Chapter 24: The Return of the King
2100 Words
Metzl, the capital of Rogaland.
An air of restlessness hangs over the city.
The commander of the guards defending the city shivered and huddled in an overlooked corner tower on the city wall, awaiting the arrival of the army.
Today was the day of the coronation of the new king, Archduke Grice.
Counting the time, at this point in time, Archduke Grice's procession should have already crossed the streets to arrive at St. Wes Cathedral in the south of Mayfair City. Just a few days ago, the Pope's envoy came across the sea, and the Pope's decree spread across the land of Rogaland. The Duke of Buckingham, who was originally at odds with the new king's party, bowed his head before the will of God.
The civil war was over and a new king was about to be born.
Only after a coronation could he officially become king. In order to prevent any other changes, Archduke Grice arrived at Metzel City quickly after receiving the news of Duke Buckingham's concession.
On the day of Archduke Grice's arrival, the Duke of Buckingham held an extremely humble welcoming ceremony outside the city gates. Although the hostility between the two sides was still strong, but in the witness of the Pope's envoy, at least "peace" was made.
Partly out of urgency, partly out of wariness, Archduke Grice did his best to minimize the whole process of the coronation - unlike previous grand coronations, this one was limited to a few necessary steps, and even prohibited any parade in costume.
Throughout the entire process, the Duke of Buckingham, as if he had already died, did not make any drastic moves.
Only refused to hand over the Rose Palace.
The reason was that the Rosebud Palace was the most important palace of the king, and could only be occupied if he officially became the king.
Archduke Grice was unwilling to offend the old duke at such a critical juncture, so he had to choose to give up for the time being and work overtime to plan the coronation ceremony.
The coronation is today.
The order of martial law was spread to every gatehouse of Metzl's city walls. Apparently, Archduke Grice didn't really let his guard down. He even brought in an army from the south in case the Duke of Buckingham stormed out during the coronation.
"Damn the weather."
It was now October, and the commander was freezing as he clutched his sword and cursed under his breath. He looked out of the overlook once more, and a galloping cavalry blurred into the white mist in his vision.
Arriving!
The commander's spirits rose steeply, and he hastily extended two white-rose banners from his corner towers and struck the agreed-upon banner outward.
That army was fast, and in the twinkling of an eye, it arrived close by, with two identical white rose banners flying over the cavalry ranks. One of the cavalrymen leapt out of the ranks holding the banners and was the first to arrive under the gates, he waved the banners vigorously and struck out the agreed upon message.
The commander lowered his heart.
"Lower the drawbridge!"
He got a good look at the cavalryman from high above, and recognized it as Viscount Born from the New King's Party's camp - the army transferred by Archduke Grice was under his command.
The walls of Metzl were high and strong, with strong trenches outside them, and there were twelve gates in all directions. The gates were all opened on a sturdy stone platform in the center of two round towers, and equipped with heavy drawbridges. It would take months to breach Metzl from the outside, and it was impregnable.
Today, the only one allowed to be lowered was the drawbridge to the southwest.
The wide drawbridge was lowered and the cavalry rushed over like a whirlwind. By this time the commander was just descending from the tower, ready to come forward to meet Viscount Born and convey the Archduke's arrangements.
He had just walked down the steps when he realized that something was wrong.
Bloody!
The unmistakable odor of blood!
As soon as the city gates opened, the oncoming cavalrymen carried the smell of blood so thick that it made people tremble!
"Have you encountered an attack?"
The commander greeted him in wonder, his face changing as soon as the words came out of his mouth.
For he saw that Viscount Born, who had struck the semaphore, was frighteningly pale, and had no armor on his person-how could a general not wear armor?
Yet without waiting for him to realize anything else again, it was all over.
The incredibly fast cavalry passed the drawbridge in an instant.
The foremost warhorse directly kicked over the commander, the man on that warhorse was clad in a scarlet cloak, he held a narrow curved blade and swung it downward, a splash of warm blood instantly flew up. With a successful stab, the young knight didn't stop and sprinted into the city gates like the wind.
His red cloak rolled up and unfurled in a hunt.
The other cavalrymen followed closely behind.
The soldiers guarding the gates noticed the drastic change in events, and realized that what was coming was not a comrade but an enemy, but it was too late. The cavalry were already all through the drawbridge, and in vain the guards mounted their lances to block them.
But how could they possibly outmaneuver this army of Angell cavalry?
Yes, they recognized it.
It was not Viscount Bossi's cavalry that came, but the light cavalry of Angell. These wild cavalrymen who lived in Angell only wore simple leather armor and used a single-edged, narrow and slender knight's sword that was best suited for swinging from a horse, and would resemble a thousand curved moons as it slashed down.
They laughed loudly, carrying longbows and pouches of arrows, and swung their swords after their leader of the moment.
And the man who led this cavalry was incredibly young, his silver hair flying in the morning mist against his bloody robes.
That was the king!
Pullan the First.
The king, presumed dead, reappeared, and the moment he did, it was with a bloody cavalry that was as if it were some kind of signal.
.....................
St. Wessex Cathedral.
It was the coronation site of successive emperors, and today it is home to many of the nobles with power in their hands.
The Duke of Buckingham had given up resistance, the royalists were defeated, and the new kings looked smugly at their enemies of this time. None of them were more pleased than the Archduke of Grice.
His escorting privateers were scattered outside St. Wessex Cathedral, where his opponents were disheveled and the crown was within reach.
-Oh, not the one that had been passed down from generation to generation.
That crown of roses was probably buried in the dirt, and Archduke Grice had built a new one at his own expense.
The coronation was to take place where the nave and wings of St. Wes Cathedral crossed, and Archduke Grice had spared the entire ceremony as much as possible out of an abundance of caution, but in order to proclaim his triumph to the people, he had put a huge wooden stage where the coronation was to take place, as was tradition, so that the people in the nave would have a clear view of the birth of the new king.
The flood bells struck.
This was probably the most eccentric coronation ceremony ever held in the Rogaland Empire. The atmosphere was so cold that it didn't resemble a ceremony, but more like an invisible war.
On the VIP seats near the altar.
The portion of the crowd led by the Duke of Buckingham remained silent and did not cheer, their cloaks still adorned with the insignia of the Iron Rose. The men of the New King's party had removed their white roses and replaced them with fancy dress, but they also discreetly wore close-fitting soft armor underneath it and carried swords.
The "new king", Archduke Grice, also had a pair of exquisite chain mail under his royal robe.
If it were not for his dignity, he would have been tempted to wear a suit of plate armor to the ceremony.
The choir played brilliant hymns to the sound of solemn chanting, which masked the tit-for-tat atmosphere in the air. Archduke Grice stepped solemnly down the long aisle into the church in his gold-threaded purple robes.
One by one he trod those steps and ascended to the high platform.
The young Cardinal, the Pope's special envoy, was the presiding officer of this coronation ceremony, and he stood in front of the imperial throne in the middle of the high platform, with the Archbishop of St. Wes behind him. On the tray held in the bishop's hands, the new crown was placed right in the middle of the soft velvet.
Archduke Grice exchanged a glance with the Cardinal.
The Cardinal coughed softly as he looked to all and made his speech, "...... In the presence of the merciful Holy Lord and the Holy See, I ask all to allow Archduke Grice to claim the crown of the Rogaland Empire by virtue of his rightful position... ..."
The core of the royalist party instantly turned their attention to the Duke of Buckingham.
This was out of keeping with the conventions of coronation ceremonies!
According to the normal order, the coronation oath should be taken first, followed by the awarding of the holy oil, and finally the ordination ceremony!
But now, Archduke Grice apparently colluded with the Cardinal and brought the final ordination ceremony to the forefront. The new king's party already knew about this change, and almost as soon as the cardinal's words fell, they cheered and cried out "Agreed! Agreed!"
The Duke of Buckingham's face sank, and he gave a concise and powerful gesture.
The royalists in the gallery arose with a start, lifted their splendid cloaks, and drew their sharp swords.
Almost at the same time as the Duke of Buckingham and the others rose, the New King's Party also stopped shouting and similarly lifted their outer robes and drew the weapons hidden under their cloaks.
In an instant, a murderous aura swept through the church.
"Mr. Duke of Buckingham."
The Cardinal looked at the Duke of Buckingham with an icy face on the high platform.
"Chattering blood in front of the Holy Lord, is this your reply to the Holy Lord? This is the Holy Spirit's habitat, not your battlefield!"
"If the Holy Lord's rules are something that can be changed by a person, then the church being used as a battlefield is naturally not a big deal."
The Duke of Buckingham replied as he slowly drew his longsword.
"Either follow the rules or go to war now, that is my reply."
Archduke Grice grimaced.
According to the traditional rules, pronouncing the coronation oath, performing the holy oil ceremony, and finally conferring the ...... whole process would take at least half a morning. And he simply didn't want to delay a second more at this time.
For some reason, a kind of uneasiness enveloped Archduke Grice's heart, and this uneasiness reached its peak when both sides drew their swords.
The two sides were at a standstill for a few moments.
The Cardinal looked to the Archbishop of St. Wes, trying to hint to him to ease the atmosphere.
However, just at that moment, the sound of gold and iron clashing accompanied by dying screams came from outside the church. Archduke Grice was startled, and everyone jerked their heads towards the entrance of the church in an instant.
The sharp sound of horses' hooves.
It was as if there was a whole cavalry galloping in, the warhorses saving their hooves and stepping in, their killing intent undisguised.
This was not his army!
Archduke Grice realized this.
The nobles cried out in alarm.
A warhorse appeared at the entrance to the church's narrow nave.
Under the high archway, the man on the warhorse stood against the light, and he was shrouded in shadows, so that people could only see his wide scarlet cloak and the narrow curved blade that hung down the side of the warhorse. A drop of blood slowly descended along the graceful lines of the blade.
Ta.
The drop of blood fell onto the red carpet.
"If I remember correctly-"
The man on the warhorse looked up slowly, the light from the sanctuary falling through the stained glass onto his face.
"I, for one, am the king!"
- Writer
