The landing of the ship shifted the atmosphere on the platform. Vassals and extended cousins, who had gathered with a mix of skepticism and anticipation, focused their attention on the sleek hatch as it began to open.
The first to emerge was X, whose name and reputation preceded him, a figure known to all present. He was closely followed by Marsai, a servant who until now had served directly under the monarch himself. The mere presence of Marsai alongside the entourage spoke volumes, signaling the importance the monarch placed on the young master's arrival.
And then, Nioh stepped out.
The crowd fell silent as their eyes landed on him. He descended the stairs with deliberate grace, wearing a sleek black bodysuit that clung to his slim, athletic frame. Draped over his shoulders was a regal white fur cape that flowed like liquid light, amplifying his aura of authority. His long silver hair was tied into an immaculate high bun, leaving his strikingly handsome face unobstructed.
His piercing gaze betrayed neither fear nor hesitation. It was steady, calculated, and carried a quiet defiance.
With his head held high, Nioh followed Marsai, walking with measured strides. The curious and judgmental gazes from the gathered crowd seemed to slide off him, as if they were beneath his notice.
The spectacle they had anticipated—of a scruffy, uncouth upstart—never materialized. Instead, the monarch's cunning became painfully evident to them all.
"How is this a child from the ghetto?"
"This is no castaway. This is clearly a love child the monarch has carefully nurtured in secret!"
These unspoken thoughts swirled among the crowd, their doubts and scorn now replaced by unease and grudging admiration.
As Nioh disappeared from view, making his way toward the funeral hall, the murmurs erupted.
"Isn't he... a bit too handsome?"
"He doesn't look like some wild, unsophisticated stray at all!"
"Did anyone manage to take a picture? We need to run a background check immediately."
"Wait—did you see that earpiece? Is he crippled or something?"
Unaware of the ripple of speculation and shifting sentiments his appearance had sparked, Nioh arrived at the imposing entrance of the funeral hall.
The announcer at the door hesitated, unsure of what title to use when presenting him. His pause hung in the air and before the moment could stretch into awkwardness, Marsai stepped forward and interrupted smoothly. "It's fine. Proceed."
The announcer nodded, relief flickering across his face as he straightened his posture while the heavy doors creaked open.
The group of three had barely crossed the threshold when they witnessed a heated discussion echo through the hall.
"Grand-aunt, did you truly agree to let Grand-uncle bring his bastard into the family register? Isn't this too much? My uncle just died, and instead of mourning properly, he's been busy arranging for his son!"
The speaker was a young lady dressed in ceremonial white, about sixteen years old. She knelt before an elderly woman surrounded by attendants. Standing next to her were two young men, both taller and slightly older.
"The Empress is mourning. If you cannot hold your tongue, Princess Kalix, perhaps you should excuse yourself," one of the Empress's attendants, a poised girl named Iris, responded coolly.
"Just because you're the Empress's niece, Iris, don't think you can talk to me however you like!" Kalix snapped, her voice rising in irritation.
Before the tension could escalate further, a sharp cough cut through the air, halting the exchange. Everyone turned to see the newcomer.
Nioh entered the hall without hesitation. His regal composure left no room for doubt or question. Ignoring the ongoing spat, he walked straight to the altar, stopping before the body of his deceased brother.
He bowed deeply, his movements precise and respectful.
"This son greets the Empress Mother. It has been hard on you, but this son is here now. You may return and rest."
His words were deliberate—a mixture of warning and reassurance. The unspoken message was clear: as long as you don't provoke me, I will offer you the respect and grace you deserve.
The Empress studied him silently, her gaze sweeping over his composed demeanor. He reminded her of her late husband in his youth—steadfast, untainted by politics, and focused. Her attention lingered on the discreet hearing aid tucked behind his ear, a reminder of the report detailing his rescue from a feral biocore attack that left him deaf and paralyzed . She thought of the tragedy that befell his home, and her hardened expression softened.
What was she fighting for? Her son was gone, and she was growing old. The battle for succession no longer mattered to her. All she wanted was for her grandkids to be safe.
"It is good that you are here. Take care of things accordingly. Iris, stay behind and assist the prince."
Her voice trembled under the weight of accumulated grief and exhaustion.
"Rest assured, Mother. This son will not disappoint you," Nioh replied, purposely omitting her title as Empress, signaling his acceptance of her plea.
The Empress and her entourage departed, leaving the hall empty save for the younger generations and a few attendants.
Nioh turned his gaze to the kneeling trio. "And you are?"
Kalix sneered, rising to her feet. "You even have the audacity to ask my name, you bast—"
Before she could finish, Nioh's hand shot out, grabbing her by the neck and lifting her off the ground like a rag doll. The force silenced the room.
"I don't have much patience for disrespect," he said coldly, his voice cutting like steel. "I'll ask again. Who are you?"
The other two youths froze in shock. Kalix, for the first time in her life, felt fear. Her position as the youngest granddaughter of Duke Duval, who was both a council elder and warden, had always protected her. Her father was a powerful warden in his own right, and her elder brother, Pax, the military genius was rumored to be the favorite for the heir position. Those had ensured her arrogance always went unchallenged. But here, none of that mattered.
Even X, standing silently by the door, could only inwardly lament, I really should not have brought this devil.
"Little Uncle, please let my sister go!" the eldest boy pleaded, panic evident in his voice. A strange pressure seemed to root him in place, making him unable to move. He assumed some hidden master must be aiding Nioh from the shadows.
"This is not the answer I asked for," Nioh said, his tone sharper.
"This nephew is Leon Glev, second son of Warden Jubilee Glev and grandson of Duke Duval Glev. The lady in your hand is my sister, Kalix Glev," Leon answered quickly, nudging the boy next to him.
"I—I am Patrix Glev, son of Warden Cohen Glev and grandson of Duke Tush Glev," the younger boy stammered.
Satisfied, Nioh released his grip. Kalix stumbled to the ground, gasping for air before scrambling into Leon's arms.
"So, you're from the younger generation. I'll let this slide," Nioh said coolly, his words sending a ripple of disbelief through the room.
"Younger generation?" they all thought bitterly. You're clearly the youngest one here!
"Marsai, take away niece Iris fix her appearance," Nioh ordered, turning to the Empress's attendant. "Today is my brother's funeral, and I will take charge here. Iris—that's your name, correct? Stand beside me and assist in recognizing the guests."
"Yes, Little Uncle," Iris replied impassively, stepping forward.
"As for you two," Nioh addressed Leon and Patrix, "Stand behind me. As Glevs, we must present a united front before the guests."
The boys hesitated, but a sharp look from Nioh spurred them into compliance.
"X," Nioh commanded, his voice echoing in the now-silent hall, "open the gates. Let the guests come to pay their respects to the heir."