He's in Love with the Devil.

Chapter 25: Defending the Throne

The bitter north wind howled into St. Wessex Cathedral.

With the strong smell of blood in the wind, combined with the screams and the king's archery sword, the new king's party realized what had happened to the private soldiers belonging to Archduke Grice outside.

The king was not dead!

He had suddenly come back at this fateful time!

The great nobles of the new king's party came to their senses and cursed the Duke of Buckingham in their hearts.

No wonder this old man was willing to back down but refused to hand over the Rosebud Palace, and just now forcefully demanded that Archduke Grice follow the rules. Duke Buckingham that was stalling for the king.

Damn it! The Duke of Buckingham must have gotten in touch with the King long ago, and he was waiting to join forces with the King to put on today's show! Holy Lord! This cunning old man deserves to go to hell!

Da, da, da.

The warhorse stepped down the aisle into the nave of St. Wessex Cathedral.

The entire plan of the St. Wessex Cathedral was like a flat cross, and at this time, the red carpet was spread out along the long central axis of the nave, and the inner hall where the congregation was located had a gallery consisting of two levels of arcades. The white marble columns stretch straight upward, and the reliefs at the ends of the columns depict the story of the Song of the Saints.

The king passed by the pillars, which stood on either side.

The church was built with a ribbed arch, the tops of each of the four neighboring columns forming perpendicular architraves, with long curved beams gracefully projecting at diagonal angles, which from a distance appear to be the ribs of some sacred creature. The sunlight will fall from the sky through the painted willow windows at the top, and it is like the divine radiance of the Holy Spirit showering all over the earth with colorful rays.

Those rays fell on the King's body.

As the horse marched on, one could see the splendor of the light and shadows falling on his horse, his cloak, his silver hair.

The nobles of the new king's party in front of the long and narrow seats in the nave had a dilemma, they did not come to the coronation ceremony unprepared for battle, but wielding a sword with the king and wielding a sword with the Duke of Buckingham were two different concepts!

What's more, the smell of blood in the air suggested that--

Their resolve was irrelevant, the King had already wielded the butcher's knife to punish the traitors.

Of course, it was the soldiers who appeared at the church door after the king that kept the new party at bay.

The new king's party had a huge doubt in their mind - why would the soldiers of Angers, who had always been at odds with the royal family, follow the king to fight?

Now, those damned barbarians had gotten off their horses, and one by one, they had their arrows on their bowstrings. At such a close distance, in such a narrow space, if anyone dared to make a move, they would be shot into a hedgehog.

The crowd could only watch as the king approached.

When the horse passed in front of them, the nobles standing at the front could clearly see blood dripping down from the king's cloak.

The devil was right.

If he was the king, he would definitely use blood as his robe.

"I'm glad."

The king sat on top of his warhorse, tugging on the reins with one hand and holding the blood-stained arc sword with the other. Below the king's brow bone, his icy blue eyes narrowed slightly as he looked directly at Archduke Grice, who was cloaked in purple robes on the high platform with a stunned face.

At this moment, under the comparison of the two, people were shocked to realize that in front of the king, the Grand Duke Gryce who was clad in the king's robes only looked like a comical clown.

The young king was even more intimidating.

There was something in the king that was very familiar to the older nobles.

The shadow of William III, who had marched through the world and fought in battle, had landed on his son through a decade of light. For a moment, the figure of William III overlapped with that of the boy king who had brought blood into the church clothed in holy light. The mad blood of the ancient Rosebud family gave forth its terrible roar at this moment.

"You all have prepared such a grand welcome for me."

The king's gaze was still fixed on Archduke Grice, but he also turned his head slightly sideways, his lip line rising, and gave the new king's party a heart-stoppingly morose smile that made their hearts tremble.

"Perhaps I should return the favor, your loyalty?"

Return loyalty? How?

By having the archers at the church door fire a volley into their heads?

There were weak-willed people in the New King's party who could not carry on any longer, and their bodies slipped limply, almost fainting.

More people with pale faces put their last hope on the Archduke Grice on the high platform.

The center hall was narrow and long, but only narrow and long, and the warhorses quickly reached the high platform.

"Mr. Bishop! Mr. Bishop!"

Archduke Grice looked fearfully at the Cardinal who was the Pope's envoy. He was completely unable to comprehend what was going on and why his reinforcements had not arrived while the king had surrounded St. Wessex Cathedral with a terrifying army of Angles. But one thing was quite clear.

According to the custom of the Rosebud family, challengers who spied on the throne must be executed by the king himself!

This is the bloody, ancient, custom of the Rosebud family.

The Rosebud family, which had ruled the Rogaland Empire for so many years, possessed many conventions with the colors of the Legendary Era, and one of them was the view on the throne, which could be called one of the craziest royal families in all the countries.

Enemies who provoked the dignity of the king himself could only be executed by the king himself! And by this act, amidst the bloodshed of death, the king made known to all--

He will defend his throne to the death.

The Grand Duke of Glace's grandfather, John of Samode, had contested the throne against the Mad King, Henry, and had been defeated and decapitated by the Mad King. John of Samode's son, the Duke of Bedell, the father of the Archduke of Glace, was forced to retreat to the south of the empire, only to return to the center of power when he married the widowed Dowager Queen Isabel, the mother of William III.

The fate of the royal family is like an ancient cycle.

What had happened to Grand Duke Grice's grandfather would happen to Grand Duke Grice today.

"Something that is empty of the name of the Rose without the blood of the Rose."

The Duke of Buckingham was very close to the high platform, and he clearly saw the scene of Archduke Grice praying for the Cardinal's help. He had always despised his half-brother, and today that contempt was especially high in pride.

He was proud of his nephew.

The Cardinal looked equally dead at the returning king, and many ideas raced through his mind.

Useless Archduke Grice, hadn't he sworn to vouch for the fact that Pullan I was dead? Bastard!

If it was according to the Cardinal's own wishes, he would have preferred that Archduke Grice had survived so that this rebellion in Rogaland could continue unabated. But he couldn't show this thought too strongly, otherwise it would be detrimental to the majesty of the Holy Court, and meddling in Rogaland's throne succession was already enough to cause a strong alert from the royal families of various countries!

The black-clothed cultivator behind him coughed slightly.

The Cardinal understood that he was reminding himself that he couldn't let the Pope be caught by others.

"The Holy Lord is merciful, and God bless the son of a saint."

The Cardinal, who was the Pope's envoy, tried to make himself smile with joy and slowly stepped back to make room.

These words directly cut off Archduke Grice's last ray of hope as he looked incredulously at the Pope's envoy who stepped back and drew a clear line with him.

"Who is willing to give our Mr. Archduke Grice a sword?"

The king had already stepped onto the steps of the high platform as he smiled and asked the crowd.

His boots stepped on the red carpet step by step, his footsteps sounding like the hypnotic drumbeat of death. His scarlet cloak hung down to the ground, and people had the illusion that the red carpet, like the cloak, was dyed from blood.

No one of the new king's party dared to respond.

They all lowered their heads and avoided Archduke Grice's gaze, and a tense atmosphere of terror filled this sacred church.

"Not a soul?" The king said regretfully, "My poor Uncle Grice, your men look like nothing more than a bunch of gutless cowards ...... then ......"

He raised his voice in a steep tone.

"My dear uncle, will you condescend to lend this poor rhapsodist your sword?"

Equally uncle, the king's tone distinctly showed his delight and disgust.

"If it be your command, sire."

The Duke of Buckingham said softly, understanding what his nephew meant. Today was the time for the king to cut down the rebels and pacify the civil unrest to establish his authority, and he wanted everyone to clearly see that his enemies were untouchable in front of him. The Duke of Buckingham threw his longsword towards the high platform.

"Take it."

Archduke Grice was startled and took a violent step backward.

The Duke of Buckingham obviously wouldn't properly lend his sword to Archduke Grice, and the sword was thrown over like a harsh bolt of lightning breaking through the air.

The longsword nailed into the sacred high platform, straight down to the hilt.

"Draw it up, sir."

The king no longer bothered to address his nominal uncle. He stepped onto the last step, the cold wind causing his cloak to unfurl hungrily.

Archduke Grice felt as if he were a teenager again, as he was thrown from the ship by the Duke of Buckingham and watched the Duke draw his sword in mid-air - they were true uncles and nephews, no less! The resemblance was so strong that one could hate them to the bone!

Archduke Grice realized that this was his last chance.

Either die or be king!

He calmed down and let out a cold smile as he leaned down and gripped the hilt of the sword, and with a force, the longsword was drawn out by him.

By all rights, there should be a magistrate who presided over the duel. However, without waiting for the king to name someone to act as the referee, Archduke Grice had already roared in anger and swept his sword towards the king. In terms of martial arts, he wasn't that bad, and his sudden sneak attack at this moment had some powerful momentum.

Below the platform, the nobles who witnessed this scene, even the new king's party, couldn't help but boo.

Grand Duke Grice's move of attacking first was undoubtedly against the spirit of dueling, and was very different from the chivalrous demeanor he usually displayed. However, Archduke Grice was actually this kind of guy at heart - how much boldness and poise can you expect from a man who relied on assassination and defection to the Holy See to obtain the throne?

Clang--

Under the tense gaze of the royalists, Archduke Grice's sword clashed with the king's curved blade.

Sparks erupted from the place where the swords collided, indicating that both sides of this strike were running straight for their lives.

The sound of the swords rubbing together brought up an electric current that slid over the top of every noble's head, and their breathing became rapid. Duel, blood ...... This was originally something that flowed in the bones of the knights.

To know that knights were originally born for war!

At this moment, even the people who originally resented the king were stirred up by the savagery in the marrow of their bones by this immortal duel, and they hissed, shouting and cheering for this duel with the most honorable status of the participants that they had ever seen in their lives.

"Kill! Kill! Finish him!"

People yelled haphazardly, unable to tell who they were actually cheering for.

The sound was like wild waves.

"One thing ......"

Arcane knives and longswords were held in a stalemate, the King and Archduke Grice were close enough to hear each other's gasps. The king spoke in a voice that only both parties could hear.

"...... Actually, I didn't intend for anyone to be the referee."

He finished with a light and cold laugh.

Archduke Grice, who had originally wanted to make a surprise attack to gain the upper hand, only felt as if a poisonous snake had slid across his spine.

What did he mean? What didn't intend to let anyone referee?

However Archduke Grice no longer had time to think about those words.

The stalemate of the swords was only for a split second, and the two sides parted while that cold and morose laughter was still fresh in his ears.

The young king's curved blade danced like a curved moon. He was the one who was still able to swing his sword in the face of the heavy cavalry of Gulundi, and at this moment, this high platform had just become his stage. The main character of this grand performance was destined to be him alone, he didn't come to duel, he came to crush his enemy!

Gulundi's heavy cavalry leader had once experienced the king's death scythe-like sword, only to feel that the sword is like twisted with poisonous spider silk.

The last man to learn of the King's sword had been buried in the mire, and this one would be no different.

The nobles had expected to see an evenly matched duel, but it had turned into a lopsided m******e.

Archduke Grice was struggling to hold on under the king's continuous web-like blade light.

The man in armor was Archduke Grice, but he didn't dare to launch a counterattack. Because the king was simply a madman, the madman-like king was not wearing bulky armor, and his entire body was full of breaks, so the king did not take his vitals seriously at all. The king just kept swinging his sword, and as long as there was a s***h that wasn't blocked, Archduke Glaister's throat would be neatly sliced open by him.

Archduke Glaist clearly felt the icy coldness on that knife.

That icy cold taught him to shiver.

How could a man be an enemy to an outlaw-like madman?

Archduke Grice stepped back.

The king's scarlet cloak tumbled, and the master of the stage was alone since the beginning. He wielded his sword in a whirlwind dance, and the Archduke of Glace was not worthy to be called his opponent at all. The Archduke was just a puppet under his sword, helplessly following the king in this life-threatening performance.

The hue and cry died down.

The nobles vaguely sensed a little something that made them shudder, and they read the significance of the king's conducting this duel.

--It was deterrence! He wasn't just going to kill Archduke Grice, he was arrogantly putting his knife in front of their eyes and saying, let's see if his knife is sharp, does anyone want to come and be the second one to go under the knife?

In the silence, someone suddenly began to applaud.

It was the Duke of Buckingham.

He looked at his nephew and felt that the burden that had been weighing on his shoulders for so many years had finally been lifted. So he applauded the king with relief and pride.

The royalist nobles wearing the Iron Rose were awakened by the Duke of Buckingham's applause. Although they followed the Duke of Buckingham to guard the throne out of loyalty, they could not help but feel joyful for their great gamble at this moment!

The king had returned!

They had won!

They cried out, and once more the wild waves rolled over the sacred St. Wessex Cathedral.

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

Amidst the shouts of the royalist nobles, Archduke Grice was finally weighed down by the heavy armor on his body, he had already supported himself long enough, and at this moment, his hand was so sore and numb that he slowed down the speed of swinging his longsword for a moment.

The king must be the sharpest hunter in the world.

He seized this fleeting opportunity.

The curved blade swept through a thin and graceful cold light in mid-air.

The battle was over.

A patch of blood splattered high into the air, and all sound came to a screeching halt.

The Duke of Buckingham's sword fell to the ground with a clang, and the Archduke of Glace fell to his knees, reaching up in a vain attempt to cover his throat.

But the life flew out of him and the cold descended upon him. His eyes were open, and he fell back on the red carpet, a step away from the magnificent chair of sceptre.

Blood from his throat soaked the cushions of the throne.

At the sight of Archduke Grice's collapse, the Cardinal sighed mentally.

But before he could finish this sigh, the arcing sword suddenly turned towards him.

Coldly seeing the light of the blade sweeping in front of him, the cold aura on the blade's surface close at hand, the Cardinal was so frightened that he took a huge step backward violently, narrowly avoiding directly crashing into the black-clothed monk who was following him.

Even more fearful than him was the Archbishop of St. Wessex, for that blade was actually coming towards him.

The Archbishop let out a cry of shock as his mind went blank.

The sound of metal clashing.

The Archbishop of St. Wes only felt a lightness in his hand, and the new crown that had been placed on the velvet tray was picked up in mid-air by the king's swinging sword.

The brand new gorgeous crown whirled in mid-air, and the king vibrated his arm, and the curved sword chopped out in response.

The cold moon swept out in mid-air, and the descending golden crown was split in half by the king's sword.

The new crown that was split in half fell to the ground, clanging and colliding, tumbling from the high ceremonial altar and falling to the cold and hard marble ground below. With a crisp metallic sound, the two halves of the crown bounced high up and eventually fell back down.

The eyes of the great nobles moved along with the two halves of the crown.

Eventually, they lay motionless on the ground.

Deadly silence.

The king stood straight on a high platform, behind him was the throne that symbolized supreme power. He slowly pushed his sword into its sheath and looked down on everyone from above.

The new king's party felt as if they too had been split in half by a sword, their faces were colorless, and their hands shaking slightly as they held their weapons.

"What?"

The king's voice was so clear in the silence.

"Gentlemen, have you forgotten your due cheer?"