The Imperial Scepter of Glory

Lintan floated in midair, looking down at the young, lifeless body lying on the ground. He shook his head. He was a soul—more precisely, a very special soul. No one could detect his presence, not even the legendary necromancers, the grandmasters of soul magic. For over a hundred years, he had wandered through the world of Orodic, unseen and unheard. Lintan had no idea why he had become this way. In his previous life, he had been an ordinary office worker in Beijing, following a mundane nine-to-five routine. After graduating from university, he had fought his way into a decent but unremarkable job, with dreams of buying a home, getting married, and starting a family. But a sudden car accident had ripped him away from that world forever. When he woke up, he found himself in a fantasy-like world filled with mages, knights, and mythical creatures—including dragons. However, unlike typical reincarnators, he hadn't been reborn in a new body. Instead, he had become a mere wisp of a soul. He retained his consciousness and could phase through anything, even the most powerful magical barriers. He didn't need food or water, nor did he feel pain or fatigue. His soul never faded; he simply drifted through existence. At first, Lintan was thrilled. The suppressed mischief in his heart led him to do all sorts of absurd things. Of course, he couldn't actually do anything—he couldn't even move a speck of dust. However, spying on people? That was effortless. Even the revered Holy Maiden of the Church, a figure worshiped by countless believers, had unknowingly been observed by him while bathing. He had even gone as far as to measure certain feminine attributes purely out of boredom. If any man dared to attempt such a thing in reality, at least half the knights in the world would have challenged him to a duel. Yet, for Lintan, there were no consequences. No one ever realized that an invisible, voyeuristic soul was lurking around them. But soon, this existence became unbearably dull. He had no sense of smell, taste, or touch. He couldn’t savor delicious food, listen to music, or experience any physical pleasures. He couldn’t even feel desire anymore—because, as a mere soul, he lacked the necessary physical form. After drifting aimlessly for several years, Lintan wanted to end it all. He had tried to destroy himself in the midst of powerful necromantic rituals, hoping that legendary necromancers experimenting with souls could erase him. But no matter how formidable the magic was, nothing affected him. Even when an explosion obliterated the necromancer along with countless captured souls, Lintan remained completely unscathed. He fell into despair. For over a hundred years, he wandered across the world. He had seen everything—endless western oceans, boundless eastern wastelands, the icy northern Argus Highlands, the frozen seas beneath the cliffs, and the prosperous southern Golden Bay. He watched as the sun rose and set, as empires rose and fell, while he himself remained unchanged. Sorrow? That emotion had faded long ago, disappearing around his twentieth year of drifting. He had witnessed the world’s history unfold before him, learning countless hidden truths. He even knew about the former Pope’s six secret lovers. In recent decades, he had lost interest in the affairs of powerful figures. Instead, it was the trivial, everyday lives of ordinary people that stirred his long-numbed heart. He feared the day he would lose all human emotions, becoming utterly indifferent to everything. That thought terrified him. And now, he found himself staring at the lifeless body of a young man lying in a garbage heap—someone he had been observing for some time. The young man’s name was Edward Flagg, a lower-ranked noble from the Duchy of Liverpool. His father, Sir Flagg, had been a brave warrior. After retiring, he used his fief—a relatively prosperous estate—to form a mercenary company, earning his living on the battlefields against the Orc Empire on the eastern front of the Holy Cross Alliance. Sir Flagg had fought bravely but never gained great military accolades. However, the wealth he earned through bloodshed was enough to provide Edward with a comfortable life. Edward’s mother had passed away early, and Sir Flagg had desperately wanted to secure a better future for his son. Though Edward had his fair share of noble vices, he was ultimately a good child—diligent and hardworking. By the age of seventeen, he had already achieved the combat proficiency of a Level 3 knight, despite not knowing whether he possessed the talent for battle aura. If he could awaken his aura and undergo proper training, he might even secure a noble title of his own, perhaps a barony. After all, the Flagg family’s lineage qualified him as a potential heir to the Grand Duke of Liverpool—though, to be fair, nearly a quarter of the duchy’s nobles shared that qualification. Every warrior who steps onto the battlefield knows that one day, they may lose their own head just as they have taken others. Sir Flagg was no exception. He perished in the latest war against the Orcs. This conflict was one of the largest in recent years. Though the seven nations of the Holy Cross Alliance waged war against the Orc Empire annually, this campaign was an unusually large-scale operation. Even now, the war had not yet ended. With their leader gone, Sir Flagg’s mercenary company withdrew from the battlefield. Having fulfilled their contract, they returned to Flagg’s estate to collect their payment. The mercenary company’s temporary leader was one of Sir Flagg’s old friends, a man named Dukar. Originally, the company had four knights: Sir Flagg, two of his longtime comrades, and a hired wandering knight. This was an impressive force—most mercenaries weren’t even proper warriors, merely brawlers with some combat skills. Among them, two knights were at Level 3 to Level 4, making them formidable even though they were not officially knighted. Sir Flagg himself had reached Level 5, a rank worthy of a mid-level officer in a formal army. A week after the mercenaries returned to the Flagg estate, seventeen-year-old Edward was dead.