Episode 84

The succession ceremony proceeded swiftly.

Despite the expectation that Teragon Drenihan’s unconscious state would plunge the household into chaos, the Drenihan family steadily prepared to welcome its new leader.

Teragon had already planned for a formal transfer of power in the upcoming year. Since preparations were already underway, the process unfolded more smoothly than anticipated.

The red banners that symbolized Teragon Drenihan were replaced with blue ones, signifying the new head of the family, Serkhan Drenihan.

Even though the ceremony was arranged on short notice, the Drenihan estate was swarming with people. Just a week ago, news had spread across the empire that the Duke of Drenihan had fallen unconscious and that his successor, the young lord, would soon inherit the title.

Under Teragon Drenihan’s leadership, the Drenihan family had reached its peak, becoming one of the most powerful households in the empire. The transfer of power in such a prominent family attracted people from all corners of the realm, making the estate as crowded as the recent New Year’s banquet.

The interior of the banquet hall was solemn and grand. Its sheer scale rivaled the Emperor’s coronation, and simply stepping inside was overwhelming.

Tapestries bearing the Drenihan crest hung from every wall, and atop the dais, the ceremonial sword awaited its new owner, gleaming with an almost ethereal light.

Amid the subdued chatter, the guests whispered about recent events.

“I expected the succession to happen eventually, but this feels so sudden.”

“Indeed. It’s hard to believe that the robust Duke Drenihan is now unconscious.”

“Some say the young lord orchestrated this himself.”

“What nonsense! The eldest son is known for his filial piety, unlike the notorious second son.”

“You never know what lurks in people’s hearts. Otherwise, how could a man who seemed destined to live a full life fall into such a state?”

The rumors were all variations on a theme: that Serkhan’s ambition for the title had driven him to foul play. After all, history held examples of heirs who resorted to underhanded methods to hasten their succession when denied their rightful inheritance for too long.

Amid the speculation, the ceremony officially began with the blaring of brass instruments.

The grand doors opened, and Serkhan stepped onto the long carpet, draped in the crimson cloak that Teragon Drenihan had worn in his youth.

His presence was sharp and commanding, exuding an aura that was both intimidating and unapproachable. His deep, composed gaze seemed to root people to the spot.

It was clear—Serkhan, as the new Duke, lacked nothing.

Following behind him was a young girl.

In the empire, it was tradition for a successor to present their designated heir during the succession ceremony if one existed.

The girl walking beside Serkhan, also wearing a crimson cloak, had hair as golden as sunlight, cascading in soft waves, and striking pink eyes that held a mystical allure.

The girl was none other than Sierra, openly presented as the next heir of the Drenihan family under Serkhan’s leadership.

For a moment, people were spellbound by her otherworldly beauty, but their admiration quickly gave way to astonishment.

“Has the young lord gone mad? Declaring his terminally ill daughter as the heir?”

“This is insanity. He looks as though he’d bleed ice, yet he clings to blood ties so sentimentally.”

Sierra was Serkhan’s only child. Having remained devoted to his late wife, Serkhan had no other children.

Given the Drenihan family’s extensive network of collateral relatives, finding a replacement heir wouldn’t have been difficult. Even among the closest bloodline, the Marquis of Avon had children trained in imperial leadership in preparation for such an eventuality.

“The Marquis of Avon must be furious. He was so confident that one of his children would become the next heir.”

“Wasn’t he the one who pressured the young lord to hasten the succession?”

“It seems there was significant tension over the matter. The Marquis didn’t even bother showing up today.”

“But no one can dispute that Lady Sierra is the most legitimate heir.”

“Except she won’t live past her twenties.”

Amid the buzzing crowd, Ludwig entered the hall. His gaze immediately landed on Sierra, and he frowned upon noticing the signs of exhaustion on her face.

At the end of the carpet, Serkhan reached the dais. In place of the unconscious Duke, the Archbishop from the imperial temple presented the ceremonial sword to him.

With the sacred rites complete, Serkhan was officially declared Duke of Drenihan, and applause erupted from all sides.

* * *

The succession ceremony concluded without a hitch.

Considering it was organized in just a week, everything proceeded seamlessly.

As previously discussed with my father, I was formally designated as his successor. It was the only way to inherit the Blessing of Terium.

Father, willing to do anything if it meant improving my health, didn’t meet much resistance from me in this matter.

However, as expected, opposition came from outside.

The Marquis of Avon, the closest relative to the Drenihan family and someone with significant stakes, erupted in fury.

[“How does this make any sense? You’re naming a frail child on the brink of death as your heir? Have you lost your mind?”]

His earlier insistence outside Grandfather’s chamber that Father immediately assume the title now made perfect sense. The marquis had fully believed his own children would inherit the direct bloodline and become the next heirs of Drenihan.

‘How ambitious of him. Even if it weren’t me, there are still Orzen’s children.’

Though currently living in exile-like circumstances, direct lineage would still be prioritized over collateral branches. That was a given.

Ultimately, the Marquis of Avon didn’t attend the ceremony.

This caused a rift within the family, sparking rumors of discord among relatives. However, Father didn’t seem overly concerned.

[“I was planning to pass the title and the Blessing of Terium to someone in the collateral line if my health improved anyway.”]

The Marquis of Avon had effectively disqualified himself.

Recalling his reckless outburst driven by greed, I shook my head.

“Sierra, are you tired?” Father asked, noticing me sitting idly on the sofa.

“I’m fine. You must be more exhausted than I am.”

“What did I do to deserve that?” he replied, brushing off my concern.

In truth, Father was visibly drained, worn down by the rumors and slanderous newspaper articles that painted him in a treacherous light.

Having deeply admired Grandfather as a great head of the family, Father likely yearned to receive the ceremonial sword directly from him. But reality had denied him that honor.

“Father, let’s visit Grandfather.”

I reached for his hand and spoke gently.

Ever since preparing for the succession ceremony, Father had avoided seeing Grandfather. Though he had done nothing wrong, he seemed burdened by guilt, hiding as though he were a criminal.

Did he feel as if he had stolen the position Grandfather had spent his entire life building?

“I’m sure he’s waiting for you. If you don’t want him scolding you for being late, let’s go.”

Smiling as I spoke, I tugged at his hand.

Even if he couldn’t respond, the Grandfather I knew would undoubtedly be waiting for Father.

Eventually, Father allowed me to lead him to Grandfather’s chamber.

Though Father was now officially the Duke, he decided to leave Grandfather’s chamber untouched. Some relatives had protested, arguing it was against tradition for the former Duke to remain in the same estate as the current one, and suggested moving him to a villa. However, Father had silenced them by unsheathing his ceremonial sword.

The chamber was tranquil, the only sound being the faint and steady rhythm of Grandfather’s breathing.

Even as we stood before him, Grandfather’s eyes remained closed.

“Father,” my father called softly.

At that moment, it seemed as though a faint smile graced Grandfather’s lips.

Then, a presence was felt behind the closed door.

Father must have sensed it too, as he strode to the door and flung it open.

Standing awkwardly with a bowl of medicine was a servant, appearing ready to flee at any moment.

“What are you doing here?” Father asked, his tone sharp.

“I… I came to deliver the medicine, but I noticed someone was inside, so I was just about to leave,” the servant stammered, his voice riddled with nervousness.

“Medicine?”

For the past two days, Grandfather had not been prescribed medicine, as healing magic was deemed more effective for his condition.

Realizing his slip, the servant hastily corrected himself.

“I misspoke! Not medicine, but a tonic to restore vitality.”

Having consumed countless tonics throughout my life, I tilted my head in curiosity.

“If it’s for restoring vitality, let me try it. Hand it over.”

At my words, the servant’s face turned as white as a sheet.

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