Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 941 - : 30 chapters Hunting (Part 1)
Chapter 941: 30 chapters Hunting (Part 1)
Empire Year 537 [Note: The war of succession for the Empire’s throne began this year, 23 years ago]
Castile Peninsula, Greyrock City, inside the Grand Arena.
A young man around twenty years old is inspecting his armor and weapons. Two attendants beside the young man are sweating profusely, yet unable to lend a hand.
“News” has neither wings nor four legs, yet nothing flies farther or runs faster than it.
Richard [the Mad] III is dead.
Some say he died peacefully in his sleep; others say he died from a fall off his horse, enduring long suffering before closing his eyes… But the old emperor’s manner of death is not important; it merely serves as fodder for casual conversation.
The emperor is dead, a new emperor must ascend.
From the easternmost Kortan Bay to the westernmost Castile Peninsula, from the southernmost Sheltering Mountain range to the northernmost Ice Cold Sea, everyone is holding their breath, waiting for the crowning of the new emperor… especially when there are simultaneously three heirs.
The door is pushed open, and a man adorned like a peacock strides into the room.
The man appears to be just over thirty, his features and stature bear a slight resemblance to the young man, but with an added seven parts handsomeness and four parts dashingness.
Upon seeing the man enter, the two attendants, as if clutching at straws, pleaded with a sobbing tone: “Duke Lothar, sir! We truly cannot stop His Majesty, please, we beg you to persuade His Majesty!”
The handsome man, known as Duke Lothar, gestures for the attendants to leave the room. Relieved, the attendants bow and back out.
The handsome man closes the door, glances at the lance leaning next to the young man, and then at the well-arranged armor on the young man, jokingly asks, “Are you planning to enter the field yourself, Your Majesty?”
“I am not Your Majesty.” Only when speaking with the handsome man does the young man show a hint of a smile, deliberately elongating his tone: “Duke, sir.”
The handsome man shrugs, cheerfully retorts: “Am I also not a duke? Your grandfather is still very robust.”
The identity of the young man is clear—Henry of Sunfort, the eldest son of the deceased emperor, and one of the claimants to the throne.
The handsome man is Henry’s uncle, Duke Lothar Louis, known informally as [Handsome Louis]. Privately, people prefer to call him [Dissolute Louis].
Pause for a moment, Louis Lothar drops his nonchalant demeanor and asks, “Are you really going to enter the arena yourself?”
Henry stands up silently, beginning a light warm-up.
His body is slender and well-proportioned, with strong, flexible limbs—a physique that can rival a top gladiator, a reward for years of training.
“Are you really confident?” Duke Lothar insists seriously, “Once you enter the gladiator arena, there’s no turning back. I don’t want to see your mother, my sister, saddened.”
Louis and Henry, having grown up together, have less than a ten-year age gap. Although they are nominally uncle and nephew, their actual relationship is closer to friends or brothers.
For Henry, even a brother wouldn’t be closer than his little uncle. Thus, such audacious questions can only be asked by Louis, and only Louis asking them is not considered impudent.
“I don’t know,” Henry responds truthfully, “as I’ve never tried before.”
“In that case, why take the risk? Assign a Knight! Many would be willing to compete in your name.”
Just as Henry is about to reply, suddenly, a thunderous cheer comes from above them.
The roar, like a tsunami, even shakes the building, and fine dust drifts from the stone dome.
Duke Lothar brushes off the dust from his shoulder, disdainfully and helplessly remarks, “Hmph, Castilian barbarians…”
The magnificent building overhead is an ancient Empire relic, its original name untraceable, commonly called today as [Grand Arena] or [Greyrock Arena].
Roughly calculated, the Grand Arena has stood for a millennium. Owing to continuous use, it has been well-maintained and repaired.
As the only “amphitheater” that can accommodate tens of thousands, this arena has nearly taken on all major public events of Duke Talar’s domains and even the Castile Peninsula.
During festivals, mass, executions, competitions, duels… nobles and commoners from Greyrock City, Duke Talar’s domains and even the entire Castile Peninsula flood here.
If Saint Heart Cathedral is the religious center of the Castile Peninsula, and Regent’s Palace is the political center, then the Grand Arena signifies the glory center of the Castile Peninsula.
Winning here means winning the Castile Peninsula.
However, the resounding cheers from the arena at this moment are not for the royal family, nor for Henry—they’re for Duke Talar.
To celebrate the birth of his eldest son, Duke Talar has spared no expense in hosting this grand celebration.
Hosting such a vast celebration during the emperor’s mourning is undoubtedly a severe offence. However, the Castilian nobility is notorious throughout the Empire for their unruliness, and they hold little regard for royal dignity.
It could even be interpreted this way—Duke Talar deliberately chose this timing for his eldest son’s celebration to demonstrate his disdain for the authority of the Sunfort royal family.
“How many people are in the arena now?” Henry asks thoughtfully.
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“At least twenty thousand,” Duke Lothar responds, “Including both major and minor lords of Castile, and many, many commoners… Greyrock City is almost deserted, everyone is here.”
