Over the following month, Lucian was much like Borack when he had regained his confidence and reason — he spent most of his time tempering his bloodline and familiarizing himself with his strength, while devoting the rest to attending various banquets. Under the cover of these social occasions, he reached preliminary "agreements" with quite a few noble offspring whose intentions remained ambiguous. He could only return to Borack's secluded villa during brief gaps in his schedule, reinforcing the effects of the "False Death" and "Deep Sleep" spells while replenishing the man's nutrition, lest he starve to death before there was sufficient time to conduct the bloodline transformation experiments.
On this particular day, the sky hung dark and overcast, leaden clouds pressing low over the city, the cold wind biting and relentless. It felt as though the first great blizzard of winter was about to descend.
Inside the ancient villa of the Plantagenet family, constructed during the era of the old Arcane Magic Empire, an aura of gloom perpetually pervaded the air. The scent of age and decay seemed almost tangible — as though one could breathe it in directly.
Now clad entirely in black knight's attire, Lucian cut a tall and slender figure, his stride steady and purposeful as he walked unhurriedly toward the lowest level of the main residence's basement.
The handful of Plantagenet family elders who had already gathered there observed his bearing and composure. Regardless of whether they liked or supported him personally, each offered a slight nod of acknowledgment. This kind of comportment was what befitting a distinguished member of the Plantagenet family — someone who possessed the "qualifications" to contend for the title of Count of Tiris.
"In just over a month, Borack has managed to adjust his condition so remarkably well. Oh? He's awakened his bloodline power?" Count Nuremberg von Anjou of Oldenburg nearly forgot to place his thick "Brianna cigar" between his lips.
He was the strongest among the Plantagenet family after the two Golden Knights — an eighth-rank Sky Knight known as "Dim Starlight" — and from Lucian's unhidden gait and the rhythm of his vascular pulsations, he had already deduced that the man possessed the strength of a knight.
Duke Ulrich of the Plantagenet family, a seventh-rank Sky Knight bearing the title "Moon of Order," answered with certainty: "He received some relics from his father, which allowed him to successfully awaken the 'Silver Moon' bloodline."
"Beckmann was father's favorite, so naturally he must have had quite the collection." Nuremberg offered the duke a smile that hovered between warmth and irony. They shared the same golden hair and blue eyes, their features similarly sharp and well-defined, though the duke's hair had already begun to silver with age.
The "uncle" he referred to was the father of Ulrich, Beckmann, and the others — the previous Duke Plantagenet. Rumor held that the old duke had once intended to leave the title to Beckmann, but during the underground palace trial, Ulrich had suddenly erupted with the strength of a fifth-rank Great Knight and decisively defeated Beckmann, who despite possessing numerous artifacts was merely a knighted warrior. That was how Ulrich had secured his position as heir.
The remaining Plantagenet marquises and counts all regarded the old duke with the same peculiar expressions. Some even harbored suspicions that Beckmann's untimely death had been orchestrated by the old duke himself. Borack, who had been unable to awaken his bloodline power, had naturally never been given much consideration — but now, with a Borack who was composed, confident, and possessed genuine strength, how would the old duke respond?
Duke Ulrich of the Plantagenet family spoke with the detached indifference befitting one in power: "While I personally have no fondness for those who rely on external items to achieve victory, a victor is a victor. They shall face no censure and shall receive everything they are owed."
His attitude — contemptuous and disdainful yet scrupulously fair — was laid bare for all to see.
"How wonderful indeed," Nuremberg replied with a meaning-laden smile. He harbored a measure of skepticism toward any high-minded or righteous declaration, especially when it came from a duke who had controlled the family for nearly forty years. Within the Holy Helz Empire, there was no shortage of enemies who eyed the Plantagenet family with covetous intent, to say nothing of the ambitious and unfathomably deep Emperor himself. Ulrich's ability to guide the family through storms and turmoil, allowing it to grow and flourish, was beyond question.
Emperor Rudolf II was the only figure since the original divinely-favored ancestors of the bloodline to ascend to the legendary realm while seated upon the imperial throne. The title he had chosen for himself was rather peculiar: "Creator of New Laws."
Lucian could not join the conversation among the great figures before the strange stone gate. After receiving their acknowledging nods, he took his place alongside Claire and Ralph, who had already arrived.
Both Claire and Ralph maintained a show of cold hostility toward Lucian, exchanging not a single word. The atmosphere was stiflingly awkward.
Within minutes, Alten — still attired in his splendid military dress uniform — entered alongside his noble friends Jocelyn, Douda, and several others. With effortless grace and confidence, he offered a polite nod to Lucian and his companions.
"So you're all going in as well?" Nuremberg asked, noticing that Jocelyn, Douda, and the other young nobles were all fully armed, as though seeking confirmation.
Douda, encased head to toe in black full-plate armor like a steel barrel, spoke through his visor: "Yes, Lord Count. I'm only a small step away from becoming a full knight. Father hopes that this underground palace trial will help me awaken my full potential. And I believe the Plantagenet family's underground palace has a Magic Circle that can teleport us out in time. At worst we'd suffer serious injuries — there's no risk of death."
The more afraid he was, the more emphatic he became. Douda had "perfectly" revealed the anxiety lurking in his heart.
"Rest easy," Nuremberg said with a reassuring smile. "Besides the protection of the Magic Circle, His Eminence 'Crown of Glory' Midalan is also standing guard within the underground palace. Things won't spiral out of control." Nuremberg had a good relationship with Douda's father, Count Portis, so he offered comfort for the young man's hidden nerves. He did not mention, however, that an additional concealed protective force was stationed within the underground palace to prevent any accidental deaths. After all, the noble youths participating in this trial all came from families of considerable influence — the Plantagenet family feared no one, but neither did they wish to antagonize them needlessly.
Upon hearing Nuremberg's words, Lucian briefly closed his eyes to mask the sudden gravity in his gaze. Crown of Glory Midalan was still inside the underground palace? Things were about to become more complicated than he had anticipated.
Midalan was one of the Plantagenet family's two Golden Knights. Nearing three hundred years of age, he was of a significantly higher generation than Nuremberg and the others, which was why he was addressed with the honorific "His Eminence."
"With His Eminence Crown of Glory inside the palace, we're completely at ease," Douda said on behalf of his cluster of noble friends.
Though many of the young nobles who had arrived with Alten possessed the strength of full knights — and had achieved it through their own efforts — compared to the nobles of the Vorlite Principality on the front lines of the Dark Mountains and the Shahran Empire, or those from the Empire's northern provinces, they lacked practical combat experience. Even when training in the forests, they faced only common monsters and beasts — goblins, kobolds, and the like — never engaging enemies of knight-level caliber in direct combat or enduring scenes of bloody horror. They were like flowers cultivated in a sheltered garden, showcasing their brilliance solely through the excellence of their bloodlines.
Now, facing the prospect of real battle that could leave them gravely injured or crippled, it was only natural that tension gripped them.
Beside Douda, Jocelyn noticed Nuremberg's gaze shifting toward her and offered a gentle smile: "Lord Count, I am already a full knight. I intend to fight alongside my fiancé."
Her rose-colored chainmail clung to her every curve, her shapely figure on full display, drawing frequent and furtive glances from the young nobles behind Alten.