Succession 2
A seat made solely for the eldest son. Right after the Grand Duke's passing.
To Jeron's question about what he would do from now on, Millein gave no answer. He had no intention of attending the party ostensibly held to gather distinguished guests. A party in name only—it was little more than an execution ground in truth. The clumsy looks of pity directed at him at every such gathering were bad enough. It was utterly infuriating just to be stared at with such eyes by people who knew nothing.
More than that...
The mention of Executioners that Rene had brought up earlier gnawed at him. The Executioners Millein knew were the only thirteen knights in Palenia who embodied the Pope's will.
No way that's possible...
No matter that Sernos oversaw the Alder Archdiocese as its archbishop, there were limits. Executioners were Palenia's highest elite, untouchable even by cardinals. Their movement meant one thing: a direct order from the Pope.
"There won't be any trouble. Didn't you see Lord Licht's prowess with your own eyes?"
"But there's been no word at all so far..."
"He's surely devising a plan to bring down the eldest son. Brute force alone wouldn't suffice. Isn't that right, Jamel?"
"Indeed. He didn't strike me as a liar. We have no choice but to trust him."
"You heard that, young master? So please, stop worrying now."
"......"
Rene's ominous words as his half-sister. No news since parting at Bailen's southern gate. Del and Jamel had comforted the anxious Millein. But he could tell. Even they, who spoke as if unperturbed, were burning inside.
Misfortune didn't end there. To make matters worse, the Alder Grand Duke had passed away. At that point, even Del and Jamel could no longer feign calm.
The final night. If not for that single small note slipped through his window in the dead of night, he might have truly given up.
"See? What did I tell you? Just trust and wait, I said."
A small paper bearing a message to attend the party without fail. Neat, elegant handwriting caught the eye. No sender named, concise contents—but all three knew instantly who had sent it. Whatever method was used didn't matter. What counted was that hope had returned.
Millein, who had planned to skip the party and slip out of the manor midway through the succession rite, changed his mind at that one note and entered the banquet hall.
And now.
"They're cornered. To think he'd step forward so boldly."
From a corner of the banquet hall. Jamel leaned in and whispered. His expression was grim. Del said nothing, but his thoughts mirrored Jamel's.
The Alder Grand Duke had passed. Jeron wasted no time on preamble and cut straight to the point. The hall fell so silent that every breath could be heard.
The death of a titan who had dominated an era. Even half-expected, hearing it from the mouth of the heir apparent, the eldest son, hit differently.
"The Grand Duke of Alder has passed...?"
"So the rumors were true?"
"Heavens..."
A wave of silence swept through, followed by murmurs rising here and there.
"So sudden."
"A tragedy. The star that made Alder Duchy prosper has fallen."
"Just a few years ago, he was so hale and hearty."
"They say it's an incurable disease of unknown cause."
"Even Archbishop Sernos threw up his hands."
"That's not the point. Bringing it up now means..."
"The succession rite. That's it."
Reactions varied. Some genuinely mourned the Grand Duke, others pondered the political shifts ahead, and some eyed the eldest son Jeron Alder with curiosity for broaching such a sensitive topic without hesitation.
As everyone stepped back to watch, one noble stepped forward.
"I offer my deepest condolences on the passing of the Grand Duke of Alder. He was a true sage king, rare in this age."
A middle-aged man with an extraordinary presence.
"But I have a question."
"Speak."
"In life, the Grand Duke was always unpretentious. He disliked ostentation. Yet... I fail to grasp why, after his death, invitations were sent out to gather us here like this."
He stared steadily at Jeron on the dais.
"Young lord, what are you thinking?"
Jeron didn't answer immediately. Murmurs grew louder again.
From behind.
"Duke Saint... He's always been a man of straight principles."
Del murmured softly. Millein nodded faintly in agreement.
The Saint Ducal House, said to be the greatest in Trill Kingdom. And its current head, Albus Saint. Trill Kingdom lay near Alder Duchy and Palenia Holy Kingdom, one of the more substantial realms. Naturally, the Saint Ducal House held great importance to Alder Duchy as well. Given his deep friendship with the Grand Duke, he had come in person amid the ominous atmosphere.
But his expression was poor. His question just now made that clear. The eldest son's inheritance was all but a foregone conclusion. For him to announce the Grand Duke's death himself—anyone could guess his intent.
Yet he asked outright. One reason: Cut the circling and make it clear.
"You're hasty."
"My question isn't finished."
"...No need to hide it."
Jeron surveyed the room. Every eye in the banquet hall fixed on him. Clearing his throat once, he spoke.
"In three days, the succession rite will be held in the grand hall. That's why I've gathered you all."
"The succession rite?"
"Yes. Normally, only family members attend... but this time, I hope everyone here will join us."
A shocking declaration.
"So that's it."
"Outsiders at Alder's succession? Unprecedented..."
"Good lord..."
Commotion erupted everywhere at the breach of tradition.
"Is it truly alright for outsiders like us to attend?"
One noble asked amid it all.
"Of course. If you grace the occasion... it would be the honor of my lifetime."
Jeron replied with a gentle smile. Questions poured in from there.
"It's already decided within the family. No need to worry on that front."
"It was Father's dying wish."
"Of course. Anyone present here is welcome anytime."
Jeron fielded them all calmly. Not a hint of hesitation. As if he had prepared every word in advance.
"...Disgusting. Since when has the family rotted like this?"
"Sir Del. Restrain yourself. They might hear."
Watching it all, Del ground his teeth. To the two of them, the scene unfolding was like a perfectly scripted play.
"If the Grand Duke truly fell to the second son's schemes..."
"Del."
Millein murmured softly. Only then did Del close his mouth. Jeron continued answering questions, smile unwavering.
But that composure didn't last forever.
"And Archbishop Sernos? He'll officiate the rite, of course?"
A elderly noble asked.
"Right. The Alder family are devout Istelia followers."
"With Palenia Holy Kingdom behind them, nothing to fear."
"The young lord and Archbishop Sernos are already infamous for their ties."
Others chimed in supportively. Palenia Holy Kingdom lay not far north of Alder Duchy. That holy nation, twin pillar with Arhen Kingdom on the southern continent, was a key reason for Alder's prosperity. Even the previous Grand Duke's rite had been led by the then-archbishop of Alder Archdiocese—so this one would be no different, they assumed.
"......"
For a split second, Jeron's face twisted. No contact with Sernos since handing over eleven knights—until now. Officiating was out of the question.
"Young lord...? Why the silence?"
"Don't tell me..."
"Archbishop Sernos."
But it was fleeting. Composing himself, he continued.
"Due to recent poor health... regrettably, he won't be able to officiate this rite."
"Oh no..."
"Not just the Grand Duke, but Archbishop Sernos too. What ill fortune."
Sighs of regret rose among the nobles. The crack in Jeron's mask was momentary, and when he spoke again, his face brimmed with genuine sorrow—no one thought to doubt.
"I've let the talk drag on. The rite is precisely three days from now, at noon."
Jeron slowly descended the dais.
"You've all traveled far and must be weary. The mood's grown too heavy. It's nothing grand, but we've prepared our best—please relax your fatigue and enjoy this moment fully."
Finishing, he turned to look at someone.
The second son, Millein.
"......"
Over a hundred nobles followed Jeron's gaze in unison. Unthinkingly, Millein clenched his hidden fist under the table.
"Young master."
Del placed a hand on Millein's shoulder.
"I know."
Those eyes, that gaze. With the Alder Grand Duke dead and the eldest son declaring the rite before all. How they viewed the second son was obvious.
In truth, they all looked at him with piteous sympathy.
What I can do now...
Just wait. Born the legitimate heir, he hadn't raised his voice properly in the family since his mother's death—but never had he felt so powerless.
"I'll take my leave. I dearly wish to share this moment with you all... but circumstances prevent it."
Jeron, staring at his half-brother with emotionless eyes, turned away. Vassals now fully aligned with the eldest son stood behind him.
"Understand. Bi-go."
"Yes. Your command."
"See to the rear. Our guests have come from afar—ensure no mishaps in escorting them."
"Understood."
That was when it happened.
"Intruder! Stop them!"
"Don't let them in... No!"
Suddenly, clamor erupted beyond the banquet hall in the corridor.
Boom!
The massive door emblazoned with ornate patterns burst apart like paper.
"Wh-what?!"
"An attack?"
"Gahk!"
Nobles rising to bid farewell to the departing eldest son froze. Knights pursuing the intruder from the corridor floated through the air—crashing into spots throughout the hall.
"Kyaaak!"
"......!"
The hall turned to pandemonium in an instant. All eyes turned as if by agreement to one spot.
The red carpet from entrance to dais.
Step.
A boy strode out calmly. Black hair and eyes like melted night sky. His striking features amplified the effect, drawing in every gaze around him.
"Wait..."
"Licht Sientia...?"
"The Cherbito tournament winner!"
Nobles who recognized the boy shouted. All had attended Count Fredriksen's recent banquet.
"Archbishop Sernos? He just said poor health prevented him from attending the rite."
"What's going on...?"
Behind him, a pale-faced priest struggled to follow. Sernos Decart, archbishop and head of Alder Archdiocese.
Millein, head bowed, murmured in a trembling voice.
"Lord...?"
The suddenly shattered grand door. Through it stepped the benefactor he had awaited so desperately.
Jeron scowled. The captain of Alder Duchy's 1st Knight Order, standing by the eldest son, stepped forward.
Nobles had already retreated a step; belatedly arriving knights from the blasted entrance joined the vassals already inside, beginning to encircle the boy.
The knight captain emerging near the dais bellowed.
"Who are you?! State your identity!"
Hundreds of gazes poured down. Eyes filled with confusion, fear, faint curiosity.
Licht seized the dawdling Sernos from behind and forced him to kneel before him.
The eyes of the 1st Knight Order's captain twitched.
"You... if you've dared take Archbishop Sernos hostage right now..."
Licht didn't reply. Silently, he gripped the hilt of the Ascension Sword at his waist.
And spoke.
"Jeron Alder."
"......"
"You ordered the assassinations of the Alder Grand Duke and second son Millein."
"What...?"
He drew the sword. A golden blade gleamed forth.
Riiing!
A clear metallic ring echoed through the hall.
"Right here, right now."
The boy declared flatly.
"I will judge your crimes."
Crack!
Cold spread outward.
Crackle-crack!
As he stomped fiercely, the banquet hall floor froze transparent. Chantless ice magic manifested without warning. The knights about to draw froze in unison. Silent shock etched across their faces.