I Became a Ruined Character in a Dark Fantasy-Chapter 738

"Long live His Grace the Archduke—"

"Demigod of the North!"

Even as the carriage crossed the bridge and moved farther away, the cheers and shouts did not cease.

Facing forward, Ian finally let out a sigh.

Don’t they ever get tired?

Everywhere they went during the city tour, it had been the same. All he had done was wave his hand a few times, yet the people responded with thunderous cries as though their throats would burst.

Astonishingly, it drained him at a frightening pace. Before they had even circled half the city, he had been worn down; now, as they approached the inner fortress, he was nearly drained.

Perhaps it was because of the resonance still lingering inside him.

Of course, Ian was the only one in that state.

Standing at the very back of the carriage bed, Thesaya lowered the hand she had been waving as she said, "Indeed, it cannot even be compared to the coronation at the frontier. The scale and the response are remarkable."

To her right, Seras nodded. "It feels all the more so because it comes from genuine hearts. Even I, having attended several grand events in the capital, have never experienced such fervor."

"It is because they are Northerners," Cherwyn added from the left. Her voice was lively, far from fatigued. "Beneath that stoic exterior, they carry a passion as hot as a volcano."

Nodding, Seras turned slightly, a faintly amused smile curving her lips. "Though it seems our archduke has grown entirely weary of that passion."

"An accurate observation," Ian muttered, leaning his arm against the edge of the brazier.

Though the sacred flame had dimmed slightly, it still flickered behind him—yet he felt no heat from it at all.

"You’re exaggerating, Your Grace," Thesaya teased, smiling. "We’ve made it quite comfortable for you."

Ian was, after all, surrounded by three women.

They were the ones who had actively responded to the citizens’ enthusiastic welcome. Had Utrid accompanied him as originally planned, they would have had to maintain decorum and solemnity. However, with Ian, there had been no need.

"Weren’t you the ones who used us, sticking to the original plan?"

"Well..."

That wasn’t the only reason.

Shrugging inwardly at his unspoken addition, Ian straightened. It was not merely because the resonance within him had finally subsided completely. The gates of the inner fortress were drawing near.

"Prepare to disembark."

From beyond the brazier, Miguel’s voice carried from the driver’s seat. His tone suggested he was barely containing lingering excitement and emotion.

The others began adjusting their attire.

Ian alone remained still. He briefly studied the soldiers lined along the walls beyond the gate, then turned his gaze to the bright sky and the bustling city behind them.

The festival would continue for three days. No one likely suspected that he intended to depart the moment it ended.

Clack— clack—

The brazier carriage slowly turned and finally came to a halt. It stopped beside the entrance so that stepping down from the carriage bed would lead directly inside.

"Please wait just a moment!"

Miguel leaped down from the driver’s seat and hurried over, speaking in a hushed voice. The rear panel of the carriage lowered, revealing the angled step he had set in place.

"Please step down carefully."

Raising his left arm, Miguel offered support. Unlike Thesaya, who slid down without so much as a glance, Seras and Cherwyn lightly grasped his prosthetic arm and descended with care.

"You all go ahead. I will tidy the carriage and follow," Miguel added as Ian stepped down last.

"Why not come in together?" Ian asked, glancing at Thesaya, Seras, and Cherwyn.

Miguel flashed a grin, showing his yellowed teeth. "I fear my presence might detract from Your Grace’s dignity."

"Stop talking nonsense and come inside."

Snorting softly, Ian started forward. Thesaya, Seras, and Cherwyn, who had been waiting, naturally fell in behind him, beckoning Miguel along as well.

"Ahem..." Clearing his throat awkwardly, yet unable to hide his smile, Miguel fell in step behind Ian.

Thud—

As Ian stepped inside, the soldiers lined along both walls struck the butts of their spears against the floor in unison. Their helmeted heads dipped slightly.

Step— step—

Ian quickened his pace without acknowledging them. He knew that passing by swiftly was the best way to ease their burden.

Farther down the hallway, the soldiers waiting at the front forced the massive doors open.

"His Grace the Archduke enters!" The cry rang out thunderously.

Without slowing, Ian took in the interior of the grand hall as it was revealed.

There are damn many of them.

Long banquet tables were arranged in rows, and those seated before them rose all at once.

They were the leading figures of the North, including his companions and the officers of the Crimson Legion. They had come to witness him take the Northern throne.

This was the final step.

As Ian entered the hall, everyone who had risen lowered their heads in unison.

Ian did not spare them a glance this time either. Moving steadily along the central aisle, his gaze remained fixed on the large chair towering at the far end.

So I’m really an archduke now...

The thought drew a quiet sigh from within him. It was a position he had never once desired—one he had, in fact, wished to avoid, even more so after seeing that ominous vision.

Step— step—

Still, he had no intention of denying reality now. The water had already been spilled.

Crossing the hall, Ian ascended the knee-high platform and stopped before the throne. Silence settled over the chamber, and a faint resonance pulsed from the steel circlet upon his head.

Don’t rush me, you bastard.

Ian exhaled slowly and then turned around.

His companions moved to stand on either side of the platform behind him. Before the long tables laden with liquor and food, the assembled figures stood respectfully.

"I trust you all remember what I said before I walked the path of oath."

His voice carried no rise or fall. Only then did Ian begin to take in their faces one by one.

Mev and Nasser stood at the far right corner—likely because Mukapa stood against the wall beside them. The centurions with them looked up at Ian with tight, trembling expressions. A few were even quietly wiping away tears and snot. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

If anyone should cry, it’s me. Why are you?

He gave nothing away and shifted his gaze.

"I may sit upon this seat because the Northerners desire it, but I have no intention of retracting those words."

Behind the barbarian warriors stood the ember priests. On the opposite side were Harald, Gelud, Torvien, Lucas, Edith, Mildred, and several unfamiliar commanders and city nobles who filled the hall.

"I will fulfill my responsibilities and duties, but I will not be bound by this seat. Archduke of the North is merely one of the many names by which I am called," he said, his eyes sweeping across the hall without pause.

Among them were the red mages, including an elderly man who appeared to be an archmage. In one corner, even Olaf’s direct bloodline stood in attendance.

They’re too anxious not to show up.

Reading the emotions in their eyes, Ian suppressed a dry laugh.

The emotions in their eyes were clear—fear of being purged, of being cast aside, of falling victim to some unseen scheme.

The only one who looked truly relieved was Utrid.

"The North I rule will, in many ways, be different from what it has been until now."

Finishing his words while staring straight into Utrid’s eyes, Ian finally sat upon the throne. Almost at the same moment, a clear metallic chime rang out from the steel circlet on his head.

For a brief instant, countless gazes filled with mixed emotions poured toward him.

"Long live His Grace the Archduke!"

"Victory and glory to the Demigod of the North!"

The distinguished guests in the hall raised both arms and shouted as one.

Ian lifted a hand slightly to stop them, then rose from his seat. "I have heard enough cheering. Be seated. Let the banquet begin."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and descended from the platform. Even so, his command was absolute.

The guests immediately sat down, and doors along the side of the hall opened as musicians entered. With the swell of music, the chamber quickly filled with lively noise.

Ian paid it no attention and walked toward his companions’ table.

"Your Grace, sincere congra—"

"That’s enough. For the time being, that word is forbidden in front of me. Pass it along."

Cutting off Nasser, who had jumped to his feet, Ian took the empty seat beside Mukapa—directly across from Mev.

Blinking, Nasser sat back down and asked, "Which word exactly do you mean?"

"Every single one you were about to say. And for today, don’t speak to me first either. Pass that along as well."

"Yes. Understood." Smacking his lips lightly, Nasser turned to relay the message to the cluster of centurions who had been staring at Ian with burning eyes.

"A few days without seeing each other, and this happens." Without touching the food, he drew a goblet and a bottle toward himself with the Willful Grasp.

"Indeed. It truly was remarkable." Mev reached out and snatched the bottle from his grasp.

Rising slightly, she poured into his goblet.

Ian studied her face for a moment, then let one corner of his mouth curl faintly. "I’m glad you’ve calmed down. You were in tears earlier."

Mev paused before sitting again, avoiding his gaze as she said, "It was a very happy moment for me."

After a moment, her lips moved once more. "But I know it means nothing to you, and that you never wanted this seat, Ian. Even now, it must only be a headache."

"You understand me rather well now." Lifting his goblet slightly in acknowledgment, Ian brought it to his lips.

His eyes twitched faintly just after he drank.

A faint, bitter smile had spread across Mev’s lips as she filled her goblet. It was an expression she had worn from time to time.

Of course, this was not the place to ask about it.

"I hear you’ve been preparing that mural with great enthusiasm," said Ian, setting his goblet down.

Mev nodded.

"That’s right. I’m giving it my all. We’ve nearly reached an agreement, in fact."

Mukapa nodded in agreement at her glance.

Ian smacked his lips lightly and added, "So if I asked you to stop and destroy all related materials, I suppose that would be refused."

"...I knew you wouldn’t like it. But no, Ian." Mev hesitated, then lifted her goblet to her lips.

After meeting his eyes briefly, she added, "The finished mural will surely become a masterpiece remembered through history."

Mukapa nodded emphatically once again.

Watching her, one corner of Ian’s mouth slowly curved upward.

So that’s why you didn’t come in at all. You didn’t want to clash with me.

It wasn’t just passion that had kept Mev and Mukapa at the church.

Picking up his goblet again, Ian said flatly, "Then I suppose I have no choice but to burn the church down."

"Pff! Cough— W-What?!"

Mev spat out the liquor she had just swallowed and coughed, staring at him wide-eyed. Mukapa also turned sharply, eyes widened.

Ian merely shrugged and took another calm sip from his goblet.

"Good heavens... you’re serious, Ian!"

Mev’s eyes widened even further as she stared at him.

Leaning forward urgently, she lowered her voice to a frantic whisper, "T-That absolutely cannot happen, Ian. The heavens would be enraged, and the Great Church would dispatch purification forces as if they had been waiting for this. Even the Northern priests who are most favorable to you would turn their backs!"

She spoke rapidly, at a pace usually heard only in the midst of battle. Mukapa nodded repeatedly in fierce agreement.

"And it would inflict an irreparable sense of loss upon the Northerners as well. That ceiling mural in the church is practically the pride of this city... Hmm?"

Ian lowered his goblet from his lips and finally let out a quiet, incredulous chuckle at her desperate expression. "Very well. I’ll consider another method. But..."

As Mev dropped her head with a sigh of relief, Ian’s gaze shifted sideways. "Why have you been silent this whole time, Mukapa?"

"Because of the forbidden word." Mukapa hesitated briefly before answering.

His tone was exceedingly cautious, as if carefully selecting each syllable.

That was enough to draw another snort of laughter from Ian. "I’ll lift it. We have things to discuss among ourselves."

"Yes. Thank you. My sincere congratulations, Your Grace. I am deeply honored and grateful to stand beside you at such a glorious moment."

Only then did Mukapa bow his head and speak.

It was clear he could not proceed with any other words until he had said that first. At the same time, his eyes showed that he already knew what kind of conversation awaited between them.

Ian nodded once, then paused as his gaze shifted to the side. "You know I wasn’t speaking to you."

Several centurions nearby, including Nasser, had turned sharply to look at him.

"... Yes, Great Warrior."

"Understood..."

The centurions reluctantly turned their gazes away, unable to hide their disappointment.

Spend enough time with barbarians, and everyone starts resembling them.

Clicking his tongue faintly at the brown-skinned man, Ian said, "Nasser."

"Yes, Yo— I mean, my lord?" Nasser whipped his head around instantly, answering with hopeful eyes.

Lifting his goblet, Ian continued, "Relay a message to the people I designate. After the banquet ends, have them gather in one place."

"Yes. Please name them." Though he tilted his head slightly in curiosity, Nasser responded at once.

Ian glanced across at Mukapa before listing them. "Volber, Askel, Harald, Torvien, Lucas, Priest Ferma, High Priestess Cherwyn, Miguel, and..."

Nasser blinked, clearly uncertain of the direction this was taking.

Ian looked at him for a moment before adding calmly, "Her Highness Seras. And Utrid."