Chapter 674 — The Coronation

Hetty swept her gaze around the hall. Everywhere she looked, besides the delegation from the Southern Marches, there were many faces she did not know: the nobles still present in the Royal Capital, the selected representatives of the Church, the knights, and other figures of every description.

Keeping that order were, of course, the two dukes, Victoria and Baiyu, who knew the terrain well.

"Let us hope all these people keep their eyes open today," Hetty said softly. "Signing is always better than the gallows."

"They will," Victoria's cool voice came from beside her. "Those who would not sign… would not be here at all."

In one corner of the hall, Duke Baiyu Franklin drew a mechanical watch from his breast and glanced at the dial.

"It is nearly time."

……

It was nearly time.

At the edge of the broad plaza outside Silverhold, countless citizens, merchants, and even common folk from the outer districts had already gathered. Within the several viewing areas marked off by the castle guard and the Cecil combat troops, heads were packed tight, the crowd nearly impenetrable.

Every place in the plaza where people were permitted to stand had long since filled; the open ground close to Silverhold was held by soldiers, and the countless others who had failed to secure good positions had no choice but to gather farther off. They climbed onto the rooftops at the plaza's edge, even up the nearby towers, lampposts, and flagpoles, until soldiers patrolling the outer perimeter had to keep approaching the crowds and calling out through amplification magic, driving those in overly dangerous spots down from their heights.

Those who lived near the plaza had enjoyed enormous good fortune today; they even rented out their windowsills and rooftops at no small price, and the number of people willing to pay was astonishingly large. Within half a day, virtually every good spot had been snatched up…

The great sun climbed slowly. Mages had cast spells ahead of time to disperse the clouds around Saint Sunil, and brilliant sunlight began to spill across the whole city. The crowds gathered around the plaza pressed and swayed, countless eyes fixed on the direction of Silverhold—and at last, from the very front of the crowd, several loud shouts suddenly rang out:

"Someone's coming out!" "There's a figure on the second-floor balcony!" "The main gate is opening too!"

With the heavy clatter of chains winding, the great gate of Silverhold slowly swung half open. A company of cavalry rode out in formation—those martial soldiers wore novel arcane armor, their helmets bright and armor gleaming, their banners vivid—and a long red carpet unfurled from within the castle, stretching all the way to the end of the drawbridge.

The crowd in the plaza stirred at once. Everyone craned their necks, staring toward the castle gate—by traditional etiquette, the sovereign would soon appear from that gate to receive his subjects' kneeling salute, after which the masters of ceremonies and the regent duke would come forth to proclaim the sovereign's legitimacy and the transfer of royal authority. For many common folk, this was nearly the only chance in their lives to lay eyes on a member of the royal house—worth boasting about for half a year afterward.

Yet the people saw no sovereign emerge from the castle. They saw only a company of knights standing at the gate, blocking the way from the castle's main entrance to the inner courtyard—and before confusion could spread through the crowd, a powerful, resonant voice suddenly came from above, carried across the entire plaza by the force of amplification magic:

"Attention, all! First Infantry Formation—forward—march!!"

Many were startled by the sudden sound, and the crowd around the plaza stirred uneasily. Then another strange noise reached their ears—at first it was like the clatter of pebbles being turned over, neat and rhythmic, but soon it grew louder, until it hammered at their nerves like a drumbeat.

At last the people saw clearly what the source of the sound was—

Soldiers. Soldiers in square formations, armed to the teeth.

The people craned their necks and widened their eyes, watching the scene in the plaza with some bewilderment. They saw rank upon rank of soldiers appear in immaculate order, every soldier clad in identical armor and carrying identical gear, as though stamped from a single mold. At the front stood the commander with a sharp sword in hand; in the first row the soldiers held banners aloft; the rest marched with a precision that was startling to behold—and that neat, rhythmic sound was in fact the tramp of their boots striking the ground!

Having grown used to the loose, undisciplined private troops of the nobles, and to the motley equipment of the royal army under the "self-supplied arms" system, the people in the plaza found the sight before them inconceivable—almost uncanny and terrifying. Merely by arranging men, one could achieve such a thing?

And as the infantry squares appeared, those with sharp eyes finally noticed some movement within the castle gates.

The knights stepped back to either side in orderly ranks, and the gates leading into the castle courtyard swung fully open. Something vast, faintly glowing and impossible to identify, was slowly poking its head out from within.

A moment passed before the people could make out what it was—

It was a colossal skull, advancing forward, and it made the blood run cold.

It was mounted on a great magic-driven vehicle, and the skull all but covered the vehicle entirely. Its crystalline surface of bone gave off a faint luster, and within the hollow eye sockets a mighty soul seemed still to lurk. The people could scarcely imagine what kind of powerful being this enormous skull had belonged to, but merely gazing upon its pale surface filled each of them with awe and reverence from the depths of their hearts—yet this powerful creature was dead; what appeared here was nothing but a skull.

Gao Song stood atop the skull, upon a platform of forged steel nailed through the bone. He wore a solemn black ceremonial robe, no crown upon his head, but a longsword in his grip. A diamond brooch was pinned to his breast, glittering in the sunlight pouring down from the great sun.

On either side of the steel platform were two wing-like metal structures, and from the tips of those wings hung banners bearing the emblem of sword and plow, draping down almost to the ground.

The colossal skull advanced to the head of the drawbridge and came to a firm halt there. Several escort war-chariots followed up from behind and ranged themselves in a line on either side of the skull.

Gao Yang looked down upon the plaza on the far side of the drawbridge, and the infantry squares arrived before him almost at the same moment.

A sonorous voice rang out across the plaza:

"Halt!"

The infantry squares stopped instantly, and there was all but a single report of military boots striking earth.

"Draw swords!"

Countless molten-cut swords were drawn as one, blades forward, standing in perfect alignment at the left front of every soldier.

"Light the blades—"

"Salute His Majesty!!"