Just as they were about to continue their conversation, bells rang out.
Without exception, everyone who had been talking fell silent, rose from their stone seats, and turned to face the distant gates.
The clang of iron boots against stone paving took over from the lingering bells, echoing across the entire square.
Eight hundred Gold Knights in regulation silver-gray armor marched through the palace gates, their raised Royal Banners fluttering in the wind.
Yilan Flowers were embroidered on the banners in silver thread.
Upon reaching the center of the grand hall, the foremost standard-bearer slammed the butt of his flagpole against the ground.
The instant that crisp sound rang out, every knight halted, turned, and pressed a clenched right fist to his left breast.
In an instant, the altar square fell completely silent.
Moments later, footsteps sounded. Looking up, they saw a middle-aged man wearing a crown appear before them.
Every step was slow. Every step was steady.
As they looked at the king, reminiscence filled the eyes of many older attendees.
Among the more than three thousand people present, many of the younger generation had not yet been born when Belgrave succeeded to the throne, but a small number had witnessed his coronation.
Witnessing His Majesty's abdication today meant they had lived through those long yet fleeting hundred and twenty-four years.
Under the gazes of thousands, Belgrave reached the altar's first level. The moment he set foot on the stairs, the countdown to the end of his reign over the Ilia Kingdom began.
As he climbed step by step, memories of the past surfaced unbidden in his mind.
A hundred and twenty-four years had passed since he accepted the scepter symbolizing the throne from his father and donned the crown that embodied royal power.
During that time, he had