Traysan was wrong—Gracus was no foolish pig.

“Is the army ready?”

“We need a bit more time.”

“No. I asked the wrong question. If the army is ready, can we win in a single, decisive blow?”

Long years of administrative experience had granted him something Blue Knights typically lacked: self-awareness.

“Yes. We can win.”

“No. I’m not asking if we can win. I’m asking if we can win overwhelmingly. Enough to preserve face before Lord Traysan and Lady Andromeda.”

“……My apologies.”

Being struck down from above was, to Blue Knights, a kind of badge of honor.

Just as Kyrie had endured Traysan’s suppression, Gracus could endure Andromeda’s.

But if he allowed himself to be struck from below, his status would be shaken regardless of victory or defeat.

Stay calm.

Thus, whether he won or lost, he must not fight.

Even if he could defeat Kyrie one-on-one, Gracus could not simply ride out alone to clash with him.

Just doing so would imply they stood on the same level.

Unacceptable.

A distant senior must crush a junior effortlessly, as if delivering a lesson in dignity.

But his army was not yet ready.

Naturally, he could not openly escalate.

“And allow entry and the triumph.”

“Your Excellency!”

“We mustn’t. During the ceremony, they may aim for your life.”

“I can protect myself.”

Gracus adjusted his stance without hesitation.

“Besides, the insolent citizens have been shouting unspeakable things lately. A triumph could suppress them.”

“That… is true.”

“It may also be a signal from Kyrie. If he truly intended rebellion, he would have demanded only entry and then stormed the gates once they opened. The fact he didn’t means he has no wish to cross that line.”

“Certainly. Lately, your insight has been awe-inspiring, my lord.”

“Use it.”

A triumph was not merely a parade.

It was a festival that showered the people with goods, a propaganda event that strengthened unity.

Above all, a triumph included the general’s retirement as commander.

A tradition inherited from the ancient empires of evil.

For one day, a victorious general was granted divine glory—and the next, he returned to being a subject beneath the sovereign.

By that interpretation, Kyrie’s request could even be seen as him extending his hand first.

Of course, Gracus had no intention of taking that hand.

His eyes, buried in flesh and fat, glittered like those of a greedy bear.

“We’ve seized enough supplies and coin through requisition. Distribute them lavishly and sway public sentiment.”

“If we’re lucky, we can even redirect the people’s anger—make them think we were squeezed dry to reward him.”

“Once the triumph ends, the mercenary captains will relax. They’ll think the war is truly over.”

“You intend to promise substantial rewards at the unit level.”

“Yes. And you should remember—we once planned to absorb their army anyway. Only Kyrie matters.”

“And therefore?”

Gracus slammed a meaty hand on the table.

“Strike the very night the triumph ends.”

His flaring nostrils quivered with excitement.

The brat thinks he can soar? I’ll show him.

There were many ways to “demonstrate rank.”

Teaching juniors never to let their guard down was one such method.

Even if his choice was made because he lacked confidence in an overwhelming victory in a frontal clash, he could at least salvage some dignity.

It wouldn’t be a public midday confrontation, after all.

“Governor Gracus will fully support the triumph!”

The messenger came running with the news.

Has Gracus lost his mind?

I doubted my own ears.

My provocation had not been mild.

Nor were the rumors spreading throughout the city, or the word “rebellion” he had thrown at me—something one could not take back casually.

Certainly not something one could flip over like a hand.

“You heard?”

“Lord Kyrie’s holding a triumph!”

“Imperator, is it?”

“Imperator! Long live Imperator Kyrie!”

“Kyrie! Kyrie! Kyrie!”

That was the triumph.

“Didn’t expect this, but congratulations.”

Joi approached with a goofy grin.

“Imperator? Him?”

Nereus looked as if someone had hit him with a hammer.

“Well, Gracus is governor of a city with over a million people—he can grant the Imperator title, right? And he can place the laurel crown on your head as the bishop’s deputy. Kyrie! Congratulations!”

Frey leaned from her saddle and hugged me tightly.

“Off.”

“Hing.”

I pushed her away for now.

“Convey my gratitude to Governor Gracus. And inform Astrion that I have received the title of Imperator by the will of Gracus and the citizens of Spiramentaon.”

I gave the order calmly.

Unlike the battle, this had to be handled purely as a public matter.

A triumph was not a simple event.

To be honest, I had proposed it expecting to be rejected.

It had been something I threw out on the fly to prevent my soldiers from rising up behind me—I never actually thought it would happen.

Preparations took a full week.

More could have been done, but as this was not a capital-level triumph, we kept it moderate.

“Don’t worry. I won’t drag you or your subordinates in chains.”

“Thank you for preserving my dignity.”

I needed Erica’s cooperation, so I removed the segment involving humiliating prisoners.

This was not a foreign war; it was an internal imperial conflict. It could be omitted.

But a triumph was still a triumph.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

With drumbeats, the gates opened.

“Waaah!”

“Kyrie! Kyrie! Kyrie!”

“Imperator Kyrie!”

“Hail Lightning Blade Kyrie!”

Imperial banners and Astreos banners fluttered everywhere.

Women scattered rose petals and colored paper.

I rode a chariot drawn by four white horses along the main boulevard.

I was astonished.

More people came out than expected.

This wasn’t the level of turnout Gracus could force.

Nor was the cheering something planted by agitators—it was genuine, united jubilation.

“Kyrie! Kyrie! Long live Imperator Kyrie!”

Even my ears—accustomed to thunder-stepping every day—hurt from the noise.

“Wow… woaaah!”

Joi’s mouth hung open in disbelief.

“D-Don’t think beating me in a triumph means anything. Once I hold one myself, I’ll…”

Nereus tried with all his might to suppress the corners of his mouth as he glared at me.

“Kyrie is the best!”

Frey grinned and gave me a bright thumbs-up.

I looked at the people.

“We’re saved!”

“The war’s over, right?!”

“Yeah! Lord Kyrie defeated those Rykenta bastards—everything will go back to normal! It will!”

“He looked this way! He saw me!”

“Kyrie! Kyrie! Kyrie!”

“My lord! Thank you for avenging my family!”

“Thanks to you, we can return to our homeland!”

They cheered for me with genuine hearts.

Old memories resurfaced involuntarily.

It had been someone else’s triumph back then.

Thinking back, perhaps it was Traysan’s.

I had slipped out of the red-light district orphanage to watch the procession.

You filthy brat, scram.

I remembered the contemptuous eyes of the adults who shoved me aside.

“Imperator Kyrie! Imperator Kyrie!”

The bastard orphan from the red-light district was now a war hero.

Imperator.

That word stirred another feeling.

It meant “triumphant general,” but in the ancient tongue, it held another meaning.

Emperor.

In the ancient war-born empire, “emperor” meant supreme commander of the armies.

If today’s emperor was “the one chosen by the starlight,” the ancient emperor was the commander who rose by the sword.

Perhaps I was closer to that.

The thought flickered briefly.

“Next, Imperator Kyrie of House Astrion Astreos will offer thanks to the night sky’s Manseong!”

The triumph proceeded without issue.

I had extended my bio-radar fully, half expecting someone in the crowd to draw a blade or fire a crossbow—but it was needless worry.

I finished the prayer in the city’s central Manseong Cathedral.

“Lord Kyrie.”

“Governor Gracus.”

I knelt on one knee before him, as the ceremony required.

As the ceremony required, Gracus shook his head and raised me to my feet.

“This crown is not from me but from the citizens of Spiramentaon.”

He placed the laurel crown woven of olive branches upon my head.

I did not believe in eternal memory.

But I felt I would remember the roar of that moment for a very long time.

The triumph ended.

We established a temporary camp in one section of the city.

Ten thousand soldiers could not disperse immediately.

I hadn’t even paid them yet.

Fortunately, I was now wealthy.

I had the money Gracus had scattered, and the money seized from Erica.

And as acting Baron of Helix, I had authority over reclaimed lands where knights had died fighting the Mutated Beasts.

Granting those estates to my own knights would be reward enough for thousands.

【Sub-Objective 1: Hero of the People】

【You have earned the expectation of over 500,000 citizens.
They believe you will send them home.】

【Failure Penalty: Celestial Lightning Body −100%】
【Success Reward 1: Celestial Lightning Body +100%】
【Success Reward 2: +1% per additional 10,000 citizens】

【Progress: …】

And there was a reward beyond expectation.

【Celestial Lightning Body +100%】

The joy rushing through my entire body brought tears to my eyes for a moment.

“So that’s how it turns out.”

I murmured as the strings glowed across my stigmata.

One day.

In a single day, I’d gained the expectations of 500,000.

The triumph had likely played a massive role.

These were difficult times.

People didn’t want me to defeat Gracus in battle.

They wanted me to pressure Gracus so he would work hard for them.

To be honest, I preferred that too.

Peace over war. Stability over chaos.

If it was un-Blue-Knight-like, so be it.

It was the truth.

“It really was glorious.”

“Felt amazing!”

“Lord Kyrie is truly incredible. The two nobles must also be—”

I cut the thought short and headed downstairs.

“Don’t get carried away, lieutenant.”

“What were you talking about?”

“You’re here.”

The mansion hall serving as our command center.

Nereus, Frey, Joi, Feijin, Gaveng, Shen, and all high-ranking officers were gathered.

“What else? The triumph, of course.”

Nereus sipped his drink.

It was past midnight.

“Right. I never expected him to actually agree, but he did.”

Warm fatigue and the echo of the day’s cheers softened the mood.

“It seems best interpreted as a peace gesture.”

One mercenary-captain knight spoke cautiously.

“I agree. Even Governor Gracus would hesitate to fight an urban war for real.”

“Having civil war break out in one’s own city is unacceptable.”

“The money spent preparing the triumph, plus the gifts given to us—surely he wouldn’t spend all that just to fight afterward?”

Many of the mercenary leaders nodded.

“It’d be nice if that were true.”

I wasn’t sure.

Perhaps due to the Celestial Lightning Elixir boosting my mana, my heart felt more relaxed.

Gracus wasn’t the adopted son.

Until now he’d sided with Traysan because of friction with Izmael, but he wasn’t tied to Traysan’s fate.

He could simply give Izmael the money he demanded and live like a king in his million-strong city.

Traysan mattered. Gracus didn’t.

If he switched sides now, I had no reason to go all the way.

If he testified everything was Traysan’s doing, it could greatly aid me in borrowing the family head’s power.

“I think so too—”

I was opening my mouth to say the words.

Boom!

A massive explosion erupted in the hall.

Chapter 83

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