CHAPTER 170: CHAPTER 170 | CREED

*Back on the capital city

*Gong! *Gong! *Gong!

The deep gonging of the ceremonial bells rolled across the entire capital, each heavy strike sending a low vibration through the cold air. Their echoes bounced along the snowy rooftops and stone roads, creating a solemn rhythm that announced the importance of this day.

Snow drifted down in thicker flakes than usual, almost as if the planet itself understood the weight of the event and wanted to cloak the city in a quiet, white curtain of respect.

Today was the Royal Assembly—one of the biggest events of the year—and every citizen felt it.

The main streets had been blocked off with polished railings, forming long pathways meant for a grand procession. Crowds gathered eagerly behind them, people wrapped in coats and scarves as they pressed closer together for warmth and for a better view. The sidewalks were packed shoulder-to-shoulder, a sea of excited faces turned toward the empty path where the nobles and warriors would soon appear.

Voices filled the air with excited murmurs, conversations mixing with laughter and shouts. Many citizens had never once seen a high noble, much less a high ranking warrior in person, only hearing their names through news broadcasts or stories passed down by their parents.

For them, this was a rare moment—maybe the only moment—to witness living legends walk past them.

"I can’t wait to see House Sorellia! Hopefully Venedix will be here!" a mother said, clutching her bundled baby close as she tried to peek over the heads in front of her.

"I heard there’s a prodigy from House Nythrael who just came back from the war, marching with General Gaius himself!" another civilian added—this time a teenage boy who had climbed halfway up a tall street pole to get a better view. His cheeks were red from the cold, but his eyes were filled with excitement.

"Of course he’s here," the teenage girl beside him said, rolling her eyes dramatically while bouncing on her toes to see past the crowd. "General Gaius is leading the march, so obviously he would be there, like, right behind him."

She brushed her hair behind her ear and continued with even more excitement.

"I’m more excited about the red-haired apprentice of Venedix! I heard he used to be a slave and he fought all the way up to where he is now. And people say he’s really handsome too!"

"Hah! I’m more handsome than him, clearly!" the teenage boy replied with a smug grin, even though his friend only laughed at him.

All along the street, the snow continued to fall, dancers of white drifting down the skies as the capital held its breath—waiting for the first sign of the approaching procession.

And then—there it was.

*VWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!

A single, powerful horn blasted across the sky, sharp and heavy, its echo bouncing between the tall walls of the city. It sounded like the call of an army returning home, a sound so strong that even the snow seemed to pause in the air for a brief heartbeat.

Heads shot up all across the crowd, conversations stopping mid-sentence before a flood of cheers crashed over the streets the moment the first figures came into view.

"There they are!"

"Look mommy! Look!"

"HAIL THE HEROES OF ZERAFHON!"

From the grand entrance of the capital, nobles, heroes, and warriors stepped into sight—each one wearing decorated armor, cloaks of their houses, and expressions of pride and purpose. Their shining boots hit the ground in synchronized rhythm, and for many civilians, it felt like watching legends walk out from the pages of a storybook.

"FORWARD MARCH!"

The command boomed from the front lines, carried by the deep voice of General Gaius himself. His presence alone made the snow-filled air feel heavier, his armor reflecting the pale sky as he led the grand procession.

Behind him, massive armored vehicles rolled forward in a slow, steady pace, their engines rumbling like distant thunder as they matched the steps of those marching on foot.

"I-It’s General Gaius!"

"Woooo!"

The crowd erupted again—some citizens jumping just to get a single glimpse, while others pointed upward as the sky itself began to roar.

Above the capital, squadrons of space fighters streaked across the clouds in tight formations. Their engines screamed through the air in perfect harmony, forming waves of aircraft so dense that they almost covered the entire sky. Trails of mist followed behind them, creating swirling patterns that glittered faintly in the light.

Far higher, at the edge of the atmosphere, enormous silhouettes glimmered like distant stars.

Frigates and destroyers hovered in disciplined lines, their lights blinking in steady rhythms.

And towering over them all was a dreadnought—its massive frame barely visible through the thin haze of the upper atmosphere, but still bright enough to cast a wide glow across the sky.

It was a true spectacle—one that filled the senses from every angle.

On the ground, noblemen and warriors marched with honor.

In the sky, fighters roared in great numbers like a metallic flock.

And high above the world, the empire’s greatest ships stood as silent guardians, paying their respects to everyone who walked beneath them.

The entire capital city watched, breathless, as the Royal Assembly began in full glory.

Jinn, who was quietly moving along with the rest of his squad beside Zhyn, Gerahl, and Dreilla, kept his eyes fixed straight ahead as they slowly made their way forward. The civilians lining the street hurled sharp, almost stabbing stares at them, like each glare had its own weight.

"It’s the Scion!" one of the civilians shouted, the excitement in his voice echoing above the crowd as more faces turned toward Jinn, some filled with awe, others with a strange mix of fear and curiosity.

"The slave turned warrior!" another yelled proudly, before their attention immediately shifted toward Nythrael.

"And the prodigy of Nythrael!" the crowd added, as if announcing titles in some kind of parade where Jinn and the others didn’t even want to be the center of attention.

"Wow, it’s really tough being famous, huh?" Gerahl muttered with a smug grin, walking casually with his hands behind his head as if the pressure around them didn’t exist at all. He moved beside Jinn, Nythrael, and Dreilla with that usual relaxed swagger that made him look like he didn’t take anything too seriously.

"Shut up, meathead," Zhyn replied right away, his tone irritated before dropping his voice into a quiet grumble only the closest could hear.

"This is exactly why I hate these types of events..." His expression tightened, clearly uncomfortable with all the eyes on them.

Dreilla gave a short scoff as she continued walking, barely sparing the crowd a glance. "Enjoy the scenery while you can," she said firmly, her voice calm but carrying weight. "It’s gonna get much more hostile once we enter the royal palace." There was no hesitation in her words, and none of them bothered to argue because they all knew she was absolutely right.

Once they stepped into the palace grounds, they would be surrounded by nobles of different ranks, houses, and agendas all packed into one suffocating space.

And Jinn knew—everyone marching here knew—that nobles could be even worse than soldiers or monsters on a battlefield. In Zerafhon, the noble world was its own kind of war, filled with politics, deceit, hidden blades, and smiling enemies waiting for a chance to strike.

It was treacherous, maybe even more than facing an actual army, and Jinn could already feel that familiar tension rising inside his chest as they marched forward.

Moments passed as the convoy continued its steady march forward, the banners of every represented house swaying gently in the air with each step they took.

Civilians and nobles alike stood on both sides of the road, cheering and shouting as the procession moved from the common districts to the noble district, until finally reaching the Royal District—an area sacred only to those of royal blood.

The Royal District was noticeably smaller than the rest, and as soon as the convoy crossed through the heavily guarded gate, the entire atmosphere shifted.

It was quieter, almost unnaturally so, yet the air here carried a pressure so heavy that Jinn felt it settle on his shoulders like a weight. Even the silence felt like it was watching them.

Jinn lifted his gaze forward, and there—stretching across the horizon—stood the colossal royal palace. It was so massive that it seemed to swallow the entire skyline in front of them. Dozens of ornate towers circled the palace’s perimeter, each spiraling with elegant architecture that rose so high their tips shimmered faintly when they caught the distant light.

At the very center of the grand palace was a large, disc-shaped stone carving—a monumental emblem bearing the insignia of Zerafhon. A sword pierced through two flaming wings, the edges carved with immaculate detail, and beneath it was the inscription:

Zirenum abvreil al.

Strength above all.

It was the code every Zerafhon carried deep within their hearts and souls, a creed people were raised with, lived by, and were willing to die for. A code strong enough to bind the entire empire together, elevating them above the countless kingdoms and nations beyond their system.

It was the identity that shaped every soldier, every noble, every citizen.

Jinn stared at it with his lone eye, the familiar emblem stirring old memories inside him. This was the same creed that had been drilled into him during his years under the empire... and now, after everything he had been through, he found himself agreeing with it more than ever.

Because how could he dream of escaping or finding true freedom if he remained weak?

How could he protect the people he cared for?

How could he even protect himself?

Strength was the only path forward.

The only weapon that would allow him to move, survive, and keep going.