Although Joen was the Hero, nominally he was still just a teenage boy.
Facing such an event, he was not calm deep down.
The sound of hooves rose suddenly.
Turning onto the main road, the wave of sound hit them like a tsunami.
When the returning Hero’s Party stepped onto the Triumphal Avenue leading to the Imperial palace, the entire street was covered in crimson carpets, and the buildings on both sides were draped with ribbons and flowers.
Every window and balcony was packed with onlookers.
Colorful petals fell from the sky like a fragrant spring snow.
Liya reached out her chubby little hand, plucking petals from time to time to stuff into her armor, decorating that small space.
Sunlight broke through the clouds, spilling unreservedly onto Joen.
The Star Vibranium reflected a soft dawn light, making his entire being radiate majesty and holiness.
“The Hero! The Hero is finally here!”
“Long live the hero!”
“So tall! That armor is so cool!”
Pure young maidens, who had been waiting on both sides of the road, sprinkled holy water, sweeping the path ahead with God’s blessing.
Occasionally, they looked up at the Hero, their eyes filled with adoration and longing.
The crowd was noisy, with heads popping out of windows, all watching the returning Hero.
Some felt longing, some envy, and some felt inferior — at this moment, he was the center of the world, the embodiment of courage and glory.
For any man, this was enough to be called the most brilliant moment of his life.
The procession reached Hero’s Square, and the music suddenly changed, becoming solemn and dignified.
The deep horns seemed to echo the spirits in the underworld.
Joen dismounted, and in the silence, he personally lit the eternal flame to sacrifice to the fallen soldiers.
Then, twelve beautiful noble girls from prestigious families walked up the steps barefoot, carrying golden trays.
They presented the ritual vessels for the ancestors one by one.
The flames rose into the air as if dispersing the haze above the square and guiding the heroic souls home.
Finally, the ritual object symbolizing the memorial was handed to Joen, who used it to honor the souls of the fallen soldiers.
The entire process was extremely tedious, yet Joen remained uncharacteristically serious and meticulous throughout.
He bowed his head in silent tribute, feeling more regret for the lives of these departed soldiers than anyone else present.
Under the gaze of the masses, the atmosphere of the sacrifice was grand, heavy, and sacred.
With Joen’s genuine mourning as an example, the noise gradually subsided, and the crowd mourned along with him.
After the sacrifice, the party finally reached their last stop — the Imperial palace.
In front of the magnificent inner city gates, Emperor Nagel Arenix personally placed the laurel crown symbolizing the rank of Duke on Joen as he performed a knight’s salute.
“May the Empire be proud of you, child.”
The Emperor’s voice was deep and majestic, mixed with a hint of an elder’s affection.
Next, a long list of rewards was read out like flowing water — gold, manors, magic jewelry, rare treasures…
Every item was enough to make an ordinary person sigh in envy for nine lifetimes.
Joen stood up.
At that moment, a massive surge of emotion enveloped him.
It was generally uplifting, but the end of the feeling had a slight turn toward confusion.
‘Is it pride? It seems to be more than that.’
‘Is it a sense of achievement? It feels like something is missing.’
Joen looked around, scanning the prosperous scenes of singing and dancing, the faces overflowing with happiness.
For a moment, he was truly dazed.
It was as if the world was perfect, as if all suffering had ended with the death of the Demon Lord.
He subconsciously reached for his chest, seeking Lily’s soft and warm body through the thick metal, as if out of habit.
However, in the next instant, the faces of the disaster victims, ragged and struggling to survive in the mud, suddenly pierced through this dream and appeared clearly before his eyes.
“Your Majesty…”
Joen lowered his voice and spoke with some urgency as the Emperor helped him up.
“About the disaster in the Thousand Rivers Domain, I would like to request —”
The smile on the Emperor’s face did not change at all.
He merely applied a bit of pressure to the hand on Joen’s shoulder and patted it lightly.
His lips moved slightly as he whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear:
“Talk after it’s over.”
Then, the Emperor turned and waved to the cheering crowd, leaving Joen with only a towering but indifferent back.
—
The busy ceremonies, which lasted a full day, finally ended.
Night fell, and the palace banquet hall was brightly lit, resembling a flowing sea of light.
Thousands of magic crystal lamps illuminated the hall as bright as day, and melodious string music echoed under the dome carved with the *Birth of the Goddess*.
The air was filled with the sweet, cloying scent of expensive incense, aged wine, and a hint of powder.
Dancing skirts were like flower petals.
Joen was like a clumsy boy who had stumbled into a flower bed; his every move was cautious, for fear of stepping on the delicate stamens of the “flowers.”
By now, he had changed out of his armor and into noble formal wear he wasn’t used to.
The stiff collar made him feel a bit suffocated, and the narrow sleeves were also extremely uncomfortable.
The banquet was like a painting, but he was like an out-of-place stain, forcing himself to move through the crowds of fragrant clothes and moving shadows.
“Oh my~”
A noble lady in a low-cut dress “accidentally” bumped into his arms, and a few drops of wine spilled onto his chest.
The lady looked up shyly, her eyes lingering with a strange passion.
“How careless of me, I’ve stained your clothes… I’m sorry, Brave One,” she said softly.
“It’s quite improper to continue attending the ball like this. Why don’t… I take you to change? My brother happens to have a spare set of formal wear.”
However, Joen’s reaction was far beyond her expectations.
He shook his head and took a half-step back, not caring at all about the wine stain on his chest.
He said politely, “It’s fine. There’s no need to change. I have urgent business.”
With that, he hurried past her and soon disappeared into the crowd like a river flowing into the sea.
The noble lady stood there stomping her feet, hating her own incompetence and complaining about this man’s lack of romantic sense.
Not far away, Margaret held a wine glass and watched this scene with cold eyes.
“Hmph, what a blockhead.”
Standing beside her was a handsome man with a pale face and a thin frame.
He wore dark green velvet formal wear, with puffy bags under his eyes.
He looked physically weak, but his eyes held a gloomy glint.
He was Margaret’s second brother, the Second Prince of the Empire — Gibran Arenix.
He was also the Empire’s Finance Minister.
“He’s the Hero? Your future fiancé?”
Gibran glanced at Joen’s departing back, his tone filled with annoyance and impatience.
“He looks restless. I’m worried to death. What exactly do you want me to help you with?”
“Shh —”
Margaret quickly covered his mouth and reminded him in a low voice, “Brother, keep it down! Do you want everyone to know my plan?”
Gibran rubbed his brow, becoming even more irritated.
As the person in charge of the Empire’s “purse,” seeing the scale of this banquet only made him feel like his money was constantly bleeding out.
“What kind of brilliant plan could that brain of yours come up with? Tell me, is it putting laxatives in his wine, or sprinkling itching powder in his underwear? Or maybe kicking him when he’s not looking?”
He mocked his sister mercilessly, making Margaret’s face flush red with anger.
However, his tone also carried a hint of indulgence for his sister’s willfulness.
“Fine, out with it. I’ll help you settle this quickly. I still have to go back and calculate this year’s accounts. The Mid-Winter Privy Council meeting is coming up soon, and I don’t have time to mess around with you.”
“Fine… all right…”
Margaret leaned into Gibran’s ear with trepidation.
She whispered the plan that the handmaiden Anana had repeatedly revised and detailed: her handmaiden would swap places with the princess, and the blood on the sheets would be used to control the Hero.
Gibran stared at Margaret with a complex expression, hesitant and incredulous.
“You woman whose stupidity is written all over her face… are you sure you want to go this big on the first try?”