Chapter 142: Chapter 142 - Year-End Ceremony
Months slipped by.
And the year drew to its close.
On the twenty-eighth day of the final month, the Year-End Ceremony would be held.
It was on this day that Lucien was destined to receive his higher title.
And so, once again, Lucien returned to the capital.
•••
In the Castle...
Officials and nobles converged beneath the vaulted ceilings. Their anticipation rippled through the grand halls. Today was a day of celebration. Rewards to bestow. Peerages to announce. Futures to alter.
Many watched the throne with hungry eyes. They were all eager to be part of the crown’s proclamations.
In a secluded chamber away from the restless crowd...
Midas sat with Augustus. Both men have strikingly changed...
Where once their scalps were bare, dark and lustrous hair now framed their faces and an aura of renewed vigor clung to them. Augustus had even set aside his zucchetto as though discarding the last trappings of restraint.
Midas’ gaze was steady.
"Why are you here again?" his voice was cool.
Augustus’ reply was sharp.
"Don’t speak as though you own the world."
A faint smirk touched Midas’ lips.
"Then perhaps begin by repairing your own domain. No wonder your blood turns away from you."
"You—!" Augustus’ voice cracked with anger before he forced it down. He exhaled slowly. "You know why... better than anyone. Let us leave it." His eyes hardened. "I came to see how far he has grown."
Midas did not answer immediately. His silence was not disinterest but concealed anticipation. He too wanted to gauge Lucien’s progress. The boy’s strength meant more than mere survival. It meant possibility.
At length, Midas spoke. His tone was laden with meaning.
"The time approaches, Augustus. The waiting is almost over. But before long, a great choice will come. Whether we intervene or stand aside... that is the question. Past that point, even I see nothing. The threads of fate end in shadow."
Augustus met his eyes, resolute.
"If that moment comes, I need no debate. My years are nearly spent. Better to die in the attempt than to wither in regret."
Their conversation drifted into matters only they could comprehend. Some half-spoken truths stitched with silence.
Then Augustus asked the question that had lingered within him.
"Why delay so long in granting him a higher title?" Augustus’ voice was low but edged with suspicion. "You are not a man who lingers without cause. Tell me, Midas... have you meddled with fate itself?"
Midas leaned back. A knowing smile curled at the corners of his lips.
"For the first time, Augustus... I wagered against destiny. And my gamble has borne fruit."
Augustus stiffened. "What did you do?"
A glint sparked in Midas’ eyes. It was triumph laced with fatigue.
"I withheld the title. To conceal his rise for as long as possible. I bought him time to build quietly, beyond the reach of jealous eyes. And build he did. An army. Loyal and unseen. Stronger than the world suspects."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"In the path I once glimpsed, the title drew predators. Nobles sought to crush him. And worse... Ashreth noticed. Trials came in waves, one after another... until he lost too much... until he was no longer himself."
Augustus frowned deeply. "Then what of now? What is the cost of this gamble? Every change has a price. The butterfly still stirs the storm."
For the first time, Midas’ face hardened.
"The troubles I deflected have not vanished. They gather instead. They have converged into a greater clash. The enemy strengthens as well. But his foundation... it no longer crumbles. The tide will meet him head-on."
He paused. His voice carried a solemn gravity.
"I cannot defeat Ashreth. But he can."
Silence stretched between them. Augustus felt the thought cut both ways.
Yes, Lucien had been given time to grow... but so had the enemy. The clash ahead would dwarf all past trials and blood would flow in rivers.
And yet... had Ashreth discovered Lucien earlier, the outcome might have been far worse.
Midas had shifted the board. But in doing so, he had rewritten the game entirely.
Augustus’ lips pressed thin. One man’s decision had changed the course of the future.
For better... or for ruin?
No one could say...
•••
At the Court...
Midas sat upon the high seat. His gaze swept upon the sea of nobles below. The Herald had already dispensed the day’s rewards. This ceremony had been a routine but even so, it never got dull.
And then... a single name struck the chamber like a thrown blade.
Lucien Lootwell.
The hall stirred like a nest of vipers.
"The boy from the borders?" one scoffed aloud.
"He has been gathering vagrants, beggars and even orphans into his ranks," another sneered.
"A thief of men! He strips the capital of its workers and hid his treachery beneath charity."
"Such ambition reeks of rebellion!"
A dozen voices rose at once and outrage spilled through the grand hall. Some went so far as to hiss the word treason.
Through it all, Midas hid a thin smile behind his hand. Their outrage was expected.
In truth, Midas knew what Lucien has been doing all along. And... it was exactly what he’d hoped for.
Then, with nothing more than a subtle ripple of his aura, the uproar died. The oppressive weight of his presence pressed down like a storm front and not a single tongue dared wag further.
At that moment, the herald announced someone’s arrival...
Every heads turned.
Lucien entered flanked by Edric, Maxim and Cielius. Murmurs swept the room again. The countryside baron had arrived with his growing circle of powerful allies.
The ceremony resumed. One by one, nobles received their due until at last the Herald called....
"Baron Lucien Lootwell. Step forth."
Lucien knelt on one knee. The Herald then began to read.
"By His Majesty’s decree," the Herald intoned, "for valor displayed, for forces raised and for service rendered, Lucien Lootwell is to be commended. His achievements—"
The list of deeds flowed on but what followed silenced even the boldest tongues.
"By the King’s decree... Lucien Lootwell is hereby elevated. Not to Viscount nor Count... But to Marquis."
The hall erupted.
Gasps. Disbelief. Protests.
A baron raised directly to marquis without passing through the lesser ranks? That was unheard of.
Even Lucien’s composure wavered and his eyes widened in shock.
Midas’ voice cut through the chaos.
"Rise, Marquis Lootwell. From this day forward, the Eastern Borders are yours to protect."
Lucien still can’t process it. ’I thought... only Viscount...’
But he bowed his head in instinct.
"By your will, Your Majesty."
The decree was now sealed. The ritual was complete. And... The documents were passed into his hands.
Yet the nobles would not be quiet.
"This is madness!" Magnus face turned crimson.
"He is untested!" another barked.
"A usurper raised from dirt!"
"You endanger the realm, Your Majesty!"
Well... Most of them were part of the Golddust faction.
Lucien stood unmoved. He stared at them like he was watching some kind of play. And just then... his Sovereign Aura erupted like a dam breaking. Power flooded the hall.
Cielius, Edric and Maxim stepped forward. Their own Tier-9 auras flared to join his.
The nobles immediately staggered. They choked beneath the pressure. Their protests withered in their throats.
A truth dawned on them with chilling clarity. Lucien’s strength alone was enough to crush them. Coupled with his allies’ power, they... looked like mere ants biting a titan.
Even Magnus who was once so confident of his strength remained wordless. His Tier 8 strength paled before the weight of his rival.
Magnus’ teeth ground together as he caught Edric’s taunting grin. His tongue flicked out in a wordless mockery.
A strange glint flashed in his eyes.... Calculation? Or perhaps... something darker.
The faces of the other nobles shifted across the chamber.
And just like that, with quills scratching upon parchment and power pressing upon the court...
A new Marquis was born.
•••
For the moment, Lucien was the most coveted noble in the capital.
Unmarried. Strong. Young.
He is a new marquis with unmatched talent.
In the Noble District, his every outfit became a sensation. Fashion-conscious lords and ladies mimicked his look, eager to be noticed.
His signature style which was crafted exclusively in Lootwell... had already become a luxury brand. Only the wealthy or well-connected could acquire the originals.
Counterfeits popped up across the capital but none could match the craftsmanship of Lootwell’s craftsmen. Lucien’s influence was undeniable and was now woven into the city like a new standard of elegance.
Outside the capital gates, Edric threw back his head and laughed.
"Nephew, you carry the same titles as me now GAAHAHAHA!" Edric bellowed as they stepped out of the palace gates. "Have you seen Magnus’s face? Bet he was already planning something."
Lucien laughed with him.
"Congratulations, nephew. You have become someone splendid." Maxim said with a grin.
"Grandson, let’s celebrate this day," came the warm voice of Cielius.
Their exchange was lighthearted and peaceful.
But Lucien felt it... a subtle shift in the air.
Peace had lingered too long.
Too smooth.
Too quiet.
A storm was gathering.
Whatever came next, he would face it head-on.
Change was coming and Lucien stood ready to meet it.