Amber Sword

Chapter 1168: Chapter 293: The Ambeser Conference

"The Lord of Priest will be leaving Ambeser in three days. He is now in the Meditation Room and is not receiving any guests, Miss Magdal." The Guards of the Holy Temple wore Red robes, their silver Chest Armor glinting in the sunlight. They held long spears in their hands; though they wore polite smiles, there was not the slightest hint of yielding in their manner.

The Nun Princess let out a soft sigh.

She turned her head back.

The Dome of the Holy Temple was bathed in boundless Radiance, yet it seemed to reflect the final gleam of this Kingdom, its last ray of twilight. In the hazy play of Light and Shadow, the tolling of bells echoed, proclaiming the end of an era. Within the Lockshebi Palace, the six Dukes and their envoys sat on either side of a round table, beginning to divide among themselves the last fat spoils of this Kingdom—knives, forks, and fish meat all laid out upon the plates.

...

The buzzing tumult of debate surged straight to the rafters, and beneath the palace vault supported by black jade beams, the sighs of a thousand years reverberated. Amidst the many differing opinions, only one voice solemnly proclaimed:

"Since the founding of Erune, Former King Ai Ke led the people in hacking a path through thorns, and from the wilderness raised up this land of bliss that shone with Glory. The Ancestor King swore that the nobles and the people together would decide this Kingdom’s Destiny; and today, as the Kingdom once more stands on the brink of division, we gather here because we cannot bear the thought of innocent Lives perishing in the fires of war. With fingers upon our Swords, we shall for the future of this Kingdom swear a new covenant—"

Having finished this declaration, Duke Xifah lifted his head, and the great hall fell as silent as a winter field of snow. A cold, wild Light burned in his eyes. "My colleagues present here, so long as any one of you still acknowledges this covenant of Ancient Times, then raise your hand with me, to prove that Erune Nobles’ blood flows in your veins." With that, he slowly raised his right hand, as if holding a sharp sword pointed at the heavens.

The great beast bared its fangs in the Shadow.

A rustle swept through the hall in unison; save for the two Cruz bishops, everyone rose and lifted their right hands—just as their ancestors had once done upon the wilderness—those Ancient Nobles crossed their Swords together and, before the Lion Heart Sword, swore a sacred oath—

"I swear that I shall lead my subjects—"

"Lead them away from strife and slaughter, away from the arrogance and greed of the Imperial Nobles; I swear that in order not to repeat the cold-blooded errors of this history, I shall see to it that the nobles of this newborn Kingdom hew to the spirit of the Knight—impartial and stern, upright and Heroic, merciful and broad of heart. I swear this oath, and with all the strength of my remaining Life will I uphold it!"

Brand was the last to rise.

He raised his hand, yet watched all this with a cold eye. These people had not only lost the Lion’s Heart, but had lost the Swords in their own hands; thus they had long since forgotten that sacred oath. The holy contract had lost its binding force, the cities of the Kingdom turned to Phantom, and the vast territory before him melted like ice and snow—from mountain and river to plain, from forest to ocean—until, in the end, only a single word echoed.

Revolution.

Brand gently lowered his eyelids. The Earth Sword, at a distance of only a few steps from him, trembled, as though sensing the tempest in its master’s heart. The Sword was about to break from its scabbard, but Brand forced his emotions to settle—this was not yet the time. Fire was spreading upward from beneath the ground, molten rock would drown all that was old—but still, it was not yet the time.

"Two hundred and sixty years ago, my ancestor, the last King of the Xifah Dynasty, for the sake of his responsibility in losing the Lion’s Heart, yielded the throne to Your Majesty Lucsen I—also the founder of the Kerkova Dynasty, the Creator of Erune’s revival. It cannot be denied that this wise King forged the near-century of splendor that followed in Erune. Yet two centuries later, the Kingdom again declines, and history returns to its starting point—"

Duke Sifah continued: "My niece, Princess Griffeyn, descendant of Great Emperor Lucsen I—do you acknowledge this?"

No sooner had he spoken than a new murmur rose in the surrounding Dark. Everyone knew that beneath such high-sounding rhetoric lay a naked craving for power that could not be concealed; yet it had to be said that Duke Sifah’s lines did indeed stir a chord in many hearts. It could not be denied that in bringing Erune to such decay, the Kerkova Royal Family bore an inescapable responsibility.

All eyes turned toward the elder Princess of the Kingdom. Princess Griffine raised her head without any change in expression. "I do not acknowledge your words, Lord Duke."

An uproar ensued.

Brand fixed his gaze upon this Princess. He knew that in her heart she held a lofty aspiration, yet was forced to wade through filth and mire. He wished to see how she would speak, how she would uphold Erune’s fragile faith amid this encompassing Dark. Compared with the ten shining years that would later come to Erune, now was, without doubt, the moment of deepest darkness before the dawn.