Chapter 82: Crimson Fire (Involves Key Subsequent Plot)

Starfire Hall.

On twelve pitch-black, motionless obsidian prisms, torches blazed fiercely.

Seeing Tamerlan kneeling before him, Xia Mingyu froze in surprise.

The grandson of the Sun Pope wants to be my squire? Sounds even more absurd than some carpenter emperor.

“Tamerlan, comrades are somewhat similar to squires,” Xia Mingyu explained patiently, fearing Tamerlan might misunderstand.

“But aren’t comrades more equal?” Tamerlan smiled faintly.

“With your status, the line of people wanting to serve you stretches longer than the body of Ymirgath, the Serpent of the Ringed World—let me join it.”

“Besides, my intuition has long told me you will be the dawn of this dark world, bringing light to all.”

Tamerlan declared loudly, his handsome, refined face filled with longing and anticipation, as if he expected the radiant new world to appear in the next second.

Ah. Since you’ve praised me so much, what can I possibly say?

Xia Mingyu said nothing more, silently draping his outer robe over Tamerlan’s shoulders.

After all, he was eager to see what kind of heavenly gift Tamerlan—summoned alongside Hegers by the Starfire from across the entire world—would awaken.

Something like Purifying World Light or Oath of Victory Sword—anything would do.

“Who says we have no armor? I share mine with you.”

Xia Mingyu began chanting with practiced ease.

But unlike the previous two investitures, after he finished reciting “Qin Feng: Wu Yi,” the robe did not dissolve into countless light particles and merge into Tamerlan’s body.

Clearly, the investiture had failed.

“Could it be that the same style of robe cannot be invested twice?”

Xia Mingyu pondered for a moment, then manifested another robe and draped it over Tamerlan’s shoulders, repeating the ritual.

Still failed.

“Tamerlan, what is your current rank?” Xia Mingyu asked.

He suspected the rank gap might be too large, preventing him from investing a comrade.

“Your Highness, I am currently Fifth Rank, Crescent Moon.” Tamerlan replied respectfully.

Fifth Rank?! Xia Mingyu’s heart jolted.

When Callen achieved Morning Star Rank in his twenties, his name, the Howling Wolf, already echoed across the Southern Region.

Yet Tamerlan looked barely in his early twenties—and had already reached Fifth Rank!

Know that on the path of transcendence, each rank increase multiplies the difficulty of the next by several times.

So perhaps investiture fails if the rank gap exceeds three levels?

As Xia Mingyu remained lost in thought, Tamerlan, gazing at the emerald noble blessing atop his head, quietly formed a hypothesis.

“Your Highness, have you already invested two comrades?”

Xia Mingyu gave a slight nod.

“Your Highness, noble blessings of the transcendent rank can only invest two squires; only after each subsequent rank advancement do you gain two new squire slots,” Tamerlan explained.

“So that’s why—I thought it was the rank gap causing the failure,” Xia Mingyu realized.

“Impossible. With your talent and the blessings of 1.4 billion subjects, you should already be Sixth Rank, Full Moon,” Tamerlan said, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

“Not just that. Given the power you displayed when you blessed me across boundless distances, I believe you’ve already reached Eighth Rank, Eternal Day—the highest human rank,” Hegers countered.

After much discussion, they reached a consensus—the Prince was Seventh Rank, yet his power rivaled that of the strongest human, Eighth Rank.

Xia Mingyu: “...”

Should I really tell them I’m just a Second Rank true magician?

Black Wolf Keep.

With the arrival of young Hayden’s Honor Ceremony, at the urging of his grandmother, Rosa Marsha, Lord of the Southern Region, all the regional lords arrived in lavish carriages.

Due to poor transportation and long distances, they typically arrived the day before the ceremony to avoid missing it.

So early that morning, the gates of Black Wolf Keep opened wide, and Callen and his wife waited at the entrance, gazing expectantly at the distant blue horizon.

These weren’t guests—they were stepping stones forging their son’s glorious future!

Tap-tap-tap.

A luxurious carriage halted at the gate.

The first to arrive was the Lord of Nightshade Fief—Viscount Victor Nightshade—adjacent to Black Wolf Fief.

He was a tall, thin man with pale skin and a gloomy face.

“Respected Viscount Nightshade, my friendly neighbor, Black Wolf Keep welcomes you. Thank you for attending my young son’s...”

As the viscount stepped down from the carriage, Callen bowed slightly in greeting.

But before he finished speaking, Victor shoved him aside.

“Hmph.” Victor glared at him coldly, then walked into Black Wolf Keep without another word.

Callen: “...”

“This guy really has no noble manners at all!”

Callen frowned, a flicker of displeasure flashing in his emerald eyes.

Had it not been for Victor’s presence to bless his infant son, he would already have been ready to unleash the Howling Wolf’s fury upon him.

“Calm down, dear. His Nightshade Fief has been losing subjects constantly—most of them fled to Black Wolf Fief and now pay us taxes. His resentment is understandable.”

Danielle gently caressed Callen’s face and kissed him, speaking softly.

More lords from across the Southern Region were coming; she didn’t want her husband to greet them with negative emotions.

“You’re right,” Callen’s frown gradually eased.

Put himself in Victor’s shoes—if his own subjects kept being drained by the neighboring fief, he wouldn’t just shove him—he’d kill him!

“Heh, can’t blame him. That guy taxes even his subjects’ breathing—calls it ‘air is his property, not to be breathed for free.’”

Callen smirked, his rugged face twisting with mockery.

In the simple, virtuous Southern Region, spurred by Lord Marsha’s call—and thanks to her late husband, the famed Moonlight Knight, Crimson Fire, who led the Southern lords’ army to victory in the Dragon-Lion War, beheading the rebel leader Duke Mason but suffering irrecoverable wounds—

As the knight lay dying, the Glutton King arrived with the great nobles to pay respects and granted him the right to make any single wish.

What an honor! What a dream every noble craved!

He could have wished for the Marsha family to be elevated to a marquisate, or for his child to become the King’s godson.

He could have demanded endless gold, jewels, and eternal glory—but Crimson Fire did none of these.

Before the eyes of all the great nobles, stunned and bewildered, Crimson Fire made his absurd, unimaginable wish—to abolish grain taxes in the Southern Region.

That was all.

The Glutton King asked three times if he wished to change it—but Crimson Fire never altered his wish until his final breath.

Thanks to Crimson Fire’s sacrifice, the Glutton King exempted the Southern Region from royal grain taxes for fifteen years.

All Southern lords benefited, so naturally, they reciprocated by honoring the Lord of the Southern Region—or rather, Crimson Fire’s widow—by reducing taxes on their own subjects.

After all, even the lowest tax rate here was far better than what lords elsewhere paid to the kingdom.

Thus, the Southern Region became one of the very few true havens in the entire Sosia Kingdom, even across the entire continent.

Except for Nightshade Fief—Victor was the only one who taxed even breathing, single-handedly turning his subjects’ lives into living hells, leaving corpses littering the fields.

This made him an outcast among Southern nobles, subtly shunned by the others.

“Heh, yeah. If he keeps taxing like that, one day all his subjects will starve to death—he’ll become Sosia’s first lord with no subjects at all.”

Danielle echoed her husband’s mockery.

They exchanged glances, both wearing knowing smiles.

“Still, after all these years, I didn’t expect Victor to have advanced to Grand Knight.”

Recalling the power he’d felt when Victor shoved him, Callen frowned in confusion.

“He’s a Grand Knight?! I thought Victor barely became transcendent in his twenties,” Danielle exclaimed.

In this world, a noble with a blessing who only achieved transcendent rank in his twenties had virtually no chance of becoming a Grand Knight.

“That’s right. When we fought together in the Dragon-Lion War, he always hid in the middle of the formation, never dared to step forward—would just drop to the ground pretending to be dead or flee in panic. We mocked him constantly, me and Lu’en.”

Callen shrugged.

Tap-tap-tap.

Another luxurious carriage arrived before Black Wolf Keep.

“It’s Lord Warren Locke of Locke Fief—one of my old comrades from the Dragon-Lion War. Come, let’s go greet him...”

Inside Black Wolf Keep.

Victor wandered aimlessly through the castle courtyard, his expression so gloomy that servants avoided him entirely, taking wide detours to avoid angering the guest with the emerald noble blessing above his head.

“Damn Marsha. Damn Hughes!” Victor cursed inwardly.

He had no desire to bless the infant son of this neighbor who drained his fief like a bloodsucking leech.

But Lord Marsha had issued him a final ultimatum: attend his grandson’s Honor Ceremony and offer a blessing—or pay back all the grain taxes he’d evaded over the years, converted into coin, and hand them over to the Marsha family!

After all, that was her husband’s glory—and Victor had robbed his subjects of the right to bask in it.

Reluctantly, Victor had come to Black Wolf Keep—but it filled him with the humiliation of being threatened.

“Damn it... Once I accumulate enough Pain Power, I’ll ascend to Archpriest. Then, whether it’s Marsha or Hughes, I’ll make you both beg for death!”

Victor silently swore to himself.

As he walked, he unknowingly reached the castle’s training ground.

Clang-clang-clang!

A rapid cascade of metallic clashing sounds drew Victor’s attention—he turned toward the noise.

In the morning sunlight streaming over the training ground, a youth held a longsword, fighting desperately against two knights, one against two.

The youth appeared no more than seventeen or eighteen, slender yet upright as a pine; strands of sweat-drenched brown hair hung over his forehead, and his eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, never left his opponents.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

His longsword whirled like a hurricane—fierce, yet precise as an eagle snatching a rabbit—deflecting both knights’ attacks simultaneously.

“Those are Caron’s two squire-knights, Solin and Lei Mi?”

Watching this, Victor’s expression turned to astonishment.

The youth looked at most seventeen—and yet held his own against two Exalted Knights!

This was truly heavenly talent! He would almost certainly reach the Morning Star rank, and even the New Moon rank was within reach.

Thinking this, Victor felt a surge of admiration.

“Caron’s squire slots are full. This youth cannot be his squire. Since his identity badge isn’t noble or squire, he must be a man without a master.”

Driven by a desire to retaliate—Caron had drawn away so many of his subjects, so he’d take one of Caron’s talents—Victor slowly approached the three combatants.

“Respected Viscount of Nightshade, I, Solin Brook, squire to Viscount Hughes, salute you.”

“Respected Viscount of Nightshade, I, Lei Mi—”

Noticing Victor’s approach, the two Exalted Knights broke off their fight and bowed slightly in greeting.

Though the Viscount of Nightshade had a terrible reputation in the Southern Marches, that was their lord’s concern; as squires, they must treat their lord’s guests with proper courtesy.

“Hmm, rise. This one is—”

Victor regarded the youth before him with admiration.

For some reason, the boy trembled all over upon hearing his title.

Hmph. Of course—I, Victor, Lord of Nightshade, participant in the Dragon-Lion War, still carry some name in the Southern Marches.

A flicker of pride rose in Victor, and with it, greater confidence in his plan to recruit the youth.

“Ah, this is Bo Ge Chu, a guest staying at Black Wolf Keep.”

After exchanging glances, Solin and Lei Mi gave their answer.

Since the Prince’s identity remained strictly confidential, they could not reveal that Bo Ge Chu was a squire to a great personage.

“Boy, your swordplay is excellent, your gaze sharp. Interested in sparring with me?”

Victor smiled faintly at the bowed youth and issued his challenge.

He would never rashly demand the boy become his squire—that would lack assurance.

In this world, strength alone conquers hearts—and as a Grand Knight, he possessed precisely that strength.

(End of Chapter)