Chapter 90: Chapter 90 – The Night of Many Threads (2)

The moment that voice echoed through the ballroom, everything came to a halt.

Luca and Aurelia turned toward its source—and what Luca saw made his spine instinctively straighten.

A man stood there, towering like a mountain. Broad as a bear, with a mane of red hair streaked with white and a thick beard to match. His very presence radiated power, age-weathered yet unyielding. He looked to be in his mid-forties, but Luca knew better.

The Iron Duke.

The same man who had defended the Empire’s borders for sixty years.

Despite the immense pressure weighing on him, Luca gave a deep, respectful bow. “I am Luca Valentine, Your Grace—the Iron Duke.”

But the pressure didn’t ease. If anything, it increased, like a vice tightening around his shoulders.

Luca kept his composure, raising his head and squaring his back. Beside the Iron Duke stood two more men—one in his thirties, with slicked-back blonde hair and a face carved from steel. Aurelia’s father, Luca guessed.

And then, there was the third. Younger, unfamiliar. Dark-haired, eyes already narrowed.

Before Luca could speak again, the third man stepped forward and growled, “Hmph. Let’s go. You don’t need to pull stunts like this just to irk us.” He reached out, hand moving toward Aurelia.

But in a flash—

Smack.

Luca’s hand intercepted his. The slap echoed sharply, silencing the ballroom.

“Don’t be rude, Mr.,” Luca said, voice low, calm, and firm.

Gasps rippled across the hall. The music had long since stopped—now, so had the murmurs.

Everyone was watching.

Aurelia stood still, blinking, her gaze fixed on Luca’s back now shielding her from the man.

“Don’t interfere in family matters,” the man snapped, voice laced with fury.

But Luca didn’t flinch. His crimson eyes gleamed with defiance.

If I back down now, he thought, people like him will walk over me forever.

His gaze flicked to the Iron Duke and Aurelia’s father—neither of whom had moved a muscle. Then who is this man to interfere?

Luca’s voice came out cold, sharpened with steel. “Miss Aurelia is my date tonight. Her matters… are my matters.”

A stunned silence fell once more.

Murmurs returned, now buzzing like sparks before a wildfire.

But just as the man raised his voice, spitting a furious: “You—!”

Hoooornnnnn.

A resonant sound rang out through the hall, cutting him off.

A moment later, a clear voice announced, “Her Grace, the Saintess of the Holy Kingdom, is entering.”

The man had no choice but to shut up now. The weight of reverence that came with the Saintess’s presence had silenced even the most impudent. Still, Luca’s eyes flicked toward him with caution.

He won’t let it go that easily. That thought was lodged in the back of his mind.

The atmosphere was holy, as though a divine light itself had descended with the Saintess. Lady Aria stood tall, her ceremonial white cloak trailing behind her like silver mist. A golden cross glimmered gently against her chest, swaying over her heart with each step she took. Her hair was a shimmering platinum, and a faint, almost imperceptible glow surrounded her. She didn’t just walk—she glided, as if the floor itself bent to her sanctity. Her expression was serene, unreadable, yet carried an undeniable authority.

Gasps and whispers filled the air, but they were silenced once again by the herald’s voice:

“Elder Thrain of the Dwarven Clans is entering!”

The doors thudded open again, and a thick, muscular dwarf stomped inside. His beard was so long it had been braided into loops and tucked under his thick belt, longer than he was tall. A permanent scowl rested on his face, his arms crossed, and he wore leather armor even at a formal event.

Elder Thrain let out a disgruntled grunt and muttered, “Bah, these tallfolk and their ceremonies…” but took his seat nonetheless with weight that shook the platform.

Luca stared, his heart skipping a beat. Elder Thrain—the legend among blacksmiths. The greatest smith in the End Realms. And more than that… He’s the direct descendant of the ancient Hero who sealed the Devil 7,000 years ago.

The announcements continued, making his pulse race.

“Her Majesty, the Elven Queen of the Verdant Forest, enters.”

The ballroom seemed to hold its breath as an ethereal woman glided in. She was tall, willowy, her skin kissed with silver-gold hues under the crystal lights. Her eyes were a radiant green, as if the heart of the forest had been carved into irises. Every step she took left a soft fragrance of ancient woods and blooming moonflowers.

Then, her gaze flicked toward Luca.

Their eyes met.

She smiled.

It wasn’t just a polite smile. It was gentle… knowing… curious.

Luca’s brow twitched. Did she just… smile at me?

“Seems like the King of Valdros won’t be coming tonight,” Aurelia’s father muttered beside him, his voice low.

“Hmph,” the Iron Duke snorted, crossing his arms. “That pesky businessman… I know what’s going on in his mind.”

Before any more whispers could follow, a sudden, thundering voice echoed throughout the hall.

“EVERYONE, KNEEL.”

Every noble, every knight, every attendant—no matter how proud—immediately fell to their knees. The room became a sea of bowed heads. No one dared raise their eyes. Even Elder Thrain, with a reluctant grunt, bent the knee.

“The Sun of the Astravian Empire… the Descendant of the Dragonair Clan… the Conqueror, the Defender… the Grace of the Empire…

Her Majesty—

The Empress!”

The great doors opened with divine finality.

A breath of power rolled through the ballroom like wind under thunderclouds. Regal boots stepped forward on crimson carpet. A voice, rich, smooth, and effortlessly commanding, followed:

“Everyone, rise.”

Luca obeyed, lifting his gaze.

And then he froze.

His breath hitched.

Sitting atop the imperial throne… was her.

The Empress.

Her skin was pale as the moon yet kissed with a faint, healthy glow, like porcelain warmed by firelight. Her eyes—amber with crimson flecks—glowed with a draconic majesty, as though the blood of ancient beasts simmered behind her gaze, watching and judging all beneath her. Her light-gold hair cascaded in shimmering waves down her back, tied behind a crown forged of red and gold metal shaped like two curved dragon wings that arched proudly above her head.

But what truly stole the breath of every soul in the ballroom was not just her ethereal beauty—but the presence she exuded. Upon her form was no delicate gown, no fragile silk. She was clad in golden armor sculpted to perfection: engraved breastplate molded to her figure with elegance and power, layered pauldrons shaped like dragon claws clutching her shoulders. A crimson cloak of phoenix feathers draped regally from her back, clasped with a dragon-eye brooch at her collarbone. Beneath the armor, black fitted pants hugged her legs like a second skin, tucked into high black boots plated with golden scales, each step echoing with authority and grace. Her very attire whispered one truth:

She was not just royalty—she was a warrior sovereign. One who had walked through blood and flame to claim her throne.

Luca stared, barely remembering to breathe. His eyes locked onto the living legend before him—the Sun of the Empire, the defender of Astravia, the dragon-blooded Empress.

No wonder the game only ever gave a single glimpse of her—one scene, one moment. And yet within 24 hours, she’d topped every beauty poll in the community and remained unchallenged ever since.

But this… this was far beyond any CG render. No illustration, no memory fragment, no datalog could do her justice.

She was majesty incarnate. She was danger cloaked in elegance.

She was power—undeniable, divine, absolute.

She’s not just the strongest person in the End Realms… she’s the most beautiful, most terrifying being in it.

The Empress stepped forward, her gaze sweeping across the silent hall like a blade drawn in moonlight. Then, her voice rang out—clear, resonant, and absolute.

“Thank you all for gracing this ball in honor of the fallen—those brave souls who stood against the encroaching darkness.”

A solemn stillness fell. The atmosphere shifted—heavy, reverent. No one dared to speak. Even the musicians froze mid-movement.

“But know this.” Her voice deepened with steel, ringing with the authority of a monarch and the fire of a warrior. “Their deaths shall not be in vain. The Empire stands unshaken—shoulder to shoulder with the families of the fallen. We do not kneel. We do not cower. Let the shadows come.”

She raised one gauntleted hand high, and a golden aura erupted from her like a tidal wave of divine pressure.

“For every life they take, we shall forge a hundred more weapons. For every inch they advance, we will reclaim a mile in fire and blood. The Empire fears nothing—because we are the light that burns even darkness to ash.”

A rush of awe swept through the hall. Her aura surged like a tempest, thick with mana and pure will, and every soul in the ballroom felt its weight.

Luca staggered. I felt like I was suffocating.

The sheer magnitude of her presence—her power—pressed down on his lungs and tightened his chest. And yet…

His blood surged.

He trembled—not in fear, but exhilaration. His heart pounded wildly, like a war drum, and for a second, his vision wavered.

Why does it feel like my blood is boiling?

Then—a pulse.

Deep within his coat, something stirred.

Luca’s eyes widened. Wait… did the egg just… react?

That couldn’t be right.

But even as he told himself that, he felt it again—another faint thrum from the mysterious egg, as though something inside had responded to the Empress’s aura.

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