Not long afterward, a middle-aged man entered the viewing area, nodded to Velin, and sat down to his right.
Velin nodded back in return.
As for the man's identity, he had no idea.
When it came to his own family's heraldry, he knew it like the back of his hand. As for other families' crests, it could not be said that he knew a little—he understood absolutely nothing.
To avoid embarrassment, Velin could only look elsewhere and tried not to make eye contact with the middle-aged man on his right. That way, if the man started a conversation, he would not be unable to call him by name.
Less than a few minutes later, an old man stopped beside the stone chair to Velin's left. His clothing was not extravagant, but rather plain.
The old man gave Velin a kindly nod, then sat down and slowly closed his eyes, as though the noise around him had nothing to do with him.
Velin stared at the faded Priest Robe, washed so many times that its color had worn away. It bore the emblem of a broken branch and a shattered sword—the mark of an Ascetic Monk of the Church of Life. The other symbols presumably represented rank and status, but unfortunately, Velin did not know their exact meanings either.
Thus, while the other guests conversed with those beside them who shared similar status and standing, Velin and the two men beside him remained silent.
The altar stood thirty meters high and was trapezoidal in shape. Its eastern side was the shortest, with its level surface reaching precisely to the chest of the statue of the Goddess of Life.
The top platform covered ninety square meters. It was where the new king would be crowned and, after the coronation, where the guests