I had not expected that even after my army has captured ten counties and seized half the kingdom, we remain so unworthy of your notice?"
The Queen's expression remained unmoved. She merely offered a flat, dismissive: "Is that so?"
That nonchalance cut deeper than any mockery.
Just as the tension threatened to snap—
A voice rang out, resolute and clear, cutting through the stifling air of the hall:
"Your Majesty! I come here—solely to clear my father's name!"
Allen Graven stepped forward, dropping heavily to one knee.
His head was slightly bowed, but his fists were clenched so tight the veins stood out against his skin. The anger and obsession he had suppressed for so long finally lay bare.
The Queen stared at Allen, her gaze lingering for a moment, as if searching her memory for the face. After a short silence, she gave a slight, detached nod.
"You are... the son of the former Great General Graven?"
scoffed, her tone laced with irritation: "Dragging a 'servant' along who snores the whole way? Isn't that just writing 'I am a spy' across our faces?"
The group fell into a momentary silence.
Just then, Carl spoke, his voice calm: "No disguise is needed."
The group stared at him in unison, stunned.
He looked up at the silver-white palace, his fist clenching instinctively until his knuckles turned white. His voice was low, yet carried an unshakable resolve:
"We just walk right in."
The wind and snow howled around him, but his gaze remained piercingly clear.
"Indeed." Allen stood up, straightening his frame. His gaze locked onto the throne, unyielding. "Your Majesty, I ask you to look at the facts: My father spent his life in the saddle, loyal to the very end, sworn to protect this Kingdom. Yet, without trial or judgment, you executed him for treason—I do not accept this! The ten thousand soldiers outside the city walls... they do not accept it either!"
His words echoed through the great hall, stirring up waves of underlying tension.
The Queen's eyes turned cold instantly, her voice descending like frost upon the land:
"I said he deserved to die—so he died."
A single sentence, severing any possibility of defense.
Just as the atmosphere threatened to snap—
A middle-aged man clad in ornate battle armor strode into the hall, his tone indignant and sharp:
"Allen! Your father should have had his entire family line wiped out. It was Her Majesty's mercy that spared you. How dare you show your face here?"
"Lance—!" Allen roared, fury surging in his eyes. "You despicable snake! You stole my father's position and bit the hand that fed you! Do you truly believe you command the army? The moment the Graven banner is raised, those ten thousand soldiers outside shall return to my hand!"
Lance sneered, his gaze filled with contempt: "Utterly ridiculous. You have gathered troops outside the city walls—what is your intent? If you are not rebelling, then you should lead your troops to battle immediately—and annihilate the rebel army!"
Helan scoffed from the sidelines, interjecting with mocking playfulness:
"Oh? Seizing military command, then forcing others to throw their lives away... you are a magnificent sort of general, aren't you?"
Lance whipped his head around, glaring. "A thousand of our Lunaris troops are enough to deal with mere rabble! When we swept across Auroris in the past, were we ever afraid of anyone?"
Allen could no longer contain himself, his rage like wildfire: "The true elite are waiting outside! Lance, one more word, and I will execute you under military law! I am speaking to Her Majesty—stand down!"
The tension in the hall was near the breaking point.
At that exact moment—
The Queen waved her sleeve lightly, her voice cold and unquestionable:
"Enough."
Two words, silencing all the clamor.
She turned slightly, looking toward the Prime Minister, her tone calm but edged with sharpness: "Prime Minister, you seem to have something to say?"
The Prime Minister stepped forward, bowing in response: "Yes, Your Majesty."
He raised his head, his tone steady and slow:
"With two armies totaling twenty thousand at our doorstep, an outbreak of war would turn the land into a river of blood, harming the innocent. We must consider the lives of the people—this matter requires careful deliberation."
The Queen looked weary, her tone laced with impatience: "Enough of these platitudes. Tell me—what is your solution?"
The Prime Minister's lips curled into a meaningful smile.
"Before that—I have one more person to introduce to Your Majesty."
The Queen's brow furrowed, her tone cold: "Speak."
The Prime Minister turned slightly, nodding to an attendant behind him.
A moment later—
A young man was led into the hall.
He was dressed in simple, modest clothing, clashing violently with the opulence of the hall. His features were refined, yet his expression held a trace of unease and bewilderment, as if he did not yet fully grasp why he had been swept into this vortex of power.
Countless gazes fell upon him.
The Queen scrutinized him in silence, her tone tinged with cold appraisal: "Who is he?"
The Prime Minister straightened his posture, his voice ringing clearly through the hall:
"His name is—Noah Moonlight."
He paused, his tone dropping with heavy gravity:
"But his true name is—Noah Virselis."
The Queen arched a brow, a flicker of unconcealable doubt crossing her eyes: "And so?"
The Prime Minister's expression was solemn, his voice steady and resolute:
"He is a descendant of the illegitimate line of the former fourth-generation monarch, Adam III."
"In his veins, flows the blood of the Virselis royal lineage."
An uproar instantly erupted in the hall. Low whispers and debates rose like a tidal wave, echoing endlessly through the golden, magnificent chamber.
Helan was stunned for a heartbeat, then threw his head back and laughed. His voice, like a peal of thunder, rattled the vaulted ceiling: "Oh—what a delicious piece of palace scandal! A bastard heir reclaimed, royal blood brought to light! This banquet is turning out far more entertaining than I imagined!"
However, before his laughter could even fade—
"His Highness, Prince Carl Lucian of the Stella Kingdom—arriving!"
With the herald's booming announcement, the great doors of the hall swung open with a heavy, resonating groan. Every gaze in the room converged upon the entrance.
The first thing to come into view was Gareth, clutching his forehead—clearly nursing the aftereffects of a recent blow. He rubbed his head, grinning broadly, completely unfazed by the hundreds of eyes fixed upon them. Behind him trailed the other young companions.
But most conspicuous of all—
Was the small cart being pushed into the hall.
Atop it, a large, middle-aged man was sleeping soundly, his breathing steady, even punctuated by the occasional rhythmic snore—it was Gerald.
The scene was wildly incongruous with the solemn, murderous atmosphere of the great hall.
Milia muttered under her breath, her tone laced with helplessness: "You... did you really have to shout so loudly? Now everyone is staring at us."
Gareth just grinned, making no attempt to restrain himself: "Otherwise, how would they know we've arrived?"
The words were spoken with such ease, as if this were not a den of vipers, but an ordinary social gathering.
Carl straightened his collar, his expression swiftly shifting back to one of composure. He stepped forward, his pace steady, cutting through the crowd until he stood before the throne.
He dropped to one knee, his posture standard and composed, his voice clear and unwavering:
"Your Majesty, Queen of the Lunaris Kingdom—I am Carl Lucian, son of the rightful royal line of the Stella Kingdom."
He lifted his gaze, meeting the Queen's eyes without flinching:
"Today, I come on behalf of a fallen people, to partake in this Winter Moon Feast."
The sudden, brazen entrance left the entire court momentarily breathless.
Lance was the first to recover. His face darkened, and he roared, "Your Majesty! This man is one of the rebel leaders; he must be seized immediately!"
But before the words had even faded—
Owen stepped forward slowly, positioning himself slightly in front of Karl, his tone dripping with unmasked contempt:
"Do you plan on doing it yourself?"
He tilted his head, a provocative smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth:
"You'd better think carefully about the consequences... though, I'd be more than happy if you tried."
The air in the hall grew instantly taut.
Helan erupted into laughter, his voice brimming with excitement: "Hahaha! Prince Karl is here too? This banquet—it's finally starting to look like something!"
But beneath that boisterous laugh, his gaze swept imperceptibly toward the hall entrance, revealing a faint, hidden anxiety. Rhine was still nowhere to be seen.
The Prime Minister stood to the side, his expression placid. He added a sentence, his tone heavy with implication:
"Prince Lucian has appeared as well... It seems this year's Winter Moon Festival is indeed—far livelier than in previous years."
The Queen frowned, pressing her fingertips to her temple; she was clearly irritated by the relentless variables and the rising clamor.
She scanned the room, her tone cold and laced with subtle impatience:
"How tedious."
She exhaled lightly, her voice low and icy:
"I have always despised festivals—too many people, and far too noisy."
Her gaze settled on Karl, carrying both scrutiny and a sliver of annoyance:
"Why have you come here?"
Karl's expression remained unchanged. He held his kneeling posture, his voice steady and resolute:
"I represent the Kingdom of Stellara—as well as the remnants of the Kingdom of Astralis and the Great Empire of Solaria—"
He paused, his tone growing more solemn:
"I request that the Kingdom of Lunaris return our ancestral lands through peaceful means. We wish to replace war with negotiation and bring an end to this conflict."
Lance sneered, making no effort to hide his mockery: "Return them? You are but the dying embers of a fallen state—what qualifications do you have to negotiate terms?"
The Queen waved her hand lightly, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"Enough, Lance."
Her tone was not loud, but it carried an undeniable, crushing authority.
"Stop bickering back and forth. It is endless."
She slowly rubbed her temple, as if even the act of thinking had become exhausting.
After scanning the faces of everyone present, she finally spoke again, her voice regaining that cool, detached majesty:
"Prime Minister, you have not finished what you were saying."
She paused, adding with clear impatience:
"Continue."
Then, she looked coldly at the guests:
"The rest of you—one at a time."
"If this bickering continues, my head will explode."