Noble Interactions

As the nobles in the corridor chatted away, Bishop Orion walked solemnly toward the tomb.

Realizing the ceremony was about to begin, the crowd quieted down, tidying their mourning clothes and returning to their places.

Bishop Orion unfolded a parchment, cleared his throat, and began to recite the eulogy:

"Born of the dawn, returning to the dusk. Under the gaze of our Lord Lathander, Harandir Xiaxing has completed his expedition in the mortal realm..."

"We are here to bid farewell to Baron Harandir Xiaxing. His life was one of loyalty and guardianship."

"In his youth, Baron Harandir displayed the courage of the Summerstar Family, never fearing hardship. He once donned the iron armor of the Purple Dragon Order, fighting for the kingdom under the banner of the Dragon Throne. He did not crave flashy fame or military glory; like a rock, he stood firm on the borders of the kingdom. He held no illustrious name, yet he was the sturdiest bulwark of the kingdom's prosperity."

Ye Wei'an heard Sezga Huntercrown nearby muttering under his breath again:

" 'Did not crave fame'? I recall the family archives stating that he spent ten years in the Purple Dragon Order, and the biggest mission he participated in was escorting grain supplies—he didn't even manage to earn a single medal..."

"After inheriting his title," the Bishop continued, his tone growing more solemn, "Baron Harandir poured his devotion into Firefall Valley. He was not eager for expansion, choosing instead to 'rest and recuperate.' Under his governance, Firefall Territory maintained over twenty years of peace and order. This wisdom of restraint made the territory a safe harbor amidst the chaotic situation."

" 'Rest and recuperate'... Ha, I suspect Firefall Valley was so poor they couldn't even afford to pave the roads, so they just stayed 'quiet' for twenty years," Sezga couldn't help but quip.

Oliphant glanced at him helplessly and whispered in response: "Respect the dead, Sezga. Even if he was mediocre, at least he didn't cause trouble for Cormyr. In the Eastern Realm, being able to hold onto one's family estate for twenty years without decline makes for a qualified lord."

Listening to their discussion, Ye Wei'an finally understood the caliber of his convenient father.

One could only say that Bishop Orion was truly skilled with words.

However, as the son, he maintained a perfect posture of mourning.

"He was a benevolent lord, a loyal knight," the Bishop concluded. "Now, the torch is passed to the next generation. May Lathander grant the successor wisdom, and may the Baron's soul find rest in the eternal dawn."

The crowd bowed their heads in silence; only the faint sound of rain and the Bishop's low voice echoed within the temple.

As the last glimmer of sunlight vanished from the horizon, the burial ceremony began.

Bishop Orion held a torch burning with golden-red flames and approached the coffin, touching the golden rings at each of its four corners in turn.

At the same time, the horn-blowers sounded a low, mournful note, and the coffin slowly descended into the tomb amidst the soft clicking of pulleys.

Baron Summerstar was officially laid to rest.

At this moment, Lady Selina finally broke down, collapsing by the tomb in uncontrollable sobs; young Lucas was crying so hard he went limp.

Their display forced Ye Wei'an to squeeze out a few tears of his own, lest he appear too out of place.

Next, the long vigil began.

Lathander is the sun god who symbolizes dawn and rebirth.

According to church tradition, the funeral begins at dusk, and all participants must keep vigil in the temple until the sun rises the next morning, symbolizing the soul passing through darkness to return to the light.

The knights of Firefall Fortress, such as Morse and Hilt, remained standing straight outside the perimeter of the coffin, still clad in their heavy iron armor.

Even though days of toil had left their eyes bloodshot and their heavy boots made their ankles ache, they remained as motionless as statues—this was the final loyalty they offered their old lord.

Of course, not everyone was the same.

The local merchants and manor owners also feigned extreme grief and trepidation.

To demonstrate sufficient "loyalty," they had to keep their stiff backs straight, enduring the rigidity of their bodies and the soreness in their thighs.

By contrast, the nobles who had traveled from afar appeared far less "resilient."

To them, the rituals of Lathander were merely a formality.

In this era where the miracles of the gods were rarely seen, maintaining appearances was the most they were willing to offer.

To them, the vigil was nothing more than a salon held in a different venue.

Under the colonnade of the temple's side hall, servants bustled about like weaving beetles.

They brought velvet cushions to place on the cold stone benches and set up folding screens to block the drafty wind.

Baron Raymond Yelland sat in a high-backed armchair in the side hall, his feet resting on a thick velvet carpet, sipping wine from a silver cup while two attendants stood by, ready to drape a fur cloak over him at any moment.

The lord of Indis House argued loudly with another lord about the division of hunting grounds for the coming autumn.

There were also noblewomen dressed in flamboyant finery, chatting in low voices under canopies held by servants, their frivolous laughter sounding jarringly out of place at a funeral.

Sezga Huntercrown walked about without restraint, his leather boots making harsh sounds in the silent temple.

"The incense in this place smells like a moldy old book chest," Sezga complained, covering his nose and mouth with a silk handkerchief.

His servants were busy setting up an exquisite small charcoal stove nearby to roast honey cakes brought from the capital.

Sezga turned to look at Oliphant and mocked the local manor owners kneeling on the ground without reservation:

"Look at those country bumpkins, Oliphant. The way they kneel there, they look like a flock of turkeys waiting for the slaughter. They think that by shedding a few more tears, that little baron who can't even hold a sword steady will charge them a few less gold coins. It's adorably stupid."

Then he noticed that Oliphant was staring fixedly at Ye Wei'an, who stood in the shadows.

"Hey, Oliphant, are you even listening?" Sezga said, somewhat dissatisfied. "What's so interesting about that bastard? Does he have a treasure map on his face?"

"I was thinking," Oliphant turned his head, a strange light flickering in his eyes, "that if I could invite him to join me on an adventure to Thunder Peak or the depths of Hurek Forest, it would certainly be very interesting."

"Invite him?" Sezga was stunned. "Don't joke. He's a mage, after all—that's what you told me. How could he possibly go crawling into those mud-filled, trap-ridden holes with you?"

Oliphant revealed a cunning smile: "Precisely because he is a bastard with no right to inherit the territory. Under the legal framework of Cormyr, he is a 'free man,' and his status is just right—he is an insider with superb spellcasting skills, yet he lacks the heavy shackles that weigh down the heirs of great houses. Best of all, he might just need me."

"Need you?" Sezga raised an eyebrow.

"Exactly," Oliphant nodded confidently, "if he is dissatisfied with his status, the Silverhunt Family would be his best ally."

"Sure, sure, since you lot are distant relatives of the King, after all." Sezga curled his lip, "So, you intend to invite him?"

"Why not?"

Sezga waved a hand in disgust: "You're mad, you hole-digging fool, you're truly mad. Go yourself; I'd rather go have a drink with that old geezer Wafred than meet some bastard."