Turning Chapter 1027

The voices of the skeptics weren't silenced by Duke Peletta alone. Much of the credit belonged to the whispers surrounding his right-hand man, the newly minted Swordmaster Nathan Zuckerman.

When combined with the legendary exploits of Yuder Aile—the savior of the West—and the collective triumphs of the Cavalry, it was hardly surprising that youths like Filevan were vibrating with anticipation.

Under normal circumstances, Priscilla wasn't one to be easily moved by such tales. However, her perspective shifted entirely when those "other members" included her own kin.

Though the names Fruelle van Ta-in and Nipolen van Ta-in might not have been headlined as the primary architects of miracles, their contributions to the Southern campaign were undeniable. Priscilla had lost count of how many times she had pored over the correspondence sent by Fruelle and Nipolen from the South.

Nipolen wrote of meeting and greeting the Hern House heir, and of befriending a feline companion in the desert. Fruelle’s letters were filled with the ridiculous blunders he faced while honing his shapeshifting Cultivation. Most touchingly, the usually sharp-witted Fruelle confessed his deep affection for the Cavalry’s deputy commander, admitting he became a stuttering mess in their presence.

These letters painted a clear picture: the two brothers, once considered the family’s greatest burdens, had found a meaningful and comfortable life within the Cavalry. Knowing they were thriving was all the motivation Priscilla van Ta-in needed to shoulder the exhausting weight of leading the family.

‘Yes. This is reward enough.’

As the carriage lurched forward, the grand boulevards of the Third Wall blurred past the windows. Piriam watched the passing scenery before suddenly flashing a smirk.

“The Cavalry’s detractors must be miserable today. I bet Father is rotting in his cell, absolutely fuming.”

The distant shadow of the Regien Tower, where the former Duke of Ta-in was currently held, loomed in the distance. Priscilla stared toward the prison, her voice cold and devoid of pity.

“Indeed. To that man, today is a living nightmare. But for us, it is anything but.”

“I hope his rage consumes him,” Piriam added. “Let it match the suffering he inflicted upon us.”

Filevan, who had been peering out the opposite window with half an ear on their conversation, suddenly gasped in surprise.

“Sister! Look! An entire fleet of temple carriages is rushing by! Where could they be going in such a hurry?”

Priscilla shifted her gaze, watching the line of holy transport speed in the other direction. Her eyes narrowed instinctively.

“They are heading toward the Apeto manor.”

“Apeto?”

“The successor, First Prince Eishes, is reportedly fading fast. They can try to keep it quiet, but summoning the temple’s power this frequently makes the truth obvious.”

With the current Duke of Apeto missing under the guise of 'recuperation,' only Eishes remained visible. Yet, after clawing his way to the position of heir, Eishes had become so sickly that he required daily visits from temple healers.

Intelligence reaching House Ta-in suggested he was hunting desperately for a cure, but every attempt failed. Paradoxically, his condition seemed to worsen with every treatment. He was now mostly confined to his bed, plagued by frequent daily seizures.

Despite his failing health, he reportedly insisted on preparing a formal ceremony to solidify his succession. In reality, he lacked the strength to even speak his mind, reduced to frantically calling for priests even on a day of national celebration.

Watching the temple carriages vanish into the distance, Priscilla felt a cold sense of detachment.

‘A succession? He won't survive to see the spring.’

The stench of impending death clung to House Apeto. While the servants dared not speak it, rumors were rampant that the preparations being made weren't for a coronation, but for a burial.

Priscilla doubted Eishes Shan Apeto would ever get to send out invitations for his victory. It was far more likely those same cards would be repurposed for his funeral.

‘If he passes... what follows?’

The reigning Duke of Apeto was likely already dead. If Eishes followed, only one legitimate successor remained.

Revlin Shan Apeto, currently a member of the Cavalry.

‘My brother mentioned that Revlin is content where he is. He has ignored every secret plea from House Apeto to return and claim his place.’

His refusal was likely tied to Dandenion, the man he openly claimed as his lover. As an Awakener, a commoner, and a man, Dandenion made the Cavalry the only safe haven for their relationship.

But while the Cavalry offered sanctuary now, the future remained uncertain. If Eishes died and Revlin stayed away, the title would fall to a distant relative.

If that successor was reasonable, things might stay peaceful. But such luck was rare. Revlin would likely face a lifetime of threats the moment Eishes drew his last breath. Whether he would maintain his exile or finally return to face his destiny was a question no one could answer yet.

‘I would go back if I were him. Unless there is no one left to shield, seizing power is the most effective strategy. With Eishes gone, his greatest obstacle is removed—it’s the perfect opening.’

Priscilla had made her own sacrifices to ensure her siblings were safe. While Fruelle sometimes felt guilty for leaving her with the family burdens, she harbored no resentment.

Though the path was grueling, it brought its own satisfaction. Tricking foolish rivals, witnessing her father’s downfall, and using her newfound authority to protect her loved ones suited her perfectly.

‘True protection requires power. Perhaps he simply views the world differently than I do.’

According to Fruelle’s last message, Revlin was still unaware of how dire Eishes’s health had become. He would find out soon enough upon his return today.

‘The Apeto faction likely thinks Revlin is still a child they can puppet. I wonder how they will react when that "young boy" returns as a decorated hero of the Cavalry?’

The Ta-in carriage moved past the Apeto estate without stopping. Priscilla pushed the rival family from her mind. Her focus shifted to the immediate future: the arrival of the Cavalry and the reunion with her brothers.

“The Cavalry has arrived!”

“Hooray!”

The air was filled with a blizzard of colored paper, drowned out only by the thunderous roar of the crowd. The Cavalry members were momentarily stunned by the sheer intensity of the welcome, but their shock soon turned to beaming smiles as they acknowledged the masses.

“Good heavens... look at this!”

“All these people... just for us?”

“I thought the official ceremony wasn't until tomorrow?”

While this wasn't the formal event, the sheer volume of the spontaneous crowd and the handmade confetti made the moment feel even more significant.

‘It feels more like midsummer than the dead of winter.’

They threw paper today because it was winter, but had it been spring, the streets would have been buried in flower petals. Yuder followed Kishiar, glancing up at the sky. Though the air was crisper than in the South, the lack of wind made it bearable. The sunlight was so radiant it felt as though the seasons had already turned.

The original plan had been to remain in their carriages until they reached their destination. However, the fervor of the crowd was so great that Kishiar decided they should walk part of the way.

“We can’t simply drive past this. Let’s proceed on foot at least until we reach the Prime Minister’s greeting point. Is everyone alright with that?”

It wasn't a choice Yuder would have made for himself, but he knew it was the right gesture for the team. Tugging his hat lower, Yuder observed his companions, who were radiating pride. Yet, his eyes inevitably drifted back to Kishiar, who was effortlessly commanding the attention of every citizen with a simple wave.

“Look, it’s Duke Peletta!”

“The Swordmaster who parted the sea! Even General Gino praised him!”

“The one who wields the Divine Sword!”

Nearly everyone in the massive crowd had their eyes glued to him.

He wasn't dressed in anything particularly flashy, yet with a mere smile and a steady stride, the man held the entire city in the palm of his hand.