Chapter 636 — The King

"The council in the Golden Oak Hall has already begun. The nobles are waiting for you to appear."

Wales was silent for two seconds, then nodded slightly. "Seven days, is it?"

"Yes. Seven days."

Wales said no more. He passed Duke Baiyu and strode forward.

But Baiyu Franklin's voice came from behind him. "Your Highness, is your objective clear?"

"Clear," Wales said, his steps pausing slightly. "I am going to reinforce the walls."

In the Golden Oak Hall, the clamor of discussion was mounting ever higher. The nobles of the capital, the representatives of the knightly houses, the masters who held power in their hands—in this hall that ought to have been solemn and dignified, they quarreled without cease. Every man was voicing his own opinion, every man striving for control over the situation; discussion slowly turned to argument, and argument slowly edged toward open squabbling. With life and death at stake, with the kingdom's core of power crumbling, its military collapsing on every front, and the capital's capacity to command the outside world utterly broken, the last holders of power in the Xuanque city seemed at last to have reached their limit.

The monsters outside the city grew ever more numerous; the situation had become hopeless; holding the capital seemed to have lost all meaning. Faced with such a state of things, however many lofty and righteous voices there were, they sounded impossibly faint—only practical plans for self-preservation were gaining the upper hand.

But suddenly, an attendant's slightly shrill, high-pitched announcement broke through the quarreling in the Golden Oak Hall. The heavy, gold-bound oak doors were pushed open from outside, and with a great clang the doors swung wide, and Wales Moen appeared before them all.

The crown prince was late—nearly an hour late.

But even for a crown prince held in little regard, no one would leap up at such a moment to question his lateness. Wales Moen merely cast a quiet glance around the hall, then set his feet in motion, walking unhurried toward the tall seat at the far end of the hall.

The atmosphere seemed somehow strange. Everyone in the Golden Oak Hall fell silent by instinct; many nobles looked at one another, sensing that today's Prince Wales seemed somehow different from usual, while others quietly left their seats and, without a sound, came to the prince's side.

Halfway there, Wales stopped. He stood in the middle of the hall, and amid the whispers rising around him, his gaze swept across several men, and he spoke: "We will hold the Xuanque city with all our strength. Who objects?"

The nobles around them erupted at once, and someone cried out, "Your Highness! If we dig in and hold, we'll be waiting for death!"

"We have reinforcements," Wilse said, looking toward the source of the voice. When he spoke, silence fell once more. "The relief army is on its way. Seven days, and they'll be here—the Cecil Legion from the south, and Archduchess Victoria is with them."

This time, the clamor among the nobles grew even louder than before. Countless men were stunned by this unbelievable news; some faces lit with delight, some stared at one another in blank amazement, but others blurted out, "Is... is that even possible?! Your Highness, is this news true?"

Wilse looked once more toward the source of the voice.

The hearts of men were as he had predicted.

The mere news of reinforcements would not turn Saint Sunil into a solid wall of iron. In this sunken, rotten, crumbling city, the royal house had long since lost its majesty. Today, even the regent duke could scarcely force all the noble families into submission. No one's word would be believed by everyone—even if the speaker carried the blood of Morn. Quite the opposite: some would think the news had been deliberately spread to make the rest die hard in defense of the Mystic Gate city, buying enough time for the royal house to move its vastest treasures.

Even if the words came from Bo Yu Franklin himself, it would make no difference.

For if certain people stood in the same position, they would do exactly that—one hundred percent.

Wilse simply watched the noble who had cried out, and said slowly, "Defend Mystic Gate with all your strength and wait for reinforcements in seven days. This is an order."

"Your Highness, you are not yet king—you cannot give such an order directly!" the capital noble under Wilse's gaze cried out in alarm. "At least wait until..."

"Earl Lukere," Wilse cut him off, "where are your family, your mistresses, your jewels, and the knights who should be standing on the city walls right now?"

Earl Lukere's eyes went wide, as though he had at last felt a trace of pressure and intimidation from this "crown prince in name only," so utterly lacking in majesty and presence. "I... I..."

Wilse Pingxi said, "Earl Lukere, you should not have sent them out of the city. That is treason."

Earl Lukere opened his mouth as if to offer a few words in defense, but he only managed to squeeze a few meaningless syllables from his throat—a royal sword adorned with golden patterns had already pierced his windpipe, precise, silent, instantly fatal.

Wilse turned slightly aside and watched the capital noble fall to the ground like a torn sack. A jet of blood sprayed across his cheek, and the long sword hanging at his side was already stained with a layer of glaring blood-light.

Silence fell instantly around them—nothing but an unbearable dead quiet and glances laced with shock and fear crossing in the air. Nearly half the people had not even registered what had happened, for the fact truly exceeded their imagining: here in the Golden Oak Hall, in the most sacred and solemn place in the Kingdom of Ansu, Wilse Morn had personally executed an earl before dozens of capital nobles?!

The other half of the hall watched it all without a flicker of expression.

Wilse flicked the blood from his long sword and strode toward the seat at the far end of the hall. Only then did the stunned, voiceless nobles seem suddenly to come to their senses. They exclaimed and stirred in agitation, but a heavy thundering of iron boots suddenly rang out, cutting off every voice that wished to raise a question—

A great number of fully armed knights poured into the Golden Oak Hall, swiftly seizing control of every entrance and exit and surrounding the long council table at the hall's center. Cohen Lauren, clad in a blue battle-mage's robe over chainmail, entered the hall after them and proclaimed loudly, "Hailake Borg, former commander of the Royal Knights, is stripped of his command for permitting soldiers to desert and is confined from this day forth.

"By military law, I have assumed the post of commander of the Royal Knights.

"The Royal Knights swear loyalty to His Majesty Wilse Morn!"

His Majesty Wilse Morn?!

Pairs of astonished eyes watched this sudden, unforeseen turn of events. They watched the "deputy" commander of the knights—renowned for possessing both transcendent knightly and mage powers—stride into the hall, watched him step without expression over Earl Lukere's corpse, and seemed at last to begin to understand what was about to happen here today. And by now Wilse Morn had reached the seat at the deepest end of the hall. This crown prince, who had left Silverhold for twenty years, turned around, slowly sat down in the place that was his own, and swept his gaze over everyone.

Earl Lukere's blood stained his face, and that countenance, despised by all for twenty years, now seemed terrifying in this moment.

"From this day forth, I am crowned King of Ansu."

At the sound of Wilse Morn's flat voice, whispers rose in the hall. People looked at one another in doubt and alarm; some still doubted the truth of it all, while others instinctively voiced the question: who would perform this coronation?

Just then, a noble near the hall's entrance exclaimed in a low voice, "Archduke Franklin has come!"