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Salvador sat quietly in the royal study for a long time before turning to lan.
“Let’s pretend we never looked into this. Keep your mouth shut.”
Jeremiah had planned to retire before Sigmund’s passing, but the previous king’s sudden death caught everyone off guard. Thinking that Salvador, as a new king, might struggle to stabilize the court, Jeremiah stayed on and continued to assist vigorously in state affairs.
Among all the ministers, if there was one person Salvador trusted most, it was Jeremiah. Along with Trevor, they were the only two individuals he felt comfortable relying on.
Salvador recalled the recent discussions with Jeremiah about Victory Pass, where the latter had always seemed hesitant to speak freely. There had been signs all along.
Jeremiah and Dominic had been key figures since the reign of Augustus, and they were old veterans who served as both civil officials and military officers. Salvador remembered something Jeremiah had once said-without the generals guarding the borders, there would be no peace or prosperity within the country.
Though their relationship seemed distant on the surface, and they hadn’t seen each other for a long time, both men respected each other.
On the evening of February 13th, Felix and the others brought Dominic back into the city.
For the past few days, the citizens had been gathering at the city gates, aware that Dominic had been summoned back to the capital. They had waited, and now, the day had finally arrived.
The sun set, casting a blood-red hue across the sky. The tall, battle-worn general sat atop his sleek black steed, flanked by the officers of the Crown Guard. His back remained straight, his skin the color of dark bronze, as if covered with a layer of varnish. Despite the snow, rain, and wind, his face showed no sign of cracking, as though his skin were made of iron, impervious to the harshest elements.
When he saw the throngs of people waiting for him at the city gates, shouting his name, his usually stern face showed a momentary shock.
Dominic had expected nothing but the anger and curses of the people upon his return. After all, his lax military discipline had led to tensions between the two kingdoms. Plus, the massacre of the village was a brutal act. The people, he thought, could never forgive him for such a thing.
After the initial shock, his eyes burned with a fierce heat. It was still cold in early February, but here they were, standing in the biting wind, raising their arms to encourage and support him.
Edwin was also in the crowd, dressed in simple green attire, his black cloak pulled up to obscure his face. When the press of people stopped their horses from moving forward, he squeezed through the crowd until he reached Kevin’s horse.
“Mr. Ziegler, the old madam is ill. Please come back with me to see her.”
Kevin recognized him. He hesitated for only a moment, then turned to Galen, who was by his side.
‘Galen, my family’s steward has come to fetch me. He said my grandmother is very sick. It seems like it’ll take a while for the crowd to disperse and allow us to move, so I’ll head back to my family’s estate first.”
Galen glanced at the person standing next to Kevin’s horse. He was wearing plain green attire and a black cloak, with the collar concealing his face. Judging by his posture, Galen assumed he was likely the steward of the Marquis of Elderglen’s household.
‘Then, go quickly,” Galen said.
Kevin dismounted and grabbed Edwin’s hand. “Let’s go!”
They hunched their shoulders as they made their way through the throngs of people, the roar of the crowd deafening in their ears. One by one, the shouts began, chaotic at first, but then starting to form into a unified chant.
*General Sullivan, we support you!”
Kevin was forced to cover his ears. The sound was so loud he feared his eardrums would burst. As they moved, the crowd only seemed to grow thicker.
Edwin gripped his wrist, pulling him toward a narrow alleyway. They made their way deeper into it, gradually leaving the chaos behind. At the end of the alley stood a young elm tree, just beginning to bud. They stopped beneath its branches, speaking in the quiet.
“Uncle Edwin,” Kevin said, bowing his head respectfully.
Edwin’s expression was serious. “Let’s cut to the chase, Kevin. You know why I’ve come for you. If you’re willing to come with me, it means there’s room for negotiation, doesn’t it?”
Kevin fell silent for a moment, then slowly nodded.
A weight lifted from Edwin’s chest. A nod was enough.
*Tell me what you want. I’ll make it happen.”
Kevin’s gaze was steady, his voice firm as he said, “I want to be a direct apprentice of Sage Violet, just like Commander Prince, Deputy Commander Brown, and Commander Lewis.
“What?” Edwin blinked, caught off guard by the request, momentarily stunned.
Kevin’s cloak fluttered in the wind. “I must become the highest-ranking martial artist in the Crown Guard. Only by earning it through my strength will I be able to keep it without fear of losing it easily.”
Rafael and Sophie were sitting in a private room on the second floor of a tavern not far from the city gates. The room offered the best view in the place. With the windows pushed open, they could see the entire area around the gates.
Since their schedule had always been fixed, Rafael had reserved this room in advance so Sophie would be able to see Dominic from there.
Sophie’s gaze never left his face, her eyes hungry as if she couldn’t get enough of him. She wanted nothing more than to rush down, throw herself into her grandfather’s arms, and cry like she used to when she was little.
She would pour out all the grievances she had been holding inside, and her grandfather would gently pat her head, promising that anyone who dared hurt his little granddaughter would have to answer to him.
But now, all Sophie could do was stand on the second floor, watching as Dominic’s horse was surrounded by the masses, listening to the deafening roars of support. Tears welled up in her eyes.
Her grandfather had aged. Really, truly aged.
In the past, even though his hair was graying at the temples, his spirit had been sharp and his will unwavering. When he returned to the capital, he could spar with her dad without even breaking a sweat.
Now, Dominic’s hair was fully white, with hardly a trace of black left. The long journey had taken its toll, and while his commanding presence was still strong, the weariness was clear. He had also become much thinner. His once dark and full cheeks now looked hollow, the skin still the same color but the flesh underneath sagging.
That was the mark of old age. Her grandfather had truly grown old.
Dominic trudged forward through the crowd, moving slowly. At times, he raised his hand to thank people. Other times, he glanced anxiously at the Crown Guard, worried that they might accidentally hurt someone in the crowd as they drove people away.
It took nearly an hour before the procession finally reached the area below the tavern.
Originally, the Garrison Unit and the Capital Guard were supposed to help clear the way, but the crowd was simply too thick. What started as a few people pushing through had turned into an unbreakable wall of bodies. At first, there had been some space to move, but now, the people had formed a human barricade, surrounding Dominic for protection.
There had been some who tried to confront the Crown Guard, but they were immediately shouted down by others who insisted that causing trouble with the Crown Guard would only bring trouble to Dominic.
Gradually, the crowd began chanting their belief that the king would treat the old general fairly, as someone who had guarded the borders for so many years.
Eventually, the chants morphed into a steady roar, with everyone shouting “His Majesty is wise!” and “His Majesty is virtuous!”
The transformation had been so natural, it seemed effortless. An hour was long enough for those hidden among the crowd to turn the tide, shifting from initial anger and support to overwhelming praise for the king.
Among them was a man dressed as an ordinary civilian, whose voice was the loudest. He led the others, and it wasn’t just his loud voice that mattered. The disguise had been carefully crafted-thanks to the skills of Claire and the others.
No one recognized them as members of Hell Monarch Estate.
In addition, Travis was originally from the martial world and had a rough, unrefined air about him. Even though he now served as a guard leader in Hell Monarch Estate, his roots still clung to him. With so many people around, it was impossible to identify anyone with certainty, even if someone tried to scrutinize the faces below.
The repeated chants of ‘His Majesty is wise’ seemed like a tribute to Salvador.