The day of the royal ceremony transforms Kryndal. The usual grime of the streets seems to have been swept away by a wind of prestige. Purple and gold banners hang from every window. The Royal Guard, in their gleaming parade armor, form honor guards along the main avenues. It is a world of pomp and power, a world as foreign to me as the surface of the sun.
I am not wearing my leather armor. For the occasion, I have spent a few silver coins on a clean, dark tunic and polished boots. I am a Bronze-ranked adventurer, a second-tier guest, but a guest nonetheless. My dagger is concealed beneath my tunic, a cold, reassuring presence. A predator can change its coat, but not its nature.
The ceremony takes place in the grand honor courtyard of the castle, the same courtyard where I used to carry buckets of water just a few weeks ago. Today, it is crowded with nobles, dignitaries, and knights. I stay back, near a pillar, a shadow amidst the splendor.
Then, the trumpets sound. A respectful silence falls.
King Alistair makes his entrance.
He is not as I imagined. Not a bearded old man or an imposing warrior. He is a middle-aged man, with salt-and-pepper hair cut short and a calm, almost ordinary face. He wears no crown, just a simple gold circlet on his forehead. But his aura... it is a force of nature. An invisible pressure that settles over the courtyard, demanding respect without a single word.
Analyze.
Name: Alistair of Kryndal
Level: ??
Status: Calm
Skills:
[Royal Aura (Passive)]: Commands respect and obedience. Can cause fear in enemies of weak will.
[Sovereign's Gaze (Active)]: ??
[Blade of Judgment (Active)]: ??
Weaknesses: ??
Essence: ??
The system itself seems unable to probe him. Like with the Guardian, his power is of a completely different order. I understand instantly that this man is not just a ruler. He is a pinnacle, the apex of this kingdom's food chain.
The ceremony begins. The names of the aspirants are called. I see Elian step forward, his face solemn and determined. He kneels before the King. The sunlight makes his blond hair shine. He is the very image of the ideal knight, pure and devoted.
The King places a long ceremonial sword on Elian's shoulder. "In the name of the Crown and the Light, I make you a Holy Knight of the Kingdom of Kryndal. Rise, Sir Elian, and serve with honor."
The crowd applauds. I watch my friend rise, a new man, his dream fulfilled. A strange feeling washes over me: an immense pride for him, mixed with the acute awareness of the chasm that now separates us. A chasm of light and shadow.
After the ceremony, a reception is held in the grand halls of the castle. It is a whirlwind of music, conversation, and forced laughter. I feel like a wolf in a sheepfold. I find a quiet corner and simply observe.
It is there that Elian and Roxis find me.
"Reinhardt! There you are!" Elian, in his brand-new Holy Knight armor, is beaming with happiness. Roxis, at his side, is beautiful in her ceremonial gown.
"Congratulations, Sir Elian," I say with a sincere smile.
"Just Elian is fine," he says with a laugh. "Between us, nothing has changed."
But everything has changed. And the proof is not long in coming.
A cold presence cuts our conversation short. A tall man, with a hard face and eyes as gray as steel, has approached us. He is dressed in black and silver, the colors of House Burix. His aura is powerful, oppressive.
Analyze.
Name: Tybalt Burix
Level: 52
Status: Enraged (Contained)
This is Caelan's father. The head of the family.
"Sir Elian, Lady Heart," he says in a glacial voice, almost ignoring them to fix his gaze on me. "I am surprised at the company you keep."
"Lord Burix," Roxis replies, her tone instantly becoming formal. "Reinhardt is an adventurer of the Guild and our guest."
"An adventurer?" Tybalt scoffs, the sound devoid of all warmth. "I have heard other names for him. A sewer rat. A thief. A murderer."
The accusation is direct, thrown down like a gauntlet in the middle of the party. The nearest nobles fall silent, straining to hear.
"Those are serious accusations, Lord Burix," Elian intervenes, stepping slightly in front of me. "And without proof, they are nothing but slander."
Tybalt's gaze hardens. "My son is broken. His friends, three sons of good families, disappeared on the night this... thing had an altercation with them. And shortly after, he becomes an unlikely hero. It reeks of sorcery and murder."
The tension is palpable. I feel anger rising within me, the hunger awakening in response to the aggression. But I contain it. To lose my temper here would be to sign my own death warrant.
I take a step forward, out from behind Elian. "Accusations require proof, Lord Burix. If you have any, present it to the guard. Otherwise, your words are just the wind of a grieving father looking for an easy culprit."
My calmness surprises him. He expected me to beg or tremble. He did not expect defiance.
His face turns purple. "Insolent boy! Do you know who you are speaking to? I could have you crushed like the insect you are!"
"That is enough."
The word was not shouted. It was spoken in a calm, almost conversational voice. But it has the power of a thunderclap.
Everyone freezes. King Alistair has approached, without anyone having seen him come. He holds a cup of wine, his expression perfectly neutral.
Tybalt Burix bows deeply, his arrogance instantly evaporating. "Your Majesty. Forgive this scene. This man has gravely offended my family."
The King does not look at Tybalt. His eyes land on me. His gaze is not accusatory, nor benevolent. It is simply... penetrating. It is as if my Analyze skill has been turned back on me. He sees everything. The hunger, the shadow, the power I am hiding.
"A sewer rat who silences a lord of the realm," the King says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "A Bronze-ranked adventurer who returns with the axe of a warlord my own knights struggled to locate. A boy who seems to be at the center of many interesting stories lately." He takes a step toward me. "An interesting rat, indeed. What is your name, adventurer?"
My heart hammers in my chest. I am under the gaze of the alpha predator. "Reinhardt, Your Majesty."
"Reinhardt," he repeats, as if testing the weight of the name on his tongue. He then turns to Tybalt. "Lord Burix, your grievances are heard. But this hall is not a courtroom. If you have proof, follow procedure. Otherwise, be silent. Your personal vendetta must not spoil the celebration of these new knights."
The order is final. Tybalt bows again, his face tight with contained fury. "Yes, Your Majesty." He gives me one last look that is a promise of death, then he walks away.
The King looks at me one last time. "Reinhardt. We will follow your career with great interest."
Then, he turns and melts back into the crowd, as if he had never been there. The incident is over, but the war has been declared.
Elian and Roxis look at me, worry etched on their faces.
"You've made a powerful enemy," Elian murmurs.
"I've also caught the King's attention," I reply, my voice low. "I don't know which is worse."
I have been forced out of the shadows, not by choice, but by circumstance. I am now a piece on the chessboard, visible to all players. And on this chessboard, rats do not survive for long.
Unless they learn to devour kings.