One month later, Westminster Abbey.
The Gothic cathedral that had witnessed the coronations, weddings, and funerals of countless English monarchs was today adorned with a solemnity and splendor unseen in generations. Sunlight streamed through the towering stained-glass windows, casting colored and mottled shadows across the scarlet-carpeted nave, and the air was filled with the unique scent of ancient stone, melting candles, and drifting incense.
Here, the coronation ceremony of Victoria, the new monarch of the British Empire, was about to take place.
Both inside and outside the Abbey, the crowds had already filled every space.
Inside stood the heart of imperial authority. Ministers, members of Parliament, Supreme Court judges, and envoys from royal families across Europe—each dressed in their most luxurious attire—waited with grave expressions for the arrival of the new sovereign.
Outside the cathedral, hundreds of thousands of London citizens blocked the streets leading to the Abbey, waving small flags and craning their necks in the hope of catching a glimpse of their young Queen.
Arthur, known throughout the country as the Godfather of the New Industries and, more importantly, as the Queen's "friend," occupied a place of great honor. He sat in the first row beside Prince Albert and several other high-ranking foreign royals.
He could clearly sense Prince Albert beside him casting complicated glances—tinged with jealousy and unwillingness. After the ball and the "Rescue of the Queen," Albert had undeniably fallen behind Arthur in their quiet rivalry. Yet he had not given up; with his lineage and patience, he believed that in the end he would achieve the final victory.
Arthur ignored him, his blue eyes fixed on the heavy cathedral doors that were about to open.
He understood that today's coronation ceremony was far more than a routine event.
This was the first time Victoria, as Queen, would formally confront the entire ruling class of the Empire since ascending the throne. It was also the best opportunity for those skeptical, conservative, or ill-intentioned veterans of power to challenge her.
They dared not oppose her accession openly, but they would certainly use parts of the ceremony to test her, trouble her, or even humiliate her—attempting to crush her spirit from the very beginning and remind her that this country was not hers to command like a child.
Especially the old-school aristocrats of the Tory Party, long resentful of the Whigs and of Prime Minister Melbourne, who had supported Victoria's rise.
And indeed, as soon as the melodious organ music began, the ceremony officially commenced.
Victoria, dressed in a magnificent coronation robe, entered the cathedral slowly, surrounded by the Archbishop of Canterbury and a procession of court officials.
She wore a delicate diamond tiara, and her white silk robe was embroidered with golden threads depicting roses, thistles, and shamrocks—symbols of England, Scotland, and Ireland. Her expression was solemn, tinged with the girlish nervousness she had not yet fully shed, as she walked step by step toward the ancient St. Edward's Chair at the center of the cathedral.
Everyone inside rose to greet her.
But just as she was about to ascend the steps to the throne, an abrupt, discordant voice echoed through the hall.
"Wait, Your Majesty."
It was the Duke of Wellington.
The "Iron Duke," victor over Napoleon at Waterloo, leader of the Tory Party, and the most prestigious representative of the British army and the old aristocracy, rose from his seat. Leaning on a ceremonial cane inlaid with gold, he stepped before Victoria.
His expression appeared respectful, yet his eyes carried unmistakable scrutiny and pressure.
"Duke, what are your instructions?" Victoria paused, looking at him calmly.
"'Instructions' is too strong a word." The Duke's voice, like hers, was steeled with iron. "But before you formally wear St. Edward's Crown and become the monarch to whom we pledge allegiance, there are some small questions that not only I, but many nobles and members of Parliament present, would like you to answer."
There it is.
Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly. The challenge had begun.
Even Lord Melbourne frowned deeply. He began to step forward, but the Duke halted him with a single sharp glance.
"Your Majesty," Wellington continued, ignoring the Prime Minister, "we all know that you acted decisively in the recent case of Sir Conroy. However, you also placed your own mother, the Duchess of Kent, under house arrest. Forgive my bluntness, but how are we to believe that a monarch who can so mercilessly imprison her own mother will treat her subjects with benevolence?"
A vicious question—indeed!
It struck directly at Victoria's "human morality," seeking to brand her as "unfilial." In a Christian society that valued familial ethics, such a label was devastating.
The atmosphere in the Abbey instantly tightened. All eyes turned to the young Queen, waiting to see how she would handle the public challenge from this illustrious elder statesman.
Victoria's face paled slightly. Her hand tightened instinctively around the sceptre. The question had struck her deepest vulnerability.
But just as panic flickered in her chest, she suddenly remembered what Arthur had told her the night before.
"My dear Victoria, tomorrow someone will definitely try to make things difficult for you. They will attack from angles you cannot predict. Remember—do not argue details with them; that is their trap. You need only remember one thing: You are the Queen. You need not explain. You only need to declare."
With that memory, her heart steadied miraculously.
She raised her head, met the Duke of Wellington's challenging gaze, and her eyes became identical to his—filled with unquestionable, commanding majesty.
"Duke," she said, her voice calmer and stronger than ever before, "I respect your glorious military achievements for the Empire. But I must also remind you to whom you are speaking."
"I am the sole and lawful monarch of this nation, and I am about to be crowned by the will of God."
"I placed my mother under house arrest not because I am her daughter, but because—as Queen of this Empire—I was presiding over the judgment of a conspirator involved in preparatory treason. Before the laws and security of the Empire, no familial bond may take precedence."
"As for clemency," Victoria's lips curled into a cold, regal smile, "my clemency will be granted to those subjects loyal to me and to the Empire. But for those traitors who dare challenge royal authority or threaten the Empire's security, they will meet only the Queen's wrath and the severest judgment."
"Are you satisfied with my answer, Duke?"
Her words thundered through the Abbey.
She did not fall into their moral trap of "filial piety," but instead elevated the issue to the supreme level of royal authority and law—counterattacking perfectly, not as a girl defending herself, but as a sovereign addressing her subject.
The cathedral fell silent.
Everyone was stunned by the overwhelming, inviolable aura that erupted from the young Queen.
Even the Duke of Wellington was shaken. He stared at the girl before him—now utterly transformed, as though she had grown into her crown in a single heartbeat. He opened his mouth, but no words came. All his careful preparations crumbled before her sovereign bearing—an authority that needed no logic, only presence.
After a long moment, he slowly bowed his proud head.
"Your Majesty… is wise."
Victoria gave him no further attention. She turned, lifted her chin, and under the gaze of all assembled, walked step by step up to St. Edward's Chair—the symbol of supreme power—and slowly sat.
At that moment, a shaft of sunlight pierced the stained glass overhead, forming a radiant column of light that enveloped her completely.
She looked like a mythical queen—reborn, unyielding, and forged of iron will.
Arthur watched and smiled in quiet satisfaction.
He knew that from this moment on, no one would ever dare underestimate his girl again.
At that same instant, the long-dormant system prompt in his mind awakened.
[Ding! Critical historical milestone reached: "Witness the Coronation of Queen Victoria."]
[Final Reward: You have gained the ability to remove one hereditary disease from a person's genetic makeup—without the recipient ever knowing.]
[Congratulations, host. The Queen Victoria you assisted has been cured of the hemophilia-carrying gene.]
[Notice: Now that the host has reached this historical moment, the system will no longer issue free rewards and will enter silent mode. However, the system shop will remain available. Good luck, dear host. I wish you a long and happy life.]