Robert straightened his back with pride. "I am willing to submit to any test, from anyone!"
Damn it, Yal had already made it perfectly clear—my gift came from true, unadulterated Yalan divine power. Only, it was not bestowed by that so-called goddess herself, but fused into me by my Yal! So then, aside from Yalan herself, who in this world could possibly expose a falsehood that was, in truth, no lie at all?
Would that wretched goddess descend from the heavens to unmask me? Of course not—she had not revealed herself to mortals for centuries…
Michel nodded, beckoning Robert forward. With the manner of a priest examining a patient's throat, he commanded Robert to open his mouth, inspecting his tonsils and vocal cords. Then Michel intoned several strange syllables: "Se-ro-pang-lu-sa… Robert, repeat what I have spoken!"
Robert's curiosity was piqued. Could repeating mere syllables truly reveal one's divine gift? Though confused, he obeyed without hesitation.
Unbeknownst to him, the entirety of Yalan's divine essence resided in sound. Thus, a chosen of Yalan—especially one capable of cultivating the Celestial Voice—must naturally possess an extraordinary command over sound itself. If Robert had not resorted to deception, then the very structure of his throat and vocal cords would betray it, granting him the ability to utter syllables most mortals could scarcely pronounce.
This was precisely what Michel sought to confirm.
Hearing Robert repeat the incantation flawlessly, Michel's lips curved in satisfaction. He withdrew a silver needle, as fine as a strand of down, and pierced the skin beneath Robert's jaw.
Michel thought silently: A true child of Yalan, once his blood touches silver, should reveal a deep violet hue. Robert, if in five minutes the needle changes color, your divinity will be proven beyond doubt. If not… hmph.
While awaiting the result, Michel turned to Luo Xiong, inquiring about his encounter earlier that day in the southeast. The more he listened, the deeper his brow furrowed.
"That thunderbolt possessed will of its own? Then it must have been controlled by hidden hands—or perhaps it was the work of some aberrant beast, a mutated scion of the thunder gods…"
After a moment's contemplation, Michel's gaze fell upon the wound at Luo Xiong's shoulder. "Lord Luo, you have endured much. The failure of this campaign rests not upon you, but upon my misjudgment of the thunderbolt's power, and the reckless orders I issued beyond Moonwatch's strength. You are blameless—indeed, you deserve commendation. Yet…"
Again, his eyes flicked to the injured shoulder. "Yet this matter must be thoroughly investigated. Tomorrow I shall dispatch the Tribunal's champions to the Xingluo Mountains, reinforced by fifty thousand troops drawn from six neighboring cities. When the time comes, Lord Luo, I must entrust you—an experienced commander—to guide our champions and lend them the strength of your formations."
Robert's heart sank. Cold-blooded old fossil! Father is already wounded, and still he sends him into peril? Orders are orders, but must they trample all humanity?
Moreover, if his father marched to war, who would help him obtain the crystal diamond from Dean Donald, who would aid him in reviving Yal? He cursed Michel in silence, though he dared not defy his father's command openly.
At that moment Luo Xiong, without hesitation, spoke solemnly: "My lord, I have faced that thunderbolt in battle. I am willing to guide the Tribunal's champions and serve our goddess with all my strength."
Robert sighed inwardly—then suddenly, beneath his jaw, where the silver needle lay, a fierce itch welled up. He groaned involuntarily, but the sound that spilled from his lips was no groan at all. It was crystalline, like the notes of a harp, resonating through the chamber.
Michel leapt to his feet, eyes locked upon Robert. In the next instant, he sat down again, composed, a faint smile upon his lips. "Robert, remove the needle. You have passed the trial. From this day forth, the Yalan Tribunal recognizes you as the truest of her chosen."
Robert, unaware of the needle's intended effect, assumed the music was the expected result. Yet when he withdrew it, he saw the thread-thin silver had turned a vivid violet.
Michel dismissed the others with a wave. "Leave me. I have documents to attend."
When the chamber emptied, he stared at the violet needle—his expression shifting from awe to ecstasy, from disbelief to exhilaration. He whispered, "Donald, you incompetent fool—how did you fail to perceive this? Robert is no mere talent—he is something far greater!"
For Michel knew: the needle should only have changed color to prove Yalan's blessing. But the harp-like resonance—that meant something far more astonishing.
Among the divine, two paths alone existed: inheritance, or blessing. The lesser blessings merely altered a mortal's gift, leaving the rest to cultivation. But legends spoke of another—an exalted benediction, where the gods not only reshaped a mortal's talent but infused them with their own power, so that divine might dwelled within them from birth.
Such prodigies, with but a whisper of guidance, became unparalleled masters. This rarest of blessings was known as Innate Grace.
The violet needle confirmed Robert's blessing. The music confirmed Innate Grace. His body already stored a fragment of divinity—though Robert himself was oblivious, needing only a guide to awaken it.
Yet Michel could never know the truth: that this power came not from Yalan's hand, but from Yal, who had left within Robert a portion of divine energy yet unrefined.
"The Innate Grace of Yalan's Celestial Voice! To think that I, Michel, in my lifetime, would personally unveil a figure of legend!"
He burst into triumphant laughter. From his robes he drew a sky-blue journal and a silver-black quill, and began to write in bold strokes:
"On the fifteenth day of the tenth month, in the year 1985 of the Lamasian Era, Robert braved thunder and ruin to shield the goddess's statue. Though his strength faltered, his devotion shone, and at last he moved the goddess herself, receiving her favor—the Innate Grace of Yalan's Celestial Voice."
Pausing, he continued:
"In the name of Michel, I submit to the Tribunal: though Robert's true heart remains to be tested, his words and bearing are measured, his conduct steady, his reverence for Yalan profound. I recommend he be marked as a subject of utmost scrutiny, to confirm whether his piety is genuine or but a mask."
Here he hesitated, furrowing his brow. Then, with a finger unstained by ink, he traced a line of secret script beneath the entry:
"I am willing to undertake Robert's evaluation myself. Should he prove worthy, I shall consider whether to draw him into that plan—whose name I dare not yet commit to paper."