Chapter 9: The new Hope
The Grand Throne Room in the Central Wing was huge and shiny with gold and soft red cloth. Anyone standing in the middle would feel very small. Tall white marble pillars reached up to the ceiling, which was painted with the history of the Leo Principality—brave heroes fighting dragons, leaders signing peace agreements, and a phoenix rising from the ashes. The Grand Throne Room itself symbolized the highest authority and power of the Leo Principality. It was built more than 500 years ago, when the First King of Leo united the scattered tribes of the mountains. He made a pact with the Legendary creatures Phoenix and the Lion King of the jungle. Even today, the building still stands strong, though the great kingdom has slowly become a principality over time.
At the far end sat the Golden Throne, a seat of power that had remained empty for two years.
Today, the Grand Throne Room was filled with nearly all the members of the Noble Council, gathered for a special occasion.
In the past, this occasion was attended by all nobles or their representatives, no matter the reason. By long-standing custom, the highest-ranking nobles were required to be present unless illness or serious regional unrest prevented them.
Yet today, many Great Dukes and Marquesses were absent, citing unrest and offering excuses. With the power of the Crown weakened, there was little that could be done to force their attendance. They even rarely come to the capital since the Grand Prince had bedridden.
Among those in attendance, on the left side stood Count Vulpis, representing the Northern Faction of Duke Marius. He had a fox-like face and wore a smile that never reached his eyes.
On the right side stood Viscount Canis, representing the Western Faction of Duke Vetus. The obese noble was sweating heavily, his pale face looking like soft dough. He was terrified. In just one week, his master had lost a nephew, an elite enforcement squad, and a vast fortune earned through slavery trade.
Alexius Demetrios Leo sat perfectly still upon the Regent's Throne, positioned beneath the empty Golden Throne of the Grand Prince. He wore the Ceremonial Robes of State, heavy with gold embroidery, the Phoenix crest blazing proudly upon his chest.
At the center of the room, kneeling upon the soft red carpet was Baron Comwell Ravenshire.
All traces of mud and blood from the Western Woods had been removed. He stood in a white-and-silver dress uniform, yet the stiffness of his shoulders betrayed his life as a soldier.
"The Court is in session," Alexius's voice cut through the silence.
"We are gathered today to address both the tragedy and the triumph of the Western Highway Bandit Crisis," Alexius continued. His gaze shifted to Viscount Canis.
"One week ago, the lifeline of our commerce was cut by the so-called Black Hand bandits. Trade along the Eastern Highway was brought to a halt, disrupting the daily lives of our citizens and severing the Western Region from the Royal Capital."
Alexius gestured to the Royal Herald. The Herald, a man with a booming voice, stepped forward and unrolled a parchment sealed with the Royal Crest.
"Hear ye! The official report of the Battle of the Western Woods!"
The Herald began to read the narrative—the carefully constructed lie that Alexius and Comwell had forged beforehand
On the seventh day of February, in the year 5127, the Silver Legion engaged the bandit forces—an unusually well-organized host led by a warlord of Martial Rank Six, a Sword Lord."
Canis flinched. A Rank 56 Warlord? That was a monster. To claim such an enemy existed justified the massacre of the troops.
"The Royal Vanguard," the Herald continued, "led by the brave Commander Viscount Kray Vetus, encountered the enemy first. Realizing the strength of the ambush, Commander Kray ordered the main force to flank the enemy while he and his elites held the line."
A murmur went through the crowd of lesser nobles and officials.
"Commander Kray fought with the ferocity of a lion!" the Herald continued,"He engaged the Bandit Warlord in single combat. Though he struck the Warlord a mortal wound, Commander Kray and three hundred brave Ravagers fell in defense of the realm."
Viscount Canis pulled a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. He had to nod. He had to look sad. He couldn't scream that Kray was a slaver and a thief, because Kray was the nephew of his Master Duke Vetus.
"However!" the Herald's voice rose. "Vice Commander Comwell, following his orders through the dangerous woods, became suspicious when the fighting suddenly stopped. He entered the forest and saw what remained."
Alexius leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Comwell.
"Tell them, Baron," Alexius ordered.
Comwell raised his head. "I found the Commander dead, surrounded by the bodies of his men. The Bandit Warlord, heavily wounded by Lord Kray's blade, tried to flee. I... I could not let him escape. I engaged him. Thanks to the wound inflicted by Commander Kray, I was able to deliver the final blow."
"The head of the bandit," Alexius said, pointing to a covered box near the door, "will be displayed at the city gate. Justice has been served."
Alexius stood up. He drew the Ceremonial Sword of State. The steel rang out, sharp and clear, echoing against the marble pillars.
"Though the loss of a Crown commander is tragic, merit must still be rewarded and courage acknowledged."He walked down the steps, his heavy robes trailing behind him. He stopped in front of the kneeling baron.
Before this reward ceremony, the Noble Council had debated fiercely behind closed doors. Duke Vetus's faction argued that Comwell was too young.
Normally, a deed of this scale—slaying a Rank Six Sword Lord and restoring the eastern trade routes—would have earned the title of Count and the grant of vast lands. But fear ruled the council.
If Comwell became a Count, Duke Marius feared the rise of a new Northern rival. If Comwell became a Count, Duke Vetus feared the North gaining a powerful military foothold.
In the end, they chose compromise. They blocked the Countdom and agreed on a lesser promotion, believing they had successfully limited Comwell's power.
Alexius smiled inwardly. Fools. Do you think titles make the man? I need only a force that will not question my authority. You don't even know what is coming to you.
"the Crown recognizes the true worth," Alexius declared aloud. He placed the flat of the blade on Comwell's shoulder.
"In the name of the Crown, The House of Leo, The son of the Phoenix, The Lion of the Mountain..."
The mana in the room thickened. The Sovereign's Aura flared, pressing down on the proxies, making it hard for them to breathe.
"I appoint you, Baron Comwell Ravenshire, as Viscount."
In the Leo Principality, the noble hierarchy began with Knight, followed by Baron and Earl. The middle ranks were Viscount, Count, and Governor, while the higher nobility consisted of Marquess and Duke. Above all stood the Royal Family, the highest authority in the realm.
Promotion from Baron to Viscount meant skipping two ranks at once and entering the middle nobility which is rare and significant.
"Furthermore," Alexius continued. "I grant you your own House."
Alexius looked deep into Comwell's eyes.
"Henceforward, your lineage shall be named Comwell Esperia."
Esperia. The Old Tongue for "Hope."
"As per the Crown's will and promise, I appoint you as Commander of the Silver Legion. As the new hope, bring this country to the newest heights and protect the realm."
By changing his name, the Prince had severed Comwell's ties to the Northern nobility. He was no longer a vassal of Duke Marius. He now belonged solely to the Crown.
The Noble Council did not understand the motive behind this decision—and they were satisfied with that. They were pleased that no territory had been granted along with the title.
Under the Constitution of Leo, the Crown may grant a Viscount a trading city and its surrounding lands, or three underdeveloped towns to govern. But since no such lands were announced, the council assumed the new title was merely ceremonial—a formal name without real authority or reward.
"Rise, Viscount Esperia."
Comwell stood.
He drew his sword—presenting the hilt to the Prince. He dropped to one knee again, slamming his fist against his chestplate.
"I, Comwell Esperia, pledge my blood and steel to the Crown," he swore. "In the name of the Son of the Phoenix and the Lion of the Mountain, I offer my loyalty. From this day until my final breath, I shall protect the realm and the Crown."
Alexius sheathed the sword. He looked at the sweating proxies.
"I accept your oath."
The days after Comwell's promotion slowly turned into weeks, and the weeks into months.
The capital, Arthenburg, entered a quiet and false peace. The "Bandit Crisis" had vanished. The Silver Legion, under Viscount Esperia, patrolled the roads in the name of the training the duty the Black Legion has ignored in political strife. Grain prices stabilized, and crime rates fell.
Every day, before the sun rose above the horizon, Alexius was already in the underground training facility of the East Wing.
The air smelled of ozone and sweat.
"Again!" Aelrue's voice echoed through the training room.
Alexius ducked, his body moving in a blur. A blade of compressed wind cut through the space where his head had been only a moment before. He twisted on his left foot, mana surging into his legs—[Flash Step].
He closed the distance instantly, his wooden training sword thrusting toward her throat.
Clack.
Aelrue parried with a dagger of solidified water, the impact sending a shockwave through the room.
"Better," she said, stepping back.
"Your reaction time has improved, My Lord. You are no longer moving like a mage. You move like a hunter."
The Venator Order watched from the shadows. It had grown—now numbering five hundred and fifty members. The children Alexius had saved studied reading and history in the mornings, and learned poison-making in the evenings, the new subject recommended by the Elias.
Alexius wiped the sweat from his brow. His body had changed completely with the recent training and level up. The sickly prince who once lay confined to his bed was gone. In his place stood a young man with lean, hardened muscles and lethal grace.
His middays were spent in his office, reading reports and handling paperwork. Meanwhile, the "secret investments" managed by Elias were flourishing.
The new technologies—clear glass, white paper, and soaps—were generating a fortune. Alexius used the 10% equity rule to fill his war chest. Through his fortunes he was amassing power secretly.
He secretly purchased grain reserves through intermediaries companies, preparing for the inevitable upcoming crisis. He also freed Dwarven smiths who had been enslaved by Vetus nobles and employed them to equip the Venator Order with suitable gears and weapons for upcoming war.
He sat on his balcony, activating [Grand Strategic View]. The holographic map of the capital hovered before his eyes. He watched the supply lines. He saw Duke Vetus hoarding iron in the East. He saw Duke Marius moving troops near the Northern border.
Every night, he visited the Central Wing. The Grand Prince Aegar lay in his bed, "I am still here, Father," Alexius would whisper, holding the cold hand. "The Principality is holding. I am holding it."
The System showed the Grand Prince's Life Force still dwindling no matter what he tried.
Thus he continue his daily routine.
......
Exactly one year had passed—three hundred and sixty-five days since Michael, the software engineer from Earth, had opened his eyes in this world.
Alexius sat in his private study. Outside, the first snow of winter fell softly, covering Arthenburg in white.
BAM.
The heavy oak door to his study suddenly flew open.
Alexius spun around, a dagger dropping into his hand from his sleeve instantly. His Sovereign's Aura flared, ready to crush an assassin.
But it was Elias.
The old butler, usually calm enough to serve tea in any storm, looked as if he had seen a ghost. His cravat hung loose, his chest rose and fell rapidly, and sweat dotted his forehead.
"Elias?" Alexius lowered the dagger slightly, "What is it? Are we under attack? Is it Vetus?"
Elias shook his head violently. He stumbled into the room, gripping a chair for support. His face was pale, his eyes wide with an emotion that terrified Alexius.
"No... Your Highness... not an attack..."
Elias looked up, tears streaming down his wrinkled cheeks.
"It is... the Central Wing."
Alexius felt the blood drain from his face. "My father? Has he... has he ...."
"No,"
Elias took a deep breath, his voice trembling.
"His Majesty... The Grand Prince... he has awakened."
(Continue.....)