The once-tense courtyard quieted, as a tall, imposing figure in purple stepped forward, commanding everyone's attention.
His calm authority cut through the chaos with just a few words.
"Stop this, General Kieran," he said, addressing the commander directly. "His Majesty awaits your presence."
Kieran, still seething, glared at the man.
The purple-clad guards, typically silent observers, had stepped in—a rare occurrence that signified the gravity of the situation.
They answered only to the emperor, and Kieran knew his actions had crossed a dangerous line. The mention of the emperor's summons pierced through his fury, forcing him to reconsider.
With reluctance, he lowered his hand, the Crimson Seal slipping beneath his tunic once more.
"This is not over yet," Kieran said, a final warning lingering in the air.
The man in purple then shifted his attention to William, whose entourage stood in silence. "Marquis William, you too are summoned to appear before His Majesty."
Relief swept through the nobles, who had feared the worst.
The Imperial Lotus Guard's intervention had defused the looming conflict, ensuring the emperor himself would resolve the matter.
As tension began to ease, the commander's gaze swept the crowd, stopping on a striking figure standing among the onlookers.
His golden hair caught the moonlight, and an air of aloof detachment radiated from him—Spark.
The tall man's demeanor changed immediately as he approached Spark, his armor gleaming in the flickering light.
The crowd, sensing something significant, instinctively stepped back.
To everyone's shock, the Imperial Lotus Guard commander knelt one knee before Spark, bowing deeply. "I greet Your Holy Scion."
The gathered nobles gasped in disbelief, their eyes wide with surprise.
"Why is the imperial commander kneeling?" an onlooker whispered.
"Don't they strictly serve only the emperor?"
The whispers continued in the garden.
As faction directly under the emperor, the imperial lotus army, showed indifference to everyone, even the dukes and marquises. But in front of their eyes, the commander was kneeling before the young lord of the Dwight family.
Spark barely acknowledged the man's formal greeting, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Hmm, hmm. Rise. No need for such formality here."
The commander stood, though he still kept his head lowered out of respect.
"When did Holy Scion arrive?" he asked, clearly in awe.
"Before the farce started," Spark replied nonchalantly, his eyes wandering over the courtyard with disinterest.
The commander hesitated for a moment, then asked the question everyone had been thinking. "Why didn't you intervene, Holy Scion?"
Spark's lips curved into a faint smile. "Oh, did you forget? I'm an exile. I'm not allowed to meddle in noble affairs."
His words, though casual, carried the weight of truth. As an exile, Spark was bound by restrictions that limited his involvement in the empire's political matters. Despite his prestigious title, he couldn't interfere, even if the situation warranted it.
The commander bowed his head in understanding. "Of course, Holy Scion. We cannot ask more of you."
With that, the tension dissipated. Spark glanced around one last time. "Well, the show's over. Let's head back." He gestured to Yuna and Zhao Shi, who silently followed his lead as they left the wreckage behind.
Marquis William, now fully healed by the white-robed ascendants, watched Spark's retreating figure with a thoughtful expression. His mind wandered to a conversation he'd had with his father, Duke Red, not long ago.
"So the rumors were true," he muttered under his breath.
Months ago, Duke Red had spoken of a secret ceremony held in the imperial palace, where a prestigious title was bestowed.
"The Holy Scion," Duke Red had said, his voice filled with awe. "A title reserved for the strongest in the empire. The one who ended the Great War last year."
The empire had faced destruction a year ago. Five neighboring empires had formed a coalition and launched a devastating surprise attack on the empire's borders.
Panic had gripped the imperial capital as word of the invading armies spread.
But a single man had stopped the coalition forces at the border. His methods were unknown, shrouded in mystery, but his deeds were undeniable.
The coalition had retreated, defeated.
In recognition of his extraordinary actions, the emperor had granted this man the empire's highest honor: **Holy Scion**.