Chapter 320: The New Meteor Knight of Wushan Territory

The following day, news that the King would host a grand tournament at Princess Blanche's birthday banquet swept through the City of Golden Feathers like a sudden gale.

In principle, this competition was reserved strictly for the noble youths attending the celebration.

However, perhaps wishing to display a benevolent, populist grace, Bruno had specially allocated a few slots to the transcendent knight academies of both the City of Golden Feathers and Oxhorn Bay, while professional knights within the royal order who met the requirements were also granted special permission to compete.

A tournament was, and always would be, the ultimate stage for a knight to display his prowess.

The grander the scale of the competition, the more numerous the hidden opportunities within.

For knights of common birth but uncommon strength, capturing the favor of some great dignitary during the tourney could very well mean a singular chance to alter the course of their destiny.

Thus, countless souls set to preparing themselves for the coming contest.

At dawn, Kross Vera returned early to his family’s estate in the City of Golden Feathers, his heart heavy with a bellyful of resentment.

At that moment, Harmand had just finished his breakfast and was adjusting his attire to enter the palace, least expecting his nephew to return supported by others.

"Good heavens, Kross, what on earth happened to you?" he asked in sheer consternation. "How did you manage to get wounded inside the royal palace itself?"

Burdened by his injuries and having slept poorly the previous night, even Kross, a Silver Knight, bore a thoroughly wretched complexion.

The moment he opened his mouth, it was to demand funds: "Uncle Harmand, I need gold coins!"

Harmand’s expression shifted instantly.

As the eldest grandson of the Duke, Kross possessed no shortage of wealth; producing several thousand or even ten thousand gold coins on a whim was entirely within his means.

Yet for him to openly beg for money now made it glaringly obvious that he required no small sum.

"What exactly happened?"

Thereupon, Kross recounted the entire sequence of events from beginning to end.

Harmand frowned deeply as he listened, finally unable to suppress a curse: "That brat from Screaming Island is an absolute coward! Had he merely held his ground and died denying it, would His Majesty truly have thrown him into the dungeons? Even if it went to a public trial later, given how severely injured you are, we wouldn't have had to part with a single gold coin, and we might have even found a way to cause Ronin some trouble!"

Kross looked rather vexed; now that he had calmed down, the more he reflected on it, the more displeased he became, feeling as though he had suffered a silent, bitter loss.

But matters having reached this point, they had already confessed their guilt, and overturning last night's verdict was utterly impossible.

He snapped resentfully, "Merely thirty thousand gold coins. Consider it charity for Ronin to buy medicine."

Following last night's deliberations, these eighty thousand gold coins were to be split, with Kross and Facundo each providing thirty thousand, while the Grigor siblings and Sally contributed ten thousand apiece.

"Thirty thousand gold coins is a trivial matter, however."

Their four families were long-established, old-money nobility; such wealth was beneath their concern.

"It is only that our hopes of spreading negative rumors about Ronin to disrupt the betrothal between Bruno and the Mountains family have now grown exceedingly slim."

With such a commotion last night, news was bound to spread today, and it might even turn out in Ronin's favor.

The reality of the situation unfolded precisely as Harmand had anticipated.

What the public spoke of most extensively now was the four great families sponsoring the upcoming tournament.

Though the act of extracting coins from the four families was couched as sponsorship, the nobles who had witnessed their conflict with Ronin yesterday harbored subtle suspicions.

After all, the tournament was a makeshift arrangement, and those footing the bill were the very ones who had caused the disturbance; who wouldn't draw the connection?

As for Ronin, once he became the subject of widespread discussion, the people's focus naturally fractured.

While some continued to gossip about his past scandalous deeds, many others began to praise his feat of taking on a whole crowd single-handedly without suffering defeat.

Some even went so far as to faintly speculate whether the champion of this tournament might just be Ronin himself.

Under such circumstances, Harmand and the others continuing to exploit Ronin's past romantic escapades and the matter of driving Selena to her death yielded noticeably diminished returns.

Much like Kross, Facundo and the rest had also returned to their respective family estates within the City of Golden Feathers.

Upon hearing his son's report, Myron let out a cold snort: "What a muddled fool you are. This was Bruno's petty scheming, and you couldn't even see through it?"

Facundo lowered his head, weakly defending himself, "I was terrified at the time that His Majesty would lay the entirety of the guilt and punishment upon my head, inviting even greater disaster. So when I heard of a fine, I agreed to it."

"My, you certainly think a great deal of yourself!"

Myron gave a half-smile, and at the thought that the members of the other three families were just as foolish as his own son, his mood suddenly brightened a fraction.

"Never mind, merely thirty thousand gold coins. If it is paid, it is paid."

He was equally indifferent to the money; what concerned him more was Bruno's aberrant behavior.

"It appears our King is intent on propping up the Mountains family this time. Yet can this clan, which has lain dormant for thirty years, truly

Secret techniques are not something anyone can invent on their own; such resources are often monopolized by great noble houses and powerful factions. To learn them requires paying a heavy price.

Even a long-serving lord cannot bestow them lightly.

He had been saved by Rulans as a child, and over the years had received countless favors, his heart brimming with gratitude.

“Mastering a secret technique cannot be achieved in a single day. It tests your patience and perseverance—you must grasp every subtle detail to succeed. And during training, you must guard against your aura spiraling out of control and harming yourself.”

“I understand!”

Melonica longed to rush down and try it immediately.

“Second matter—I need you to go to Golden Feather City.”

Perhaps he had been too long removed from the squabbles of power, or perhaps Rulans knew that Ronin possessed a dragon, and thus felt no fear for his safety at sea.

But he had never anticipated that Ronin would be assassinated on the way to Golden Feather City.

“Ronin was attacked at sea. The leader of the assassins—the same golden-ranked killer who struck down Branqui in the arena.”

Melonica’s eyes widened. “How is Ronin now?”

“He’s unharmed, safe within the Golden Feather Palace. But just in case, I need you to go protect him.”

“No problem!”

Melonica spoke without hesitation—he knew full well how much Ronin meant to this old man.

“Good.”

Rulans nodded. “I’ve already arranged for Vittorino’s ship to wait for you. Depart at first light tomorrow.”

“No need to wait until tomorrow.”

Melonica smiled. “My Flame Steed moves as swiftly by night as by day.”

Rulans nodded. “Then it’s your decision.”

Melonica arrived swiftly—and departed even faster.

Rulans thought of Golden Feather City. He hadn’t set foot there in years; even the Ushan Keep’s liaison office in the city had fallen into ruin.

In truth, nearly every major noble house in the kingdom maintained a liaison office there—partly to communicate with the royal court, partly to cultivate ties with other ministers and nobles, to gather intelligence.

But over the years, as Ushan Keep declined and Vingis showed little interest in affairs of the capital, coupled with the staggering cost of purchasing magical potions to suppress the Soul-Eater, Rulans had wanted to act—but lacked the means.

Now that Ushan Keep had a rising star, perhaps it was time to consider rebuilding the liaison office.

“Never mind. Let Ronin handle it.”

Rulans sighed.

He would likely never use the office himself, nor would his son Vingis.

Better to leave its establishment—and its use—to Ronin to decide. (End of chapter)