Ascension from Dual Professions

Chapter 206: Chapter 201: The King Selection Ceremony Begins, Belina Benest

Minsali Palace, the center of power in the Harvia Empire.

Beneath a magnificent dome, a grand ceremony was underway.

Portraits of past emperors looked down from the gold-inlaid, jade-encrusted walls, their cold gazes seeming to penetrate time itself to scrutinize the Empire’s most noble bloodlines gathered below.

Today, the Princes and Princesses of the Empire, regardless of legitimacy or age, were all clad in lavish attire, standing on either side of the wide, scarlet carpet in the center of the palace.

Some were nervous, others calm. Some were openly ambitious, while others feigned solemnity. But at this moment, all eyes were fixed before the high Obsidian Throne, carved from a single block of pure obsidian.

Before that seat, which symbolized the Empire’s ultimate authority, stood three imposing figures clad in deep purple, gold-trimmed cloaks, with ancient, heavy ceremonial longswords hanging at their waists.

They were the cornerstones of the Empire, the guardians of imperial power, the ”Sword Dukes”—the current heads of the Visarion family, the Artemis family, and the Feldren family.

Time seemed to stretch under an unseen force, each second unbearably heavy.

Finally, as the daylight pierced the dome and illuminated the Obsidian Throne, the Grand Duke standing in the center of the three, Markal Artemis, took a step forward.

With a face as if carved from stone and eyes as deep as an abyss, every step the old man took felt like it was landing on everyone’s heart. Some of the less resolute royal heirs could not even bear to look at his figure at this moment!

As the bearer of such weighty titles as the ”Sword of the Empire” and ”Oathkeeper,” and a renowned Ascension Level expert across the continent, it was only natural for him to command such presence with every move!

Markal paid no mind to the reactions of the Royal Family members and observers below. Like a stone statue following a set procedure, he drew his sword and pointed it toward the dome of Minsali Palace.

The other two Dukes followed suit, drawing their swords in unison.

The three ceremonial swords gleamed, reflecting each other’s light.

Then, the Grand Duke spoke in a deep voice.

”People of the Empire, noble scions of Benest, and all pillars of the Empire present here.”

”We three, in the name of the Sword Dukes of the Harvia Empire, and by the honor of our Visarion, Artemis, and Feldren ancestors, do hereby solemnly declare!”

”His Majesty, the late King Hein Benest, has returned to the sea of stars in his slumber and did not name a successor to his great works.

”This is a time of sorrow for the Empire, but also a time for its traditions to be made manifest.”

”In accordance with the laws of the Empire and abiding by the eternal oath of our ancestors, we, the sword-bearers, shall now and here carry out our sacred duty—to oversee the rite of king-selection!”

His words rolled like thunder, echoing through the grand hall, each one imbued with the weight of history and the coldness of the Rules.

”This rite is a trial for the Empire’s bloodline, and a choice for the Empire’s future.”

”Any scion of Benest who intends to contend for the supreme throne must, here in this place, under our watch as the sword-bearers and before the eyes of all the Empire’s high ministers, make a sacred vow!”

Markal’s voice suddenly rose, carrying a soul-shaking Power.

”First, the swearer must pledge their blood and soul to declare their determination to participate in this rite of king-selection!”

”Second, and this is an ironclad rule!”

His gaze, sharp as lightning, became incomparably piercing.

”The swearer must vow that during the rite, no matter how fierce the competition or how brutal the conflict, they shall not, in any form or by any means, harm their kin who share the blood of Benest!”

”Any who break this vow shall be executed by us, the sword-bearers, as one!”

This second vow was cold and cruel. It was the final line preventing this bloody game from spiraling completely out of control, and a sword of Damocles hanging over every competitor’s head.

Silence once again fell over the hall, heavier than before.

However, this brief, deathly silence was soon broken by a clear and confident voice.

”I, Harvey Benest, second son of the late King Hein, hereby swear my oath!”

The crowd parted as if by an invisible force, and a tall, exceptionally handsome young man stepped forward.

He had the Royal Family’s signature thick gray hair, which shone with a metallic luster under the palace lights. A confident smile played on his lips, as if he were born to stand above all others. Full of vigor, he was as dazzling as the midday Sun.

He strode forward to the three Sword Dukes, knelt on one knee, and placed his right hand over his chest. His voice rang out, clear and powerful:

”With the glory of the Empire as my ambition, I shall contend for the supreme throne!”

”I also vow that my blade and my strategies shall never be stained with the blood of my own kin!”

The Second Prince Harvey’s bold declaration was like lighting a fuse.

One after another, Princes and Princesses stepped out from the crowd, walking toward the spot that symbolized both oath and responsibility.

”I, Liandera Benest, sixth daughter of the late King, hereby swear to participate in the rite of king-selection!”

”I, Edgar Benest, fourth son of the late King, hereby swear...”

”I, Cecilia Benest...”

The voices of the declarants rose and fell, some steady, some excited, some with a barely perceptible tremble.

The name of each swearer was recorded by the Imperial Prime Minister, Duke Feldren. The words of each oath echoed between the ancient stone pillars of Minsali Palace, under the watchful eyes of their ancestors.

As name after name was confirmed, the number of figures in the hall who had not yet been called dwindled.

Finally, as the last young Prince stepped back into the crowd, only the three Sword Dukes were left in the center of the vast palace—and one figure, who remained standing silently at the edge of the assembly.

Time seemed to freeze once more.

All eyes, as if drawn by an invisible magnet or pricked by a cold blade, turned in unison toward the same direction.

There stood a woman clad in a full suit of Fine Steel Armor, its lines cold, hard, and fluid.

Her posture was as straight as a pine, her stance radiating a Power honed through countless battles. Her thick gray hair, the same as the others’, was tied neatly back in a wolf-tail, revealing a smooth, high forehead and a pair of eyes as sharp as a falcon’s.

Her face bore the characteristic sharp features of the Benest family, but with less delicacy and more fortitude and angularity. Her brow held an intimidating and inviolable heroism, and her entire being was like a drawn sword—sharp, exposed, and utterly commanding.

The Third Princess of the Empire, Commander of the Gray Blade Knight Order, the ”Steel Rose”—Belina Benest.

Young as she was, she was already a formidable Grand Knight Level expert. Leaving aside the influence of her mother’s clan, this talent and Power alone were the core reasons she was considered a top contender before the rite of king-selection even began.

The rite of king-selection being held only now was, in no small part, because she had just extricated herself from the conflicts with the Religious Country on the Eastern Empire’s border.

Under the focus of countless gazes, Belina’s expression remained unchanged, as placid as a frozen lake.

She did not move immediately. Instead, her sharp eyes slowly swept across the faces of the three Sword Dukes, across her brothers and sisters who had already sworn their oaths, and across all the finely dressed high ministers and nobles present.

Wherever her gaze fell, the air seemed to grow colder.

Finally, her gaze returned to the three Sword Dukes, resting in particular on Grand Duke Markal in the center.

Then, as everyone watched with bated breath, the Third Princess took a step.

Her heavy steel boots struck the mirror-smooth marble floor, producing a crisp CLACK with each firm step she took toward the Obsidian Throne that would decide the Empire’s Destiny.

She walked before the three Sword Dukes. Unlike the others, she did not kneel. She simply gave a slight nod, the movement crisp and efficient, imbued with a soldier’s simplicity and Power.

”I, Belina Benest, hereby swear to participate in the rite of king-selection.”

”My sword will be pointed only at the enemies of the Empire, never at my kin.”

With that, the last royal heir to participate in the rite of king-selection had sworn her oath.

Minsali Palace fell into a long silence. The declarants, the observers, and even the three Grand Dukes were all speechless...

Everyone knew that the true struggle began at this very moment.