With a motion as graceful as moonlight on still water, the blonde-haired maid reached out toward the colossal twin doors of the imperial audience hall. Her hand hovered just inches from the surface.
The ancient runes etched into the polished silverwood shimmered, pulsating once… twice… and then the doors opened on their own, parting like a living organism responding to its master.
Lucien took a cautious step forward, his boots echoing against the marble floor as he entered the throne hall of the Valderian Empire.
The sight that greeted him was nothing short of majestic.
A sea of crimson velvet carpet stretched across the expansive chamber, its plush fibers softly catching the light of the candelabras that lined the walls, guiding the eye to the throne platform far ahead. The carpet's deep, rich hue seemed to pulse with a life of its own, as if the very fabric of the room was alive and vibrant. Upon that elevated dais stood an ornate throne of white-gold alloy, its surface etched with precise filigree, entwined with darkwood that seemed to absorb the light around it – intricately carved into curling vines and roses that appeared to dance in frozen motion. The throne's imposing presence was both majestic and intimidating, exuding an aura of power and authority.
Above it, giant silken banners bearing the sigil of the Empire – a silver sword entwined with thorned roses – hung proudly from the vaulted ceiling, their delicate folds rustling softly in the gentle currents of air. The banners' midnight-blue background seemed to represent the night sky, and the silver thread used to embroider the sigil shimmered like starlight, casting a subtle glow across the room. The thorned roses that entwined the sword appeared to be a symbol of the Empire's strength and resilience, their dark, velvety petals a reminder of the beauty and danger that lay at the heart of the imperial power.
The vaulted ceiling itself was a masterpiece of architectural artistry, its intricate stone carvings depicting scenes of mythical creatures and celestial bodies. The walls, adorned with tapestries that told the story of the Empire's glorious past, seemed to whisper tales of valor and conquest. The room was bathed in a warm, golden light, as if the very essence of the Empire's history and tradition had been distilled into this single, majestic space.
High above, a massive chandelier of rainbow-colored gemstones bathed the room in radiant hues, its crystalline structure refracting and reflecting shards of soft magical light across the polished walls. The gemstones, expertly cut to maximize their brilliance, seemed to pulse with an inner light, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the room.
Rubies blazed like fiery embers, sapphires shimmered with celestial blue, and emeralds glowed with a soft, mossy green. As the light danced across the walls, it illuminated the elegant, inlaid ruin designs that adorned each surface. The designs, crafted from a mysterious, glowing material, pulsated faintly like breathing veins of arcane life. The gentle pulse seemed to emanate a soothing energy, as if the very essence of the ruins had been distilled into these intricate patterns.
The walls themselves appeared to be alive, their polished surface reflecting the colors of the gemstones like a still pond reflecting the beauty of the sky. The overall effect was one of mesmerizing beauty, as if the room was a living, breathing entity that pulsed with magic.
The hall itself was eerily quiet.
Not a single soul stood in the center—but lined against the sides, cloaked guards stood motionless like statues, their armor silent, eyes hidden behind visors that gleamed under the chandelier's light. Lucien could feel it—the same pressure as Knight Rex. S-Rank. At least.
Still entranced, he only snapped back to reality when he noticed the maid walking toward the throne's side—specifically toward a moderately sized door to the left, one of two flanking the throne. The doors, though not as grand as the main entrance, were carved from ancient blackwood, harvested from high-density mana trees, their surfaces filled with magical inscriptions that glowed like stardust.
Without hesitation, the maid reached out again, and like obedient servants, the doors creaked open before her touch.
Lucien followed in silence.
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Beyond the doors, a narrower yet elegant hallway unfolded, its floor blanketed by a rich, red velvet carpet that seemed to whisper luxury with every step. The carpet was so plush that his boots sank into it slightly with each step, the soft fibers enveloping his feet in a gentle caress. The subtle give of the carpet beneath his weight was almost palpable, as if it was alive and yielding to his presence.
The walls, crafted from finely polished marble, shimmered like glass, their surface so clear and reflective that it mirrored their passing figures with uncanny precision. The marble's subtle veining seemed to shift and shimmer as they walked, casting a mesmerizing pattern of light and shadow across the floor. As they moved down the hallway, their reflections trailed behind them, creating an illusion of multiple selves moving in tandem.
Above them, mana light bulbs in the shapes of crystal flowers floated gently from the ceiling, their delicate petals glowing with a soft, ethereal light. The bulbs seemed to defy gravity, suspended in mid-air by an unseen force, as they shed warm, golden light that bathed the hallway in a sense of serenity. The gentle glow highlighted the intricate details of the hallway's décor, casting a soft, inviting ambiance that made the space feel both luxurious and mystical.
Every few steps, magnificent paintings hung from the walls, each one a masterpiece of artistry and storytelling. One painting showed a man pulling a sword from a fiery pit, the flames depicted in vivid, dancing strokes that seemed to leap off the canvas. The man's face was set in determination, his muscles tensed as he grasped the hilt, and the sword itself shone with a light that seemed almost divine. Another painting displayed a desperate duel between dragons, their scales glinting like jewels in the sunlight as they clashed in mid-air. The artist had captured the moment of impact, the dragons' claws locked in a fierce struggle, their eyes blazing with fury.
Other paintings showed mythical beasts being wrestled barehanded by mortals, the humans depicted with a strength and bravery that bordered on the superhuman. One painting showed a young warrior grappling with a massive Griffin, its talons outstretched as it swooped down to claim its prey. The warrior's face was set in a fierce grin, his muscles bulging as he wrapped his arms around the Griffin's neck. Another painting depicted a woman wrestling a serpent, its coils wrapped around her body as she struggled to overpower it. The woman's eyes flashed with determination, her face set in a fierce snarl as she grappled with the beast.
The paintings seemed to tell a story, each one a chapter in a larger narrative that spoke of heroism, bravery, and the struggle between mortals and the forces of the unknown. They added a layer of depth and history to the hallway, making it feel like a sacred space where the past and present converged. As they walked, the paintings seemed to come alive, their colors deepening, and their stories unfolding like a living, breathing epic.
"Each of these probably costs more than a mansion…" Lucien thought, blinking at a painting that shifted scenes subtly when viewed from different angles.
They turned left. Then right. Then through more ornate hallways and enchanted doors—Lucien lost count of the twists. It felt like walking through a museum, cathedral, and fortress all at once.
Finally, they reached the end of the corridor.
There stood a final pair of mana-wooden doors, carved with hypnotic moving runes that swirled with eerie purpose. The gibberish letters moved as if sentient—watching, testing, measuring.
The blonde maid finally spoke—her voice smooth and melodic:
"This is the chamber where the Emperor and Empress await your presence."
She turned to him, her radiant blue eyes meeting his own, her expression suddenly soft.
"I hope… you'll enjoy your stay, young master."
Then—without fanfare, without so much as a gust—she vanished.
Like ash scattered on a breeze, her form dissolved into wisps of pale gold, her hair and figure evaporating without resistance. The air around Lucien was still, as though she had never been there.
He stared at the space where she had stood, blinking once, then twice.
"…What the hell was that?" he muttered, stepping back instinctively.
The door loomed ominously behind him, almost... expectant.
He looked at it, then back at the space the maid had occupied, considering running in the opposite direction—but before he could move—
A sudden wind pulled him forward.
"Wha—?!"
Lucien yelped as his body lurched toward the doors. His face slammed into the polished wood with a dull thud.
"OW! Son of a—!"
The runes flared to life.
Tendrils of golden mana surged out of the door, slithering up his arms and into his chest. His blood stirred in response—as if the door was tasting his lineage. A moment passed. Then, the door gave a low hum.
The magic recognized him.
And then—the doors opened.
He stumbled into the room, clutching his bleeding nose. "Damn place is haunted…"
The room was bright and warm, filled with the scents of sandalwood, old paper, and fine wine. A magnificent crystal chandelier bathed the circular chamber in light. There were no guards here, only three individuals seated at a low table.
In the center, with graceful posture and a face that radiated timeless beauty, sat an elderly woman. Her golden-blonde hair was streaked with snowy white, cascading over her shoulders in delicate curls. Her eyes were a mystical blue, full of kindness, but with a weight of wisdom that could crush a man's soul. She wore a flowing imperial gown, embroidered with the royal sigil and golden roses. This was a woman who had once ruled by blade and by tongue.
To her left and right—
Two men stood arguing with spit and fury.
One was a white-haired elder with sharp gray eyes and a noble's heavy robes, his expression full of exasperation as he pointed at the younger man beside him. His voice boomed with experience and pride.
The other was a younger man, with vibrant golden hair, a perfect smile, and the posture of a noble born to attention. His bright blue eyes gleamed with mischief, and his clothing—a tailored white noble suit—looked both expensive and comfortable. He was tall, well-built, and clearly enjoying himself despite the ranting.
Lucien blinked.
The room fell silent as all three turned toward him.
The Empress' stern annoyance softened into a gentle glow.
The Emperor's sharp eyes brightened with warmth.
The young man—Lucien's uncle, the Crown Prince—stepped forward immediately, smile beaming as if he'd found a chest of legendary treasure.
"So…" he said with a teasing smirk, walking up and placing a firm hand on Lucien's shoulder. "You're my little sister's boy, huh?"
Lucien opened his mouth to speak, but the man was already rubbing his shoulder like a prized puppy, laughing boisterously.
"Well then—surprise! What do you think, Lucien?"
He grinned wide.
"Would you like to take my title and become the Crowned Prince?"