In the afternoon.
Jarvan III convened a full council meeting inside the palace.
Lux, Sona, and Fiora stayed outside to wait, while Luke headed to the meeting hall side by side with Jarvan IV.
The hall wasn't especially large, but it could still hold plenty of people.
Jarvan IV pushed the doors open, and the two of them stepped inside.
A lot of eyes immediately turned their way—quite a few people were already gathered.
In the center of the hall sat an eight-sided table. Each side had seats, four on the left and four on the right, and at the very front—dead center—was a broader, taller chair.
Jarvan III sat there. On his left sat Tianna Crownguard, with Lev and Garen standing behind her.
On the right sat Roy, with two people standing behind him as well.
That left six seats. A few were familiar faces, and three were strangers Luke recognized only faintly—he'd seen them once, on the day he was formally presented to the entire capital.
But anyone seated at this table clearly wasn't ordinary.
Demacia's council system had been around for a long time. The people who sat at this eight-sided table were essentially the peak of Demacian power—the center where authority gathered.
Each of them represented something critical to the nation.
For example:
Military representative: Tianna Crownguard.
Treasury representative: Roy Nian.
Civil affairs representative: Barrett Buvelle.
Research representative: Wenward Menck.
Law representative: Giovanni Rhodes.
Nobility representatives: Tourt Chambers, Josie Kris.
And the newer power that had risen later: the Mageseeker representative, Lord Eldred.
Demacia's major national decisions were debated and determined at this table. And behind each representative stood two more people—attendants, advisors, deputies, or delegates from secondary houses.
Each meeting, the eight representatives did the main debating. Their people occasionally offered suggestions. Then, once a conclusion was reached, it was presented to Jarvan III.
He made the final call. And on many matters, as king, Jarvan III held absolute authority.
Of course, that was a balance he'd spent many years stabilizing after taking the throne.
The faces at this table weren't fixed forever.
The longest-serving was Minister Roy—he'd been working for the country since Jarvan II's era, which was one reason Jarvan III was often willing to hear him out.
Tianna, meanwhile, had only earned her seat twelve years ago.
Worth noting: Lord Eldred, the Mageseeker commander, also rose to power twelve years ago.
"Come here."
As Luke and Jarvan IV entered, Jarvan III lifted a hand and beckoned.
They walked up behind him and stood on either side—one to the left, one to the right.
From there, Luke could clearly see everyone at the table. All eight wore serious expressions.
Jarvan III faced the room and spoke slowly. "First matter: regarding Melli's arrangements. Tomorrow, I intend to inter her coffin in the royal mausoleum and posthumously grant her the title of queen. Any objections?"
The room was silent except for Jarvan III's voice.
When he finished, Roy—seated on the right—spoke first. "In my view, there is nothing improper about this. I support it."
"I support it," others echoed, one after another around the table.
Ever since the day Jarvan III had Luke publicly appear in the capital, this outcome had been inevitable.
Melli's position as queen was hers by right. Even if it was only granted after death, and the meaning was bittersical… it still eased Jarvan III's pain, even if only a little.
So unless someone wanted to invite trouble, nobody was going to nitpick this.
Once that topic ended, the table quickly moved on to several other matters.
Unlike the swift resolution on Melli, everything after that dragged.
Even a small issue could bounce back and forth seven or eight times.
Luke got a crash course in political technique: bury a little useful content inside a pile of carefully-shaped nonsense—don't add too much at once, and never let it sound like you're just wasting air.
Jarvan IV looked completely used to it. He often stood behind Jarvan III for these meetings.
Luke, on the other hand, was here for the first time, and after only a few minutes he was already bored.
But bored or not, he had to endure it.
He noticed that while the ministers argued, Jarvan III usually just sat and watched.
Whenever the king finally spoke, it meant the debate was nearing its end.
Time crawled on, and the sky outside shifted from afternoon toward evening.
"Today's meeting will end here. Does anyone still have anything to raise?"
Jarvan III's voice snapped Luke back from zoning out. Luke lifted his head and quietly exhaled in relief—this long, miserable meeting was finally about to end.
Now he understood why working people hated meetings. Not much actually happened, but everyone talked like their lives depended on it—and by the end, you still hadn't finalized even two concrete actions.
Absurd. Completely absurd.
The moment Luke looked up, he caught Tianna on the left, watching him with a half-smile that wasn't really a smile.
Every hair on his body stood up.
Luke forced an innocent grin at her, then quickly looked away, staring straight ahead at the air like it had suddenly become fascinating.
For some reason, he had a strong feeling this woman was trouble.
Around the hall, the ministers murmured among themselves, but no one stood to speak—usually a sign they were truly at the tail end, only a step away from dismissal.
But then, the man seated third on the right raised his hand.
"Your Majesty, I have something to say."
Luke looked over. The speaker was a slightly heavyset man in noble attire, dripping with wealth and polish.
Luke vaguely remembered him—Tourt Chambers.
Jarvan III asked, "What is it?"
Tourt said, "I'm referring to that newspaper that's been stirring the capital lately. Hasn't it gotten… too arrogant?"
"Yesterday it even dared to mock Lady Tianna. Shouldn't it be restricted?"
As his words fell, some officials standing along the outside immediately began whispering in small clusters—some approving, some disapproving.
Hearing "newspaper," Luke perked up. That was his business. This was serious.
Jarvan III looked at Tourt. "Why should it be restricted?"
Tourt replied, "I believe if it's allowed to continue like this, it will damage the image of the nobility."
"Oh?" Jarvan III sounded amused. "Then tell me—what is the 'image of the nobility'?"
Tourt froze.
In his heart, the answer was obvious: nobles were different from commoners—above them, untouchable, dignified, imposing.
But sitting at this table meant knowing exactly which thoughts should never be said out loud.
Still, that newspaper had done something Tourt never thought possible.
In less than a month, it had drastically changed how Demacian nobles were seen among the public.
He'd never believed ink on paper could carry that kind of power.
Now he did.
And he didn't want it to keep going. He wanted to crush it.
So, under Jarvan III's gaze, Tourt forced himself onward.
"For years, the nobles' image in the hearts of the people has been upright and respectable. Now, because of so-called gossip and rumors, many noble houses have been made into public jokes. It even prints stories about Minister Roy's wife. Isn't that lawless? Reckless?"
Roy, suddenly dragged into it, flushed deep red as eyes turned toward him.
His chest simmered with anger—now the entire capital knew about his "little darling."
He coughed once and said, "Lord Chambers, please stick to the matter at hand."
Tourt's intent had been to pull Roy into the mud with him, but Roy had been in politics too long to fall for that.
So Tourt could only continue.
"I'm not targeting the newspaper. I only feel that this level of… insolence is inappropriate."
He knew perfectly well there was backing behind it—and, on the surface, that backing was Marshal Tianna.
But as a representative of the nobility, Tourt also had significant influence. At this table, it wasn't as if Tianna alone ruled the room.
What he didn't realize was that Tianna wasn't just the paper's public shield.
The real shield was sitting on the throne at the head of the table.
Jarvan III seemed to consider it for a few seconds before speaking. "What, exactly, is inappropriate?"
"In recent years, some of you nobles—do you even have an image left to protect?"
"People tell me stories of bullying the weak, throwing your weight around, acting lawlessly and arrogantly. And you call that the 'image of the nobility'?"
Coldness glinted in Jarvan III's eyes as he stared directly at Tourt. A king's pressure surged outward.
Tourt forced an awkward smile and lowered his head.
"I have already been more than tolerant. Your so-called 'image' should have been corrected long ago."
"When Demacia was founded, there was no divide between noble and commoner. Your ancestors rose from the people. And the only true image you ever had was one thing: being close to the people."
"Instead of using this as a chance to fix yourselves, you want to suppress anything new. If this keeps up, who would dare innovate in Demacia?"
"As for this newspaper—not only will it not be suppressed, it will be promoted."
"Those of you who do good deeds will appear in it. Those of you who do bad deeds will also appear in it."
"If your actions are clean, what is there to fear from the public seeing your face?"
Jarvan III's rebuke rang through the hall, edged with anger.
The entire room grew heavy under his aura.
Everyone lowered their heads, barely daring to breathe. It had been a long time since they'd seen Jarvan III flare like this.
The meeting hall went so quiet you could've heard a pin drop.
Luke wanted to clap on the spot.
Perfectly said. That's my father.
The newspaper should be supported—hard.
Inside, Luke was cheering. Outside, he kept a calm face, as if none of this concerned him in the slightest.
From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Tourt—the man who'd tried to stir trouble—and silently memorized him.
Tourt Chambers, huh? Suppress the paper, huh?
Fine.
Tomorrow, you're getting famous. And you'd better pray you haven't done anything rotten.
Otherwise, you'll learn what "the voice of the people" really feels like.
Jarvan III had already reined in his presence. He said flatly, "Any objections?"
"I have none," Roy said first.
"I have none."
"I have none."
The same reply repeated through the hall.
"Then the meeting is adjourned. Prepare for tomorrow's funeral."
Jarvan III stood and walked out.
Only after he left did the hall erupt into chatter again, ministers splitting into small groups as they talked and filed out.
"Let's go," Jarvan IV said, glancing at Luke.
"Yeah." Luke followed.
But just as he reached the doorway, Tianna's voice came from behind.
"Brat. Get over here."
Luke paused, lifted his head, and looked at Jarvan IV. "Brother, she's calling you."
"No, no, no." Jarvan IV shook his head vigorously and looked at Luke with absolute seriousness. "That's definitely you."
Luke asked, "Why are you so sure?"
Jarvan IV replied solemnly, "Because she usually calls me 'idiot.'"
Luke: "…"
For a moment, he had nothing to say.
"Well, good luck." Jarvan IV patted Luke's shoulder. He clearly had zero desire to turn around and face Tianna, so he immediately slipped out of the meeting hall at full speed.
Luke sighed, turned around, and walked toward Tianna.
When he reached her, he thought about it and offered a suggestion. "Aunt, maybe next time you can call me 'handsome' instead."
"I'll call you whatever I feel like calling you."
Tianna just smiled, clearly not planning to change anything. Then she started walking. "We'll talk as we walk."
Luke had no choice but to follow. Lev and Garen were also alongside.
Those two had a similar vibe—backs straight, steps firm, moving with an unmistakable Demacian toughness, their faces steady and unreadable.
"I heard you're going to Edessa in a couple days for the hunt?" Tianna asked casually while walking ahead.
"Yeah."
"Good. Then there's something you can handle while you're there."
The moment Luke heard that, his expression turned into one big "of course."
He knew it. The way this woman had looked at him earlier—nothing good ever came from that.
Tianna didn't care that he didn't respond. She continued like she was reading off a mission board.
"The location is about ten miles south of Edessa. There's a village called Kerr Village. Go investigate what's been happening there."
Luke suddenly had the strong feeling an NPC was assigning him a quest.
Tianna glanced back, as if she could read his mind. "Yes. It is your assignment. And you will complete it."
Luke put on an unwilling face and looked at Garen. "Shouldn't this kind of thing go to someone tall, strong, and brilliant—like you?"
Garen's mouth twitched. He stared straight ahead and didn't answer.
Now you remember how to compliment me?
When you were printing my embarrassing history in the paper, did you think today would ever come?
Tianna smiled and replied lightly, "It's just a small village. It doesn't warrant sending Garen."
Luke heard the implication loud and clear.
Garen's level was too high—he'd be steamrolling.
So sending Luke was "just right."
Luke immediately felt offended.
Oh, really?
If you're saying it like that, then I'm about to show you something.
My level isn't low either, alright?
Seeing the defiant look in his eyes, Tianna laughed. "You're just investigating. I'm not sending you to die. Don't make that face."
She didn't actually know how strong Luke had gotten.
She only remembered how stunning that wind-riding swordplay had been back then.
Now there happened to be a small problem near Edessa, so she threw it to Luke—partly to test where he was at now, and partly to give him more real-world experience.
Otherwise, he spent every day in that little courtyard doing nothing but eating and sleeping. Not exactly the image of a prince.
Luke thought for a second and started, "I've been brewing—"
Before he could finish, Tianna lifted a hand and cut him off.
She looked at him with a cheerful smile. "I've already taken plenty of your liquor recently. I've got enough to drink for a long time. Don't bother. I suggest you start preparing early."
Luke's "casting" got interrupted, and it annoyed him. He sighed.
Now even bribery didn't work.
Damn it. He'd bribed too hard earlier—couldn't move this woman anymore.
With no other options, Luke accepted. "Fine."
Tianna smiled in satisfaction. "I'll be waiting for good news."
With that, she turned and left, leaving Luke standing there alone.
Watching her back, Luke clicked his tongue, thoroughly irritated.
This woman was a full-blown stumbling block on his road to coasting.
He was just about to raise a middle finger in "respect" when Tianna suddenly turned around.
Luckily, Luke reacted fast. He instantly swapped to a harmless smile, and the raised finger opened into a waving hand like he was politely seeing her off.
Tianna smiled back at him, then turned away again.
Luke finally exhaled, wiped at his forehead, and hurried away.
He returned to the garden where Lux, Sona, and Fiora were waiting.
"What did they talk about in there?" Lux asked curiously when she saw him.
Luke replied, "My mother's arrangements. Tomorrow her coffin will be buried in the royal mausoleum, and she'll be posthumously granted the title of queen."
The three women nodded. That was only right.
"Tonight I'm staying in the palace. You can head back," Luke said, then added instructions. "If you're going to the hot springs, take everything on the third shelf in the storage cabinet and pour it into the pool."
"And don't soak too long. Forty minutes is perfect. Don't boil yourselves."
Lately, soaking had become a daily ritual for them—especially as the weather drifted away from heat and grew cooler.
At night, sinking into warm water was unbelievably comfortable.
And besides the medicinal soak, Luke had prepared a "wine soak" as well. Afterward, your body would be flushed, steaming, with a tipsy warmth like you'd had a drink.
It felt great. Once that sensation faded, your fatigue seemed to disappear, and your skin felt firmer too.
The three of them loved it—except they never watched the time. They only got out when Luke told them to.
So today, he made a point to warn them.
Hearing him, Lux and the others nodded quickly.
But Luke still didn't feel fully reassured.
He was genuinely worried they'd soak until they passed out.
So after thinking for a moment, he decided to have Yurna go back with them as well.
After seeing them off—
Luke returned to the hall where Melli's coffin had been placed.
Jarvan III was there, and the hall was silent. He sat cross-legged on the floor as if it didn't matter at all, staring at the painting before the coffin, lost in thought for a long time.
Only when he heard Luke's footsteps did he come back to himself and turn.
He offered a small smile and motioned Luke closer.
Luke walked over and sat on the floor beside him.
"Your mother…" Jarvan III's eyes drifted with memory as he looked at the painting. Without realizing it, he smiled. "Back when she was with me in the army, she smiled like that all the time."
"Those were war years. Everyone was tense. But when the soldiers saw that smile, it was like their shoulders finally loosened."
A smile could be contagious. And in Jarvan III's memory, the only person whose smile carried that kind of power… was Lux.
Whenever people saw Lux's bright, carefree grin, their mood inevitably lifted.
Thinking that his mother had once been the same kind of girl, Luke's curiosity stirred.
Jarvan III glanced at him and continued, smiling through the memories. "Back then, when she found out who I really was, she panicked so hard she hid under a table. I spent ages coaxing her before she'd come out."
"And she loved roasted sweet potatoes. She'd sneak into town, take the money I'd rewarded her with, and trade it for crate after crate of sweet potatoes from a roadside stand."
"Then she couldn't possibly eat that many herself, so the soldiers ended up helping her finish them."
"And back then, she…"
Piece by piece, memories buried deep in Jarvan III's mind came spilling out. He remembered countless details of Melli with painful clarity.
As he spoke, his eyes reddened. He was smiling—but as he looked at the painting, at the last version of Melli captured there, it still felt like his heart was being carved apart.
Luke sat quietly, listening.
In his mind, a lively, bright, brave girl slowly took shape.
Jarvan III was telling Luke about the Melli he'd known—before Luke was born.
Later, Luke also searched through his own broken fragments of memory and told Jarvan III about the beautiful moments he remembered after his birth.
Father and son talked for a long, long time in front of Melli's painting.
Until night fell, and Xin Zhao's voice came from behind them.
"Your Majesty, dinner time passed half an hour ago."
"Is that so…" Jarvan III slowly stood. The tear tracks on his face hadn't dried. He looked at Luke. "Come."
The word carried a heavy reluctance—but he also knew he had to step out of the past eventually.
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