At the edge of the square, a few inconspicuous Invokers were merging into the crowd of citizens.

They passed through the throng, moving forward, and only stopped halfway to look up towards the center of the square. On the high platform, the conversation between the Praetor and Duke Modkaesar had just come to an end, their voices carried far by the cold wind.

The people watched quietly as the rebels were brought out one by one, and the Invokers watched the scene as well. They turned to look at each other, faces hidden under hoods, with only eyes sparkling beneath the shadows.

Then the group lightly nodded to one another.

The Praetor stood on the high platform and responded: "It's ready."

Duke Modkaesar looked at the people below, seeing no familiar faces. The discourtesy from the Prime Minister's side was irksome, but he kept a stern face, knowing he could not align against the Royal Household.

He recalled what Coleman said before leaving and couldn't help but shake his head. This was the foundation upon which the Modkaesar Family was built, how could outsiders understand? Besides, the Old King had shown him grace and recognition.

He silently raised the sword in his hand.

The sword suddenly emitted a brilliant flash of light.

It seemed as if everyone heard a crisp cry, echoing from the high platform.

Upon Duke Modkaesar's Phoenix Holy Sword, a layer of crimson flames suddenly flared up. The blaze surged high, as if the fiery red opened its wings, leaping from the sword, transforming into a magnificent and noble firebird, soaring into the sky with flames trailing.

Descended slowly.

This sacred bird raised its neck in song, a call that could pierce the long night. The glowing golden light on its wings seemed to flow into every person's heart. The firebird flapped its wings, flying half a circle around the square like a golden cloud, finally landing on the statue of the First Generation Duke Phoenix in the square's center.

It perched on his shoulder.

Just as it did hundreds of years ago, on the shoulder of its owner—

The citizens and Invokers in the square held their breath, the firelight seemed to illuminate the depths of each person's eyes. This was the Phoenix Soul—the flowing fringes of flame burned vividly, the long golden plumes draped to the ground.

It looked up, observing the multitude of beings.

Although this was an annual event, Dulun's citizens still couldn't help but gasp with amazement whenever they witnessed this scene—some people had been watching from childhood, from one Duke to another.

Watching this Holy Sword become a symbol of the Southern Region.

As for those Invokers in the crowd, their mouths already slightly agape—the Phoenix in Eteliria was also a symbol of fantasy. Fang Hong, on the side, was even more mesmerized.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" a voice came from behind him.

He hesitated for a moment, turning around, only to find a man standing behind him, who he didn't know when he arrived. The man wasn't very old, maybe just a few years older than him, but with a light stubble, he looked much more mature.

The man was draped in a thick fur cloak, carrying a massive box on his back, which was as tall as half a person.

Fang Hong had never seen such a strange attire, couldn't help but glance a few times. The man's Magic Guided Reactor was hidden under the cloak, making it hard to speculate his profession, but he should be an Invoker. For this, Fang Hong had a strong intuition.

The man glanced at him and Hilveld, then couldn't help a slight smile, his expression somewhat gentle: "Am I too late, standing here, will I disturb you?"

He obviously noticed they were a young couple—and Fang Hong then realized he was still holding Miss Ship's Officer's hand, and as he looked up, only nodded, but didn't intend to let go, only replied: "Please help yourself."

Though there were many people in the square, it wasn't so crowded as to be unmanageable.

The man nodded, no longer speaking.

On the high platform, the Praetor also looked up at this beautiful firebird, the burning golden light in his eyes, yet his expression remained calm, without much reverence. This was merely a deified sword, it may not be a divine weapon, but that's all—

He glanced at Duke Modkaesar beside him, noticing the other's rigid, meticulous expression, but this rigidity annoyed him. The Duke stubbornly believed that as long as he guarded everything about this sword, he secured all of the past times.

But in truth, it was just inflexibility, otherwise, why would the Southern Region have its current troubles?

In his mind, these were people living in the past, only knowing how to hang onto the lingering glow of bygone days, unable to adapt to the prevailing trends, just like a piece of decaying timber. He couldn't help but feel curious, does the Duke think maintaining this manner equals fulfilling the Royal Household's mission?

But the young New King clearly didn't favor his powerful uncle—this was what it meant to have royal intent. Today, between Colin Ishurian, only one leader could remain.

The era of the Old King and his brother, was over.

The Praetor found it somewhat amusing, glancing at the Duke, deliberately asking: "Is it okay?"

Duke Modkaesar meticulously nodded.

Pedantic—

He concluded in his mind, unsure if the Duke would regret it later. With this thought, he looked at the rebels brought onto the platform, pointing to one of them, he spoke:

"Do you remember what you said?"

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