Chapter 146

Pffrrk, pffrrrk.The fine steeds specially prepared for this day shook their heads and blew out sharp snorts. These bold horses, proudly displaying their power, scraped the ground with excitement. They were the Léardynis steeds, distinguished by their pure black coats without a single stray hair.

Though the Duke of the North and his line had vanished, leaving nothing but their names in history, the northern stallions he had cherished and refined had survived to this day and still adorned the festival’s important moments.

“Your Highness, are you certain you will be all right with this?”

Dressed like a knight’s squire, the attendant approached him with uneasy eyes, offering him a cloak. Prince Merrick snatched it from his hands and draped it over his own shoulders, answering without interest.

“Of course, it is all right. It has not yet been half a year, so I remain in mourning.”

He mounted the horse that had been waiting for him, clad in a black cloak that trailed all the way to the ground. Seeing that he was ready, the group that had been gathered in one place began to fall into line. They had repeated the drills so many times that the way they took their positions now looked quite familiar.

Prince Merrick fastened his cloak with the crest pin of House Fernand and urged his horse forward through the gate.

***

“Your Majesty, Prince Merrick has passed the gate.”

Ebroin V, leaning back in his backed chair, holding a crystal rosary in one hand, slowly opened his eyes. The rosary swirled absently in his delicate white hand. He turned to the messenger with the profound gaze of someone just emerging from meditation.

“It has begun.”

He rose from his seat and gave Baron Bouilhet a glance. Upon receiving the signal, the Baron placed thetriple crownupon his head in the Cardinal’s stead and had the attendants make the final adjustments to the Emperor’s attire. Cardinal Giorante, who had been unable to hide his confusion and subdued delight at the Emperor’s unexpected visit a moment earlier, now watched the Emperor’s final preparations with an ashen, bloodless face.

The Emperor stared intently at the Cardinal’s face through the mirror. Though cast out of necessity, he had long been faithful to him like an old dog. Had he not committed such a mistake, he would have remained by his side… Losing so faithful a limb over something unforeseen was hardly agreeable, and the Emperor could not help but click his tongue under his breath.

“You may believe yourself wronged now. But in a moment, Giorante, you shall understand what graceWehave bestowed upon you.”

Once prepared, the Emperor left the Cardinal’s chamber surrounded by his guards. However, Cardinal Giorante could not immediately follow. He lacked the strength to do so. Only after the Emperor’s figure vanished entirely from sight did the strength finally leave his legs, and he collapsed where he stood.

***

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Indeed, their expectations were met. The procession of House Fernand was unusual from the start. When the majestic tones produced by six different kinds of brass instruments resounded beyond the street, the House Fernand’s standard-bearer appeared upon the paved boulevard as if following their lead.

He wore a heraldic coat whose vivid red and green clashed almost combatively, yet strangely, there was not a single ornament embroidered upon it.

A typical Prince-Elector house would parade in splendid attire colored in its own heraldic hues. But House Fernand had never once participated in a procession wearing their official heraldic garb.

The one leading this procession was not House Fernand but Prince Merrick, temporarily acting on behalf of the House Léardynis, and because of that symbolic fact, the procession had always been arranged chiefly in the imperial colors of red and green.

For the same reason, the position that ought to have been filled by a collateral branch was instead taken by a line of knights clad in splendid silver armor. They did not belong to House Fernand but were true knights formally invested in the North. They were men able, even in this era, to ride alone while wearing full plate mail, having earned the qualification only after completing traditional knightly training.

They were riding horses of the Léardynis breed, which was also a famous breed in the North. This breed, counted among the finest bloodlines of warhorses in the empire, was notably taller than others, with beautiful frames that made even their gait a striking sight.

Amid the knights, who looked as though they had stepped straight out of an old tale, a flashier sight caught the eye: performers clad in dazzling garments of contrasting colors. These were the jesters specially hired to capture the crowd’s attention, leaping and tumbling as they displayed perilous feats of acrobatics.

The jesters leapt with dangerous agility between the trained horses, then waddled along behind the knights as they performed ridiculous comic skits, and then, without warning, they suddenly dashed toward the crowd and scattered something into the air.

“Wow!!”

The people, startled by the objects hurled with no sign or warning, soon realized that what had been flung over them were coins, and they erupted into fierce cheers. What surprised them most was that, though not in large proportion, silver coins were mixed in among the rest like an unexpected stroke of luck.

Delighted by their unforeseen windfall, the crowd repaid the generosity of the House Fernand with even louder shouts and applause than before.

“Waahhh!! The House Fernand is the greatest!! Long live Prince Merrick!!!”

“Long live Prince Merrick!!!”

Under the jesters’ skilled direction, the atmosphere of the festival soared at once. The people shouted the names of the House Fernand and Prince Merrick with the fervor of those watching a triumphal march.

Even if they had indeed received splendid gifts, it was still a strange sight. Praising the ducal house for its lavish generosity was understandable, but the citizens hardly knew Prince Merrick well enough to cheer his name when he had not even appeared yet.

However, the citizens, absorbed in the spectacle before them and swept up by the psychology of the crowd, failed to realize that anything was amiss. They clapped until their palms stung, chanting again and again the names of the House Fernand and Prince Merrick.

***

“Would you please move to this floor?”

Viscount Garrett looked at the attendant assigned to guide him with a puzzled expression. Though dressed in the uniform of a court attendant, his broad frame and stern, hardened expression made him look far from an ordinary attendant.

Accustomed to this event to the point that, as a titled noble, he received an invitation every year and could find his designated seat without assistance, Viscount Garrett did not know how to react to such an unexpected request.

“This floor? That is where the untitled middle class or citizens sit, is it not?”

Annoyed by what he considered an absurdly rude request, Viscount Garrett spoke in a tone tinged with offense. His wife, escorted as his companion, peered over the attendant’s shoulder toward their assigned seat and froze in shock.

“My goodness, dear. Someone is standing in our seat!”

“What did you say?”

Hearing this, Viscount Garrett turned to see for himself. And indeed, someone was standing there. Even within their narrow social circle, where acquaintances were almost unavoidable, the man was a completely unfamiliar face.

“How is this possible? That place is clearly assigned to our house. Then why-”

“It is by imperial order, Your Excellency. Not only you, Viscount Garrett, but all other titled nobles attending today’s event have also had their seats reassigned.”

The Viscount and Viscountess, startled by the words of the imperial guard attendant, exchanged glances, trying to make sense of the situation.

What in the world is going on?

How should we know?

Completely at a loss, they were rendered speechless. But now that the phrase“imperial order”had been mentioned, there was no choice but to comply. Reluctantly, Viscount Garrett nodded with a frown on his face, and the attendants led them to the newly arranged balcony seats on the second floor.

The only consolation was that they were not the only ones being moved. Similar rearrangements were taking place throughout the cathedral.

***

The festive atmosphere gradually reached its peak.

It was around this moment that the elaborately decorated festival floats came into view. A long procession of musicians carrying six types of brass instruments and seven types of woodwinds passed by, followed by attendants marching the streets with a massive tapestry depicting the last great exploits of the Duke of the North. Then, from the far end of the avenue, the floats carrying graceful dancers clad only in thin muslin appeared.

Each float, drawn by six horses, was so spaciously decorated on top that it could easily be called a mobile stage. But that was not the only striking detail. The wooden floors were meticulously coated with luxurious red dye, and at each of the four corners stood a beautifully carved wooden pillar entwined with ivy vines.

The most captivating feature, however, was the woman positioned at each pillar. Through the translucent fabric of their garments, the graceful curves of their figures were tantalizingly visible. These women were renowned dancers from the capital’s famous opera troupe.

The dancers moved as if the pillars were their partners, performing elegant dances around them. Then, at an unexpected moment, they would take petals from baskets and scatter them high into the air.

There were not one or two of these floats, but five in total. With over twenty dancers repeating the same actions, it created a spectacle like a rain of petals falling from the sky. Young girls leaped with joy, catching the falling petals above their heads, while the boys strained to steal glimpses of the dancers’ bare skin, jostling for a place at the front.

Once all the dancers’ floats had passed, floats carrying singers appeared in succession. Belonging to the same opera troupe, the singers wore the same attire as the dancers but carried different props.

They were dressed as unrealistically charming country maidens, leaning against the pillars and singing with a lyre in one hand instead of a basket. Amidst the swirling petals, their angelic voices rang out faintly and sweetly.

The crowd, entranced by this dreamlike spectacle, paid no attention to a small group of monks silently walking between the floats, offering prayers as they went.

And finally, Prince Merrick appeared.

When a tall, striking man appeared, clad not in the family’s heraldic colors nor in any royal insignia, but in a sudden, all-black ceremonial attire, the streets erupted in ecstatic cheers. The crowd, caught in an almost incomprehensibly heightened fervor, shouted Prince Merrick’s name.

“Prince Merrick!! Prince Merrick!!!”

“Waaahhhh!!!!”

Surrounded by the roar of the people, he slowly crossed the road atop one of the finest stallions deployed for today’s procession. He wore an impressive ceremonial coat made of black brocade silk, intricately woven with gold thread, and a black velvet cloak whose edges were adorned with the mane of a black lion. Against the stark whiteness of the previous floats, his appearance left an even more striking impression.

The long procession finally came to an end. The destination, Notre Magnat Cathedral, loomed just ahead. For centuries, it had stood in the same spot, witnessing the rise and fall of the empire. A ruthless observer of fate. Prince Merrick narrowed his eyes against the sunlight streaming directly ahead and gazed at the Emperor’s cathedral.

Since de Regis, the founder of the nation, who laid the foundation for the empire throughout the world, held his coronation at Notre Magnat, every emperor and empress of the empire had worn the crown there. If fortune allowed, today, yet another emperor would don the triple crown within its hallowed halls. Unless the crown he was to wear was not soaked excessively in blood.