Chapter 64: promotion rewards
Outside the temple, the evening air carried the first chill of dusk.
Ronan let out a booming laugh the moment they cleared the gates. His massive frame shook with it, drawing glances from passing guards.
"Did you see his face?" Ronan wheezed, wiping a tear from his golden eye. "I thought his head was going to pop right off his shoulders. A Saint-ranked priest, and you dismissed him like he was asking for spare change."
Malrik walked beside him, his expression unchanged. "If they’re causing problems for you—or as you said before, hypocrites—why let them gain influence in your Marquisate?"
Ronan’s laughter faded. Not entirely, but enough.
His jaw tightened.
"Because it’s more complicated than that." He gestured toward the streets. "Those vermin are like cockroaches. They infest every corner of the Empire, reaching even the Imperial Palace itself. They’ve rooted themselves so deeply into the Empire that removing them now would tear the entire nation apart."
Malrik considered this. "From what I know, there’s no Temple of Lumiel in the Vesperion Duchy."
Ronan glanced at him, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Then he nodded slowly.
"That’s because the Duke and the Pope had a... disagreement. Years ago. It almost became a war—two Supreme-ranked ready to tear each other apart. Millions would have died. The Emperor had to step in."
He paused, his voice growing heavier.
"The agreement was simple. The Temple wouldn’t establish any branches inside the Vesperion Duchy. But they kept their existing branches in nearby territories—like Ashmore. We’re technically under the Duke’s jurisdiction, but the Pope refused to abandon the northern faithful completely. So Ashmore became the compromise."
Malrik listened in silence.
Ronan’s golden eyes grew distant.
"I won’t lie to you. The Duke’s stubbornness is the reason we’re stuck with these hypocrites. But..." He smiled, and there was genuine admiration in it. "He’s my hero. He walked into a direct confrontation with the Pope himself—knowing full well what it would cost—because he didn’t like the situation. He saw something wrong, and he acted."
He clenched his fist.
"That’s what I want to become. A man like that. I will reach Supreme rank someday. And when I do..." His grin returned, sharper now. "I’ll wipe every single one of them out of Ashmore."
Malrik felt something shift in his chest.
His father. The Duke.He had personally challenged the Pope. Walked into a conflict with one of the most powerful institutions in the world and forced them to back down
He’d never met the man. The original Malrik’s memories were still fragmented, still incomplete. But in that moment, he felt something close to pride.
He’s not just some distant figure. He’s someone who acts. Someone who doesn’t bow.
Malrik pushed the thought aside. There was no time for sentiment.
"We’ll continue to Redmont Barony tomorrow," he said, changing the subject. "We’ll need to find an inn for the night before we leave."
Ronan’s head snapped toward him.
"Wait—Redmont Barony?"
Malrik paused. "Yes."
Ronan stared at him for a long moment. Then his grin returned, wider than before.
"Let me guess. You’re mercenaries hired by the Baron’s son to help with the Morveth surge?"
Malrik’s expression didn’t change. "Technically, yes."
Ronan burst out laughing.
"Then our fates are intertwined, my friend! I’m heading there tomorrow as well. Kael Redmont is an old friend—he sent a request for support. I wasn’t going to leave him to face that mess alone."
Malrik studied him carefully.
Now that he had advanced to Awakened, his senses had sharpened considerably. He could perceive Ronan’s aura more clearly now—the golden energy surrounding him was unmistakable.
Awakened. High-level Awakened. Almost at the peak.
He hasn’t reached Ascendant yet. Maybe his Advancement Requirements are difficult, or his understanding of his Law Seed is incomplete. Either way, he’s held back.
But even without Ascendant, Ronan was formidable. His aura was dense, refined, the product of years of disciplined training.
He’ll be useful at Redmont. I won’t refuse capable help.
Malrik allowed himself a small smile.
"Then why not travel together?" he said. "We leave at sunrise."
Ronan clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to stagger a lesser man.
"Perfect! But first—" he gestured at the darkening sky, "—the sun’s almost down. You’re staying at my place tonight."
Malrik’s smile faded. "There’s no need. We can find an inn—"
"Nonsense!" Ronan cut him off. "I won’t have friends of mine sleeping in some rundown tavern. You’re coming with me."
Malrik hesitated.
The Marquis. If he sees me, he might recognize me—or at least suspect something. I can’t risk exposing my identity.
"I appreciate the offer," Malrik said carefully, "but we have our carriage—"
"Then bring it!" Ronan waved dismissively. "I’ll have servants take care of it. You’ll stay at the Marquisate tonight, and we’ll leave together at dawn."
He was already steering them toward the main avenue, his massive frame moving with an energy that brooked no argument.
Malrik glanced at Eliza. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes met his for just a fraction of a second. She was thinking the same thing he was.
This is a risk.
But refusing outright would raise more suspicion than accepting.
"Fine," Malrik said. "One night."
Ronan beamed. "That’s the spirit! You won’t regret it."
The Marquis’s palace rose before them like a monument to wealth and power.
Its walls were high and imposing, carved from pale stone that gleamed softly in the torchlight. Towering columns, arched windows, and intricate carvings adorned every available surface. It spoke of generations of accumulated riches, of a family that had long since secured its place among the Empire’s elite.
And yet, as Malrik studied it, he couldn’t help but compare.
Compared to the Vesperion Ducal Palace, however, it inevitably fell short. That was only natural. House Vesperion was ruled by a Supreme-Rank Duke, while House Ashmoor was led by a Saint-Rank Marquis. The gulf between their status was immense, and the difference in wealth and influence was reflected in the grandeur of their estates.
Even so, compared to almost every other noble house in the Empire, the Ashmoor Palace remained nothing short of breathtaking. The craftsmanship was exquisite. Guards stood at every entrance with disciplined precision, their polished armour gleaming beneath the torchlight, while servants moved through the halls with silent efficiency.
Above the main entrance rested the crest of House Ashmoor—a golden lion’s head, its majestic mane sculpted into stylized flames that framed the beast like a crown.
Malrik spared the crest only a brief glance before taking in the estate as a whole.
Everything was orderly. Guards stood watch with unwavering discipline, while servants carried out their duties with quiet efficiency. Every corner of the palace reflected careful stewardship rather than extravagant display, the mark of a house that had prospered through generations of stability and strength.
As they entered the main hall, a child’s voice cut through the formal atmosphere.
"Brother Ronan!"
A young girl came running down the corridor—no older than ten, with skin the color of polished amber, hair white as fresh snow, and eyes like molten gold. She moved with the boundless energy of someone who hadn’t yet learned the weight of the world.
Ronan’s face transformed.
His grin softened into something genuine, something warmer than any expression Malrik had seen on him. He scooped the girl up in his massive arms as if she weighed nothing.
"Reina! Have you finished your training for the day?"
She nodded vigorously, her white hair bouncing. "I did all my lessons! The instructor said I was very good!"
Ronan smiled and ruffled her hair.
"I’m sure you were. But you don’t have to push yourself so hard." His voice softened. "That’s what your big brother is here for. I’ll protect you."
Reina giggled, then turned her golden gaze toward Malrik and his companions.
"Are these your friends, brother?"
"Yes. This is Malrik, Eliza, and Lily."
Reina studied them with the frank curiosity only children possessed. Then her eyes landed on Lilith.
Her face lit up.
"You’re so beautiful!"
Lilith’s eyebrow arched. For a moment, her usual arrogance flickered—then settled into something almost fond.
"I know, little one," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "No one in this world can resist my beauty."
Reina laughed, utterly charmed.
Ronan set her down gently. "Reina, go tell the kitchens to prepare a feast. We have guests tonight."
"Yes, brother!" She sprinted off, her tiny feet echoing down the corridor.
Ronan watched her go, his expression soft. Then he turned back to Malrik.
"Come. I’ll have rooms prepared for you."
The dining hall was grand without being ostentatious.
Long tables of dark wood gleamed beneath the warm glow of enchanted crystal lamps. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting the Ashmoor lineage—warriors clad in golden armour, their lion-headed crest emblazoned upon every shield.
Fortunately, it seemed the Marquis was either absent from the estate or occupied with matters that demanded his attention.
They ate in comfortable company. The food was simple but excellent—roasted meat, fresh bread, vegetables that tasted like they’d been pulled from the earth that morning.
Ronan took a long drink from his cup, then set it down and fixed Malrik with a curious look.
"So. Where are you really from, my friend?"
Malrik didn’t flinch. "A place not far from here."
Ronan snorted. "You know, for a guy who just told a Saint-ranked priest to his face that he wasn’t interested, you’re remarkably bad at lying to me."
"I’m not lying."
"You’re not telling the whole truth, either."
Malrik said nothing.
Ronan leaned back, crossing his arms. "You know, my heart is very fragile. And after everything we’ve been through together—killing Morveth, embarrassing archbishops—you’re still keeping secrets from me."
He clutched his chest dramatically.
"It wounds me, Malrik. It truly wounds me."
Malrik’s lips twitched.
He wasn’t sure if that was almost a smile.
"I’ll tell you," he said. "Soon. Just... not yet."
Ronan groaned. "Fine. But I hate this kind of mystery. It makes me itch."
He scratched his arm for emphasis, then grinned.
"You’re not ready to tell me yet." Ronan smiled knowingly. "That’s fine. I’ll wait until you are."
After dinner, Ronan led them through the winding corridors of the Marquisate to a private wing.
The rooms were spacious, decorated with the same understated elegance as the rest of the estate. A large bed dominated the main chamber, its sheets freshly turned down. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting warm light across the polished floor.
"Rest well," Ronan said from the doorway. "We leave at sunrise."
Malrik nodded. "Thank you."
"Don’t thank me yet." Ronan’s grin was sharp. "Redmont Barony is going to be a nightmare. Save your gratitude for after we survive."
He disappeared down the hall, leaving Malrik alone.
The door clicked shut.
Malrik stood in the center of the room, staring at the fire for a long moment.
Then he crossed to the bed and sat down.
The system had said every reward had already been deposited into his Inventory.
He exhaled slowly.
"Time to check my promotion rewards."