Chapter 118: ¹¹⁸The Throne Room Of Astrea
The gigantic black iron gates swung open. A frigid chill, long trapped within the palace courtyard, immediately gushed out.
Ethan Valen stepped forward without waiting for a cue.
Tap.
His first step on the marble shattered the silence. The click of his black boots echoed softly.
From the driver’s seat, Valera Voss turned her head slowly. Her hands tightly gripped the reins of the horses, who snorted in agitation. Her golden eyes narrowed sharply, scanning the white fortress that was about to swallow her Lord’s figure.
Clack.
The carriage door opened. Kaelia von Ashford stepped down, letting the hem of her dark red gown sweep across the marble floor. The girl took a deep breath, straightened her back, and held her chin high.
The Ashford aristocratic mask was perfectly in place, concealing her wildly racing heart. She stepped forward to follow Ethan.
A thin gray mist still hung over the Capital of Astrea. The spring air carried a biting chill, but the true freezing aura radiated from the colossal structure before them.
Veylor Castle. It stood like a monument of absolute arrogance.
Its white marble gleamed blindingly. Slender towers with dark blue roofs reached up to defy the sky. On every parapet, obsidian gargoyles glared down, as if judging the sins of anyone daring to enter. Sterile, majestic, and utterly suffocating.
Ethan took the lead. His dark coat fluttered gently. In this sea of white marble, the young man became the sole speck of darkness absorbing the light.
The Crown Knights stood in rigid lines like statues on either side of the walkway. Their blue-and-gold plate armor glinted. Banners bearing the crown and crossed swords fluttered arrogantly. Kaelia walked by Ethan’s right side.
Just before the main flight of stairs, a middle-aged palace steward blocked their path. A silver crown brooch rested on his left chest. His posture was incredibly stiff.
𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢
"Welcome to Veylor Castle, Lord Valen, Lady Ashford," he greeted in a flat, emotionless tone, accompanied by a polite bow. "According to protocol, only the name on the summons and one companion are permitted to enter the Throne Room."
The steward’s eyes shifted over Ethan’s shoulder, looking condescendingly toward the carriage.
"Your guard must wait in the guest pavilion. Weapons are forbidden beyond this point."
Back there, Valera’s jaw clenched.
Her black leather armor creaked as her unbandaged hand crept toward the hilt of the massive Zweihander on her back. Separated from her Lord in an enemy’s lair? This was an insult! Her golden eyes flashed with bloodlust, waiting for just one word from Ethan to cleave the arrogant steward in half.
But Ethan didn’t look back. His left hand merely rose to his waist—two fingers lowered slowly.
To Valera, that gesture was absolute.
"Tch." The exotic knight gritted her teeth. She reluctantly let go of her sword and sat back down.
Seeing this, Kaelia reflexively touched the sleeve of Ethan’s coat for a split second. A momentary gesture of nervousness, before she caught herself, clutched her own gown, and reinstated her frozen expression.
"Lead the way," Ethan commanded as cold as ice, completely ignoring the earlier nonsense about protocol.
The gigantic black oak doors, carved with a crown, swung open. Ethan and Kaelia stepped inside, leaving the morning behind and greeted by the dim, cool temperature of the castle.
The palace corridor stretched endlessly. Its white marble floor reflected their silhouettes like a mirror. Marble pillars supported a vaulted ceiling painted with the history of wars of conquest.
Their footsteps echoed faintly.
At several intersections, cliques of lesser nobles and officials in flashy silks stood holding silver wine goblets. Their eyes instantly widened upon recognizing Kaelia’s crimson hair, then shifted to cast disdainful looks at the simply dressed youth in black beside her.
Sharp whispers began to buzz like a swarm of bees.
At the end of the corridor stood black oak doors adorned with pure gold carvings. Two heavily armored Crown Knights slammed their spears into the marble floor.
Thud!
The colossal doors were pushed open. A blinding glow of light swept across Ethan’s face.
They had arrived. The Throne Room of Astrea.
This chamber was the definition of mentally crushing grandeur. Its sheer size rivaled a city hall. Giant marble pillars supported a curved ceiling depicting the epic of creation. Morning light refracted blue-and-gold hues through the ten-meter-tall stained glass windows.
Hundreds of high nobles, ministers, and royal generals parted to the left and right, leaving a straight path of blue carpet dividing the room. Total silence fell instantly as Ethan stepped inside.
At the end of the blue carpet, a tiered white marble podium stood arrogantly. And at its peak... The Throne of Astrea.
A colossal block of white marble adorned with protective golden wings. There sat the ruler.
The King of Astrea. A middle-aged man with timeless, classic handsomeness. His blue mantle was embroidered with genuine gold threads. His sapphire crown gleamed. His clear blue eyes stared ahead with a smile that was far too peaceful—as if he were a god watching over his ants.
Below him, on a seat of honor, sat Prince Edward von Valois.
Unlike his father, Edward’s face, clad in a crisp white military uniform, was beet red. His blue eyes glared with unadulterated hatred. His future wife, walking alongside a lowly brat from the east! A blatant slap in the face before the entire royal court.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Ethan’s pace was constant. His footsteps were muffled against the blue carpet. His eyes remained locked solely on the throne. Kaelia walked by his side, refusing to lower her chin under Edward’s piercing gaze.
Fifteen steps before the podium stairs, Ethan stopped.
He stood tall. His hands relaxed at his sides. He didn’t bow. He didn’t kneel. He didn’t lower his head even a single inch.
Kaelia, realizing Ethan had zero intention of paying his respects, mirrored his rigid stance, even though her heart felt like it was about to explode.
The atmosphere tensed to the extreme. Several nobles held their breath witnessing this absolute sheer audacity.
"Present to answer the Crown’s summons! Ethan Valen, who claims the heir’s right to the Valen Barony in the far east! Accompanied by Lady Kaelia von Ashford from the Southern territory!" a high official in a golden robe bellowed, breaking the silence.
"Hah..." A condescending laugh immediately sliced through the air.
Edward leaned back in his chair. A cynical smile marred his handsome face.
"Heir to the far east territory," Edward scoffed loudly. "You call that barren wasteland full of mud and rickety shacks a domain, Valen?"
Edward leaned forward, glaring with naked hostility. "And you dare track that eastern filth onto the sacred marble of my palace with such an arrogant attitude? Do you think this is the academy?!"
Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared at Ethan, waiting for the young man’s mental fortitude to shatter. Kaelia bit the inside of her cheek hard, bracing herself for the storm.
Yet, Ethan’s face was as deadpan as a board. His eyes casually shifted from the King to Edward.
"My filth might come from the east, Prince Edward," Ethan spoke softly. Yet his voice cut through the silence like a razor blade. "But that filth is currently standing on your sacred marble."
Ethan’s dark brown eyes narrowed murderously. "And for some reason... this marble seems to be trembling far more than I am."
Dead silence. Pin-drop quiet.
Several senior nobles choked on their own spit. Insane! No one had ever dared to clap back at the Crown Prince’s insults with such sharp composure right in the Throne Room.
Edward’s face instantly turned purple from explosive rage. The veins in his neck bulged wildly. The prince slammed his hands on his chair and shot up roughly.
"How dare you—!"
"Edward."
Just one word. Spoken incredibly softly.
The voice descended from the throne above. The King of Astrea didn’t drop his peaceful smile, but that gentle rebuke carried a bone-crushing weight.
Edward froze. He swallowed his rage with great difficulty, then stiffly sat back down, bowing his head to his father.
The King of Astrea’s focus now fell entirely on Ethan. That peaceful smile slowly widened—not a cynical smirk, but a smile of profound interest.
"Ethan Valen," the King of Astrea greeted, his voice drifting warmly like an old friend’s. "The winds have carried your name from one end of my kingdom to the other. From the towers of Zenithar all the way to the borders."
The King leaned his body forward.
"I... have been waiting for you for a very long time, Young Man."
The moment that sentence ended, a foreign resonance vibrated inside Ethan’s skull.
Fufufu...
Asmodeus’s hoarse, raspy voice whispered softly, flowing like sweet poison.
Look at the man on that stone chair, My Lord... He smiles so beautifully, doesn’t he? So peaceful... like someone who has been dead and buried for hundreds of years.
There was no System warning. No danger detection. Only a vague comment that sliced through his survival instincts.
Ethan ignored the demon’s whispers. His brain spun at lightning speed. This reception was wrong. It was unnatural for a King to await the arrival of a lowly baron. There was a dark agenda hidden here.
Without altering his upright posture in the slightest, Ethan stared straight through the King’s blue eyes.
"A misplaced honor, Your Majesty," Ethan replied. A black chill seeped from his voice. "Because I have never spent a single second of my time waiting for you."
The moment those words left his mouth, the temperature in the Throne Room plummeted to freezing.
Hundreds of nobles stopped breathing in unison. Absolute audacity! Edward gripped his chair until his knuckles turned white. Kaelia’s heart raced; the man beside her had just pulled the trigger right in the face of the ruler of this continent.
However, upon the throne, the King of Astrea was not angered. His smile didn’t fade. It was just that, deep in the abyss of his blue eyes, a more ancient and lethal glint of interest now burned brightly.
Ethan Valen had stepped onto the main stage. And the chessboard had just been flipped.