The nobles of the Western Continent had their own distinct etiquette.
Ranks and status were sharply defined, the hierarchy rigid, carrying an unmistakable scent of naked power and violence.
Great throngs of lesser and middling nobles, regardless of their standing, had obediently gathered at Victory Palace well in advance. Impeccably dressed and wearing modest smiles, they lined up in orderly ranks according to their titles, stretching from the main gates of Victory Palace all the way to the entrance of the Golden Hall, the audience chamber. Red carpets covered the ground along the route, multicolored flower petals drifted down from the sky, and mages of every element exerted themselves to cast sprays of magical flame in every hue, adorning this avenue over two thousand meters long into something wondrous and magnificent, like the dwelling place of gods.
A full ten thousand Gallic Imperial Guards rode pure-white steeds, clad in silver armor and scarlet cloaks, with blood-red plumes crowning their helmets. Heads held high, they stood in formation along Victory Avenue, sealing off the entire street.
At least three thousand court mages floated in the air, joining the flying magic beasts of the Royal Magic Cavalry Corps and several hundred magical flying wheels as they circled overhead, remaining incomparably vigilant and refusing to let any suspicious object approach Victory Palace.
The scandal of several important figures being assassinated had only just erupted, and the Gallic Empire could no longer tolerate such a thing happening again. Thus, at a single command from Holy Light I, several main legions stationed near Berely sealed off the entire capital. Berely today was so tightly locked down that even a fly would find it hard to slip in.
Within such a strict encirclement, one lavish carriage after another slowly proceeded along Victory Avenue. Based on the