The grand hall of Andelheim was abuzz with excitement. Bright banners of red and gold hung from the high arches, the Marquis Ventor’s insignia prominent against the vibrant backdrop. The long, polished floor gleamed under the sunlight streaming in through tall, stained-glass windows, depicting tales of ancient warriors. The atmosphere was electric, alive with cheers, whistles, and applause from the gathered crowd.
Valeria stood to the side of the dais, her posture straight and poised, her family crest subtly adorning her attire. She was clad in a dark, elegant cloak that swept the ground, her sword belted neatly at her side. The weight of her family name felt lighter today—more hers than a legacy she was merely carrying. Yet, there was a strange emptiness gnawing at the edges of her focus.
She let her gaze drift over the crowd, taking in the sea of faces. It was hard to miss the subtle undercurrent of disappointment mingled with the cheers. Whispers rippled through the assembly, questions veiled behind expectant eyes.
Where was Lucavion?
The Silver Flame Sect members, Varen among them, stood near the center of the dais, their crimson robes catching the light. Varen’s face was calm, but his eyes carried a flicker of triumph, scanning the crowd as though relishing the attention. His fellow disciples flanked him, their disciplined composure a stark contrast to the rowdy cheers for them from a pocket of the audience.
Valeria turned her gaze to Marquis Ventor as he stepped forward, commanding the room with an effortless grace. His voice rang out, carrying the weight of authority and the practiced charisma of a leader.
“Citizens of Andelheim! Today, we honor the strength, courage, and skill of those who have competed in this tournament,” he began, his words drawing a fresh wave of cheers. “Each participant who stands before you has proven themselves on the field of battle, exemplifying the spirit of this great event.”
The applause swelled as the Marquis gestured to the Silver Flame Sect. “The Silver Flame Sect, whose discipline and mastery brought us some of the fiercest matches we’ve seen. Let us congratulate their champion, Varen, and his remarkable peers!”
Varen inclined his head, a faint smirk on his lips as the crowd erupted in applause. His fellow disciples gave subtle bows, their expressions composed.
The Marquis then turned to the left side of the dais, where a group of unaffiliated fighters stood, including Valeria and the monk. His gaze lingered on her briefly, a flicker of acknowledgment in his sharp eyes.
“And to our unaffiliated warriors, who have fought not for sect or guild, but for the love of the art, the pursuit of excellence. Among them, Valeria Olarion, whose skill and determination earned her a place in this hall of honor.”
The cheers for Valeria were respectful but lacked the fervor of those given to the sects. She inclined her head slightly, her expression calm but unreadable. Explore stories on empire
As the Marquis continued with the ceremony, the absence of two key groups became increasingly evident. The murmurs in the crowd grew louder as people began to wonder aloud:
“Where is Lucavion?”
“And the Cloud Heaven’s Sect?”
Marquis Ventor raised a hand, his calm demeanor commanding silence. “I understand your curiosity,” he said, his voice steady, his tone deliberate. “The Cloud Heaven’s Sect disciples departed early, called away by pressing matters.”
Marquis Ventor’s voice held steady, his expression carefully measured as he addressed the growing murmur of curiosity among the crowd. “As for Lucavion,” he began, his words deliberate, “his absence is not due to disrespect, nor is it a reflection of any lack of appreciation for this ceremony or your support.”
The crowd leaned in, the room quieting as they hung on his words.
“The truth is, his final battle, as many of you witnessed, was grueling,” the Marquis continued, his gaze sweeping over the gathered audience. “While he emerged victorious, it was not without cost. The injuries he sustained were significant, and though his spirit remains indomitable, his body requires time to heal.”
A ripple of sympathy spread through the crowd, murmurs of understanding weaving through their earlier disappointment.
“In fact,” the Marquis added, his voice softening slightly, as though sharing a private confidence, “we offered to delay this ceremony to allow him the chance to recover and join us. But Lucavion, in his usual manner, refused.”
Valeria’s eyes narrowed slightly as she listened, her lips pressing into a thin line.
“He insisted,” Marquis Ventor went on, “that this ceremony proceed as planned. He said, and I quote, ‘The people of Andelheim have lives to live, and I will not be the cause of delay. Let them celebrate the tournament and its champions without waiting on me.’ Such is the measure of his character.”
The crowd erupted in applause, a mix of admiration and relief replacing the earlier tension. Lucavion’s absence had been explained in a way that not only preserved his reputation but elevated it. The Marquis’s words painted him as selfless and magnanimous, even in recovery.
Valeria remained still, her expression unreadable, though her mind churned. “Injured?” she thought, skeptical. She had seen him only the day before, and while his combat had been fierce, Lucavion’s manner suggested anything but a man nursing wounds. “That snake,” she mused silently, unsure if she felt amused or annoyed by his ability to weave out of the spotlight.
The Marquis, satisfied with the crowd’s reaction, resumed the ceremony with seamless grace. “And so, while Lucavion recovers in solitude, we continue today to honor those who have given their all in this grand event.”
As he turned to present rewards to the unaffiliated fighters, Valeria accepted her medallion with a curt nod, the crowd offering polite applause. The monk received his recognition with a serene bow, and the Silver Flame Sect’s laurels were presented with much fanfare, the audience’s cheers rising to a crescendo.
Yet, as the ceremony drew to a close, Valeria’s thoughts lingered. She could almost see the smirk Lucavion would wear when he inevitably learned of the Marquis’s carefully crafted excuse.
The ceremony concluded with the Marquis Ventor’s final words ringing in the air, a declaration of triumph and hope for the future. The crowd erupted in one last round of applause before beginning to disperse, the festive energy of the day carrying them into the streets of Andelheim.
Valeria descended the dais with measured steps, the medallion of honor cold against her palm. She slipped it into the pouch at her side without a second glance. Her thoughts were far from the accolades, focused instead on the quiet tension that had settled over her since Lucavion’s absence was announced.
As the crowd thinned, she moved toward the edge of the courtyard, her gaze fixed forward. She had planned her next steps carefully. With the ceremony behind her, there were matters to address—preparations to make for what lay ahead. The tournament might have ended, but her journey had only begun.
The sunlight cast long shadows across the cobblestones, the buzz of voices fading into the background as she reached the outskirts of the gathering. But just as she turned the corner, intending to leave the square and return to the inn, she froze.
There, standing beneath the arch of the main gate, were figures she knew all too well.
Their armor gleamed under the sunlight, polished to perfection. The sigil of the Olarion family—a silver phoenix in flight—was etched proudly onto their breastplates. Their bearing was unmistakable, every line of their posture screaming discipline, loyalty, and purpose.
Her knights.
Valeria’s breath caught, a soft exclamation slipping past her lips. “Ah…”
The leader of the group, a man with sharp features and a resolute gaze, spotted her almost immediately. He stepped forward, his helmet tucked under one arm, the plume of his rank marking him as her second-in-command.
“Lady Valeria,” he said, his voice steady and formal, but with a hint of relief threading through his tone. “We’ve finally found you.”
It was time to return her home….