Chapter 11: Goodbye
Dong.
The big iron bell in the Capital Tower rang loudly. Its deep sound spread across Arthenburg, shaking the stone streets and making snow fall from the roofs.
Dong… Dong…
It rang twenty-eight times.
The bell was only used on special days. Most of the time, it rang for happy events—festivals, harvest celebrations, and the birthdays of the mentioned Sovereign. It also rang when someone from the Royal Family passed away. It had last rung a decade ago, on the day Grand Prince Consort Lyra Leo passed away.
Today marked the funeral procession of the Sovereign.
It was the seventh day of mourning for the 28th Grand Prince,
Aegar Demetrios Leo.
December 7th, Year 5128.
The sky hung low and dark, as if the heavens themselves were bowing to mourn the death of the ruler of the Leo Principality.
I
Alexius stood beside the black carriage that carried the Royal Casket. Inside lay the body of Grand Prince Aegar.
He wore the mourning clothes of the House of Leo—a long coat of deep black velvet, sewn with thin silver lines that formed crying willow trees along the edge. On his chest, the Phoenix crest was covered in black silk.
Alexius was the last remaining member of the Royal Family of the Leo Principality.
Because of this, he had to stand beside the black carriage that carried the Royal Casket. The funeral procession was organized within the Royal Court and would travel across the capital to the Grand Cathedral of Deos, located on the far side of the city. The route followed ancient tradition. It passed first through the noble district, then through the commoner districts, so that all people could witness the farewell. Beyond the common areas lay the churches and communal halls, a wide district devoted almost entirely to faith. There, the Royal Cemetery stood. This area was known as the Faith District.
Behind Alexius and the Royal Casket walked the most renowned nobles of the realm.
First among them was his closest blood relative—his grandfather, Marquess Custodias of the South, Lyra's father and leader of the Southern Faction. Behind him came Duke Marius of the North, followed by Marquess Orientis of the East, leader of the Eastern Faction. The Eastern nobles were known to be calm and careful, their wealth built on trade with the powerful Federation of Libertas, their only neighboring one of the continental superpower.
According to royal tradition, the Royal Casket stood at the center of the procession. The direct family walked beside and before it. Behind them followed the faction leaders, ranked by status. The entire procession was protected by the Royal Guard and the Black Legion.
All leaders were present. The Captain of the Royal Guard led the march, followed by the four faction commanders of the Black Legion. and Commander of Silver Legion Viscount Comwell. The Royal Guard formed the inner ring, while the Black Legion stood as the outer shield. In total, fifty Royal Guards and two hundred Black Legion soldiers marched alongside three faction leaders representing the Noble Council.
Only one place remained empty.
The space reserved for the Western Duke, the second most powerful man in the realm, stood vacant.
"Duke Vetus sends his deepest regrets," a nervous messenger said, bowing low before Alexius. "He has been struck by a sudden illness… a fever in his lungs. He fears he would only be a burden on such a solemn day."
Alexius looked down at the messenger. The excuse was an insult to law and tradition. Everyone knew Duke Vetus was healthy.
The Duke's message was clear:
The sovereign is dead, and I do not respect the boy who takes his place, nor the throne he will rule. I do not accept the authority of this crown anymore.
At the very least, Vetus could have sent a representative to honor the dead. He did not.
By the laws of the Crown, such an act was treason, a crime punished by death.
It showed what kind of man he was—shameless, bold, and confident in his defiance.
Anger burned inside Alexius. For a moment, he wanted to punish Vetus—and even the messenger who carried those words. His hands tremble with rage.
But he stopped himself.
Today was a day of mourning. He would not let his anger ruin his grief.
"Tell the Duke I pray for his recovery. It would be a tragedy if the Realm lost two great leaders in one week."
Duke Marius smirked slightly, stroking his beard. He enjoyed seeing Vetus isolate himself.
"Your Highness," a man spoke from behind.
Alexius turned. An old man stood there, tall and solid, like a mountain carved from stone. He had the same violet eyes as Alexius, though age and sorrow had dulled their shine.
Marquess Custodias of the South.
The Shield and Guardian of the borders against hostile kingdoms and city-states.
The only leader of the noble faction who secretly supported him.
His grandfather.
Marquess Custodias was a Rank 7 Sword King. Even at his age, he stood firm and unmoving. Though he appeared eighty-five, his body had not weakened. For decades, he had guarded the southern borders day and night, fighting bandits and raiders secretly backed by enemy nations.
In this world, reaching Rank 7 changed everything. A warrior of that level could live for two hundred years or more, if not killed.
This world itself was larger than Earth. Though a year still had twelve months, and the months were called January through December, time moved differently under the Deos calendar. One month had sixty days. One day had forty hours. The average lifespan was seventy-five years—equal to more than two hundred forty years on Earth.
Custodias had long surpassed that limit. Because of his sword path, his life had been extended. In truth, he was nearly two hundred eighty years old by Earth time.
Even Alexius was not what he seemed. Though he was only 19 by Deos years, his age was equal to sixty-two years on Earth.
In this world, power did not decide only strength.
It decided how long one lived.
"Grandfather," Alexius said, breaking protocol as he reached out and clasped the old man's arm.
"He looks at peace," Custodias said, gazing at the closed casket draped in the Royal Flag. "My daughter—your mother—Lyra. And your father…"
"They are together now," Alexius replied softly. "Reunited in the domain of Deos."
Custodias straightened. His emotions filled with pride and grief.
"Now, walk tall, boy. You are the proud son of Grand Prince Aegar and Grand Princess Consort Lyra. You are their son—and now, Grand Prince of Leo, Alexius. Come. Let us make the final journey and see them reunited, my grandson."
After they finished talking, The Royal Herald raised his staff.
"It's time. The Royal Funeral Procession... will commence!"
The gates of the palace open.
Usually, the Royal Guard would clear the streets and force the commoners aside. But today, Alexius had ordered otherwise.
"Let them see him," Alexius had commanded. "He was their Sovereign, too."
The black carriage, pulled by six white horses covered in black cloth, rolled onto the Via Regia, the capital's main road.
Alexius walked in front of the carriage, alone. Behind him and the carriage came the high nobles, surrounded by the Royal Guard and the Black Legion.
The streets were full.
Thousands of citizens lined the road. They stood on balconies, climbed lampposts, and crowded the rooftops. Shivering in the winter cold, their breath rose like a pale fog over the city.
Every noble was surprised. They had expected silence.
Alexius himself had expected indifference. After all, his father had been seen as a weak and unremarkable king.
But they were wrong.
As the carriage passed, a woman in the front row, wearing a ragged shawl, stepped forward. She simply reached into her basket and threw a single flower.
A Blue Lily.
How did she get that?
It wasn't that season at all. Those flowers only bloomed in summer, from June to September.
They should not exist in this cold winter, with exception of Royal Garden maintained by magic.
What he did not know was that Blue Lilies had bloomed during the seven days after his father's passing—even outside the Royal Garden and out in the wild.
Perhaps… it was a farewell from the heavens.
It landed softly on the Royal Casket atop the carriage
Then, another fell. And another.
From balconies, rooftops, and from the hands of children and elders, men and women, slaves, commoners and merchants regardless of their professions and status, a rain of blue petals began to fall.
It was the favorite flower of the late Princess Lyra—the woman who had fought for lower taxes, free grain, and who had cared deeply for the common people throughout her life.
Now, those blue flowers gently showered the procession in farewell.
The common people did not remember Aegar for great victories or grand achievements.
They remembered that he loved Lyra.
They remembered that he was not a tyrant.
They knew their suffering—the high taxes and harsh treatment—came from the nobles, not from the Sovereign. They knew this because the Grand Prince had often sent food through the Cathedral of Deos, feeding the hungry and even helping slaves and the poor survive.
That was why they stood there now.
Not out of duty.
But out of gratitude.
"Sleep well, Great Lion!" a blacksmith shouted, lifting his hammer with tears in his eyes.
"Say hello to the Princess for us! Tell her we miss her!" a child cried from his father's shoulders.
"Rest well, you have done your duty!" an old grandmother called out, holding her prayer rosaria of Deos. "No more pain, Your Majesty! No more suffering!"
"Thank you for the bread! It saved me and my family!" a woman in torn clothes cried.
"You were the only shield we had!" a wounded veteran shouted, saluting with a shaking hand. "Forgive us for thinking you did nothing! We know now—you protected us as much as you could!"
"Go to her! Be happy now!" a young merchant yelled, throwing blue petals. "You are together again!"
"Thank you for your kindness!" a slave with burned marks on his arms shouted, ignoring his master's glare. His master didn't punish him, instead he said softly, "May Deos watch over you!"
Alexius walked through the falling petals. The sweet smell of winter lilies filled the air and hid the city's smoke. He kept his head high, but his heart ache.
Father Mother are you looking from heaven. They loved you. The people love you.
He glanced back. Duke Marius looked uncomfortable. The petals were sticking to his expensive fur cloak. The nobles were trying to brush them off with disdain, treating the people's grief like dirt. Only his Grand Father is crying without brushing petals.
Alexius caught a petal in his hand. He crushed it gently, releasing the fragrance.
I will not brush you off, he vowed silently to his people. I will save you from this Hellish, disgusting nobility.
......
The procession slowly went up the hill toward the Royal Cemetery, a large place of white stone where the dead were laid to rest. At the entrance stood the Grand Cathedral of Deos.
The religious landscape of the Leo Principality was complex, a reflection of its multi-racial history.
Although its influence was weakening in many human-dominated lands, including secular states like the Federation of Libertas, the Temple of Deos still dominated the faith of the Leo Principality and remained influential in some other human and non-human nations as well. Deos, the Creator Goddess. The Mother of the World. Theology stated that She created the world one million years ago and breathed life into all races equally. She had no holy land to conquer. Her faith, established 100,000 years ago at the dawn of civilization, was one of peace, justice, and gentle devotion. There was no theocracy in Her name; She resided in the hearts of the faithful, not in the authority of temples.
However, beside the Grand Cathedral stood smaller, newer shrines, built for the many branches of the faith.
To the left stood the square architecture of the Sanctus Humanitas (The Human Church). Created only 200 years ago during the Great Human Expansion, it was a rival religion that preached human supremacy. Their god, Homosanctus (The Divine Man), was a deity of, conquest, and order. They were aggressive, political, and deeply unhappy that the State Funeral was being held in the "heathen" temple of Deos.
To the right were smaller halls used by the demi-humans. They were allowed to exist in the capital, but they were never honored.
There was Ventaphala, the Elven Goddess of wind and life. Her shrine was open to the sky, filled with soft ringing chimes.
There was Ferrumkara, the Dwarven God of forging and craft. His shrine smelled of fire, coal, and oil.
There was Bellumara, the Goddess of war, prayed to by soldiers and mercenaries of many races.
And there were Paxdhama and Visbellu, the Beast-kin gods of peace and strength, marked only by simple stone statues and other buildings of different faiths stood.
Above all—except for Sanctus Humanitas—stood Deos, the Almighty Creator.
The funeral cortège stopped before the massive double doors of the Grand Cathedral.
Standing at the entrance was High Bishop Caelum of the Order of Deos. He wore simple robes of white wool and held a staff made of driftwood. He was an old man with gentle eyes, a sharp contrast to the bishops behind him, dressed in gold and jewels
Behind Caelum stood the Bishop of the Sanctus Humanitas, Bishop Crassus. He was fat, dressed in red velvet dripping with jewels, and he looked furious that he had been relegated to the second row.
"Welcome home, Son of Leo," High Bishop Caelum said softly, bowing to the casket. "The Mother opens her arms."
"Thank you, Your Holiness," Alexius bowed.
The pallbearers—Fidus, Comwell, and four Royal Guards—lifted the heavy casket. They carried it into the vast nave of the cathedral, the sound of the chord filling with a mournful, resonant echoed through the air.
The ceiling of Cathedral rose high above—so high that Alexius had to tilt his head to see it. Tall stone pillars stood in long rows, slim and graceful, like strong trees holding up the sky.
Between the pillars were huge stained-glass windows. Even in winter, they glowed. Blue, gold, and white light spilled onto the floor like colored water. The pictures in the glass showed Deos as a gentle mother with open arms. Below her were all races—humans, elves, dwarves, and beast-kin—standing together. No one was above the other.
The air smelled of melted wax and sweet incense. It made the place feel calm, like the world was holding its breath.
When the casket was carried in, the sound changed. Every footstep echoed. Not just once, again and again, rolling through the stone like a wave. It made the quiet even heavier.
The seats inside the cathedral were packed. The nobles sat in the front seats, separated by their factions.
The leaders of the common guilds, such as adventure guilds and merchant guilds stood at the middle and even commoners sat in the back row.
Alexius sat in the front row, alone. The seat next to him—where his father should have been—was empty. The seat on his other side—where his mother should have been—was empty.
High Bishop Caelum stepped up to the pulpit. He spoke in a low, gentle voice, using the Leonian tongue.
"O Deos, Matara Omnium..." (O Deos, Mother of All...) "Recipitu hunc animam, qui pacem quaesivit..." (Receive this soul, who sought peace...)
The incense rose in blue clouds. The choir sang a hymn of passing. It was beautiful, dignified, and inclusive.
Then it was time for the blessings from the other faiths, for the fair treatment of the religion by the State.
Bishop Crassus of the Sanctus Humanitas walked up to the podium. He cleared his throat loudly and cast an angry glare at High Bishop Caelum, who had spoken before him. Crassus had been placed second, even though his faith had relatively few true believers.
Most of its followers came from the noble class—especially the current generation—and from the previous generation, including the fathers of Duke Vetus and Duke Marius. Through their influence, figures like Duke Marius, Duke Vetus, and many members of their factions had come to support this faith. Under pressure from these nobles, earlier rulers had been forced to approve laws that legalized the slavery of all races except humans.
"We commend the soul of Aegar," Crassus boomed,"Though he was lenient with the lesser races, he was a man of the Human bloodline. May Homosanctus forgive his weakness and welcome him into the Golden City of Man."Alexius's hand tightened on the armrest of his chair. He stared straight ahead, not looking away at Crassus.
Because of Crassus's preached a wave of discomfort passed through the crowd, especially among commoners row. This was a funeral to mourn, yet Crassus was pushing his religion even here.
Your time will come, fat priest, Alexius thought. I will make sure of it.
Finally, the religious rites concluded.
High Bishop Caelum looked down at Alexius.
"The Crown Prince... may now speak."
Alexius stood up.
The sound of his boots on the marble floor echoed in the silence. He walked up the steps to the pulpit. He looked out at the sea of faces—the duke, marquesses, nobles, the priests, merchants, guild masters, the weeping servants, commoners and Royal Guards standing behind the rows.
He placed his hands on the wooden lectern.
"My father," Alexius began, "was known as the Sleeping Lion."
He paused and let the audience hang. The nobles exchanged glances. Was the boy going to insult his own father in funeral?
"For two years, people whispered that he was weak. That he was never there. That he stayed in his room while the nation suffered."
Alexius looked directly at Duke Marius. Then at the empty seat of Duke Vetus.
"But a lion does not sleep because he is lazy. A lion sleeps to conserve his strength. A lion sleeps... to let the jackals reveal themselves."
The tension in the room spiked. They were surprised with his eulogy or rather indictment.
He looked at the casket.
"He was the Great Balancer. He held the North, the South, the West, and the East apart with nothing but his will. He kept the peace when others sought war. He loved this country not for its power, but for its people. He loved the mother who threw the blue lily, the child who waves the flag, and the soldier who guards the wall."
Alexius turned back to the crowd. His violet eyes began to glow.
[Skill: Sovereign's Aura level 1(activated)]
A heavy feeling spread through the cathedral. It did not crush anyone, but no one could ignore it.
It felt like a sovereign was standing before them at the pulpit.
He gripped the lectern.
"To those who loved him, I offer my tears. To those who served him, I offer my gratitude."
His gaze hardened, sweeping over the Human Church bishop and the faction leaders.
"And to those who thought his kindness was weakness... to those who mistook his patience for surrender... I offer a warning."
Alexius leaned forward.
"His Son the Lion cub has awakened. And I do not share my father's patience."
He stepped back from the pulpit.
Silence. Absolute, terrified silence.
Then, from the front row of the room, a single clap echoed.
It was Marquess Custodias. The old man stood up. He clapped again.
Royal Guard Captain Fidus who is standing beside the casket, clapped loudly.
Then Comwell Esperia stood up, he too clapped and put his hand on his sword hilt.
Then the Merchants, the Guild Leaders and Commoners, Servants and Royal Guards, and some Nobles including Marquess Orientis of the East. High Bishop Caleum and others Bishops of related Churches also joined the fray.
Even Duke Marius stood and clapped slowly. For the first time, he realized that the "puppet" he had ignored was the one pulling the strings.
The only man who resented and disdain was Bishop Crassus of Sanctus Humanitas.
.....
The procession moved down into the Royal Crypts beneath the Cathedral.
Only the Royal family and the High Bishop of Deos is allowed to.
The casket was set into the marble tomb beside the one marked Princess Lyra Leo.
High Bishop Caelum sprinkled holy water over the wood.
"In terram redis. In lucem surgis." (To earth you return. Into light you rise.)
The stone lid was pushed into place with a loud grinding sound, making the truth of death final.
Alexius walked to the tomb. He placed the frozen Blue Lily—the one his father had been holding when he died—on top of the cold stone.
"Goodbye, Dad, and Hello Mom" he whispered in English, a language no one else in this world understood.
Now, they are reunited.
He stood there for a long moment, his hand resting on the stone.
Then, he turned around.
The grief that had clouded his face was gone. The tears were dried.
Only rage and hope remain.
(Continue....)