Invested as a Long Night Lord

"In the name of the Most Holy, swear before the Sacred Flame and all the saints.

Today, you are invested as a Long Night Lord. Go to the Eternal Night Wall, build its ramparts with your flesh and bone, keep the Sacred Flame burning, and stand against the Long Night without yielding an inch.

This oath shall not end with your safe return, but only with its fulfillment.

Those receiving investiture, state your names."

"Roland Augustine, I accept the charge and swear the oath!" "Kevin Disraeli, I accept the charge and swear the oath!"...

Responses rang through the cathedral one after another. Some voices were flustered, some strained, and some deliberately tried to sound composed.

Then the final voice rose. It sounded young, yet it was remarkably steady. "Sheen Greenwood, I accept the charge and swear the oath."

The Sacred Flame burned at the center of the cathedral, casting a red glow over the silver brazier and stretching the five men's shadows long and thin.

Bishop Castian stood before the Sacred Flame. His short, silver-gray hair was combed back without a strand out of place, and he wore a heavy, solemn robe embroidered with the emblem of the Most Holy Church.

His appraising gaze passed over them one by one, as though he were counting a batch of supplies bound for the front lines.

The young nobles before him put on brave faces, but their slightly hurried breathing betrayed their nerves.

When the bishop's gaze reached the boy at the very end, it paused for an instant.

The boy named Sheen knelt on one knee at the end of the line.

His long, silver-white hair gleamed coolly in the firelight. He was clearly younger than the others, no more than fourteen or fifteen by the look of him.

Yet among those broad, strapping young nobles in their twenties, he held his back the straightest.

His delicate face remained faintly aloof, as if the breathing beside him and the nobles' muffled snickers in the distance had nothing to do with him.

On a bench in a corner of the cathedral, two noblewomen sat shoulder to shoulder, their elegant fans hiding half their faces as they spoke softly.

"What a shame." The red-haired noblewoman's gaze passed over the robust young men and settled openly on the silver-haired boy, as though she were examining a fragile treasure.

"A lovely fawn among a herd of startled bulls. That face, those eyes, and that cool, distant air... Give him another two years, and he's bound to cause all sorts of trouble."

The blonde noblewoman curved her red lips and agreed with a smile. "You could make a move now, actually. Young and tender."

Their words were teasing, but not malicious. If anything, they carried a hint of condescending regret.

"A shame he's going to the Eternal Night Wall." The red-haired noblewoman sighed. "Sending a child that young there is little different from sentencing him to death."

"I hear he's Earl Greenwood's illegitimate son?"

"That explains it."

The low whispers did not come from those two noblewomen alone.

The nobles present dared not discuss it loudly in the cathedral, but that did not stop them from showing how they felt through tears in their eyes, faintly upturned mouths, or meaningful shakes of the head.

Meanwhile, the ceremony had reached its final step.

Bishop Castian took a slender Holy Silver sword from an attendant.

The sword's tip lingered briefly in the Sacred Flame, then descended upon each candidate in turn. At last, its sharp touch came to rest on the shoulder armor of the boy at the end.

"The Sacred Flame has recorded your name. Your duty is set."

From the moment the sword tip touched him, Sheen Greenwood was a Long Night Lord in both name and fact.

The bishop withdrew the slender Holy Silver sword, turned, and took a parchment document from an attendant. His level voice rang through the cathedral once more:

"By decree of the Holy War Council,

the investees of the Kingdom of Austeria—Roland Augustine, Kevin Disraeli, Eric Moran, Thomas Reno, and Sheen Greenwood—

shall depart at once and take up posts in the Graymist Defense Zone.

They shall respectively defend White Fang Fief, Broken Horse Fief, Iron Gleam Fief, Shattered Stone Fief, and Blackpine Fief."

The moment the name Graymist Defense Zone was spoken, the shoulders and backs of the four new Long Night Lords beside Sheen stiffened involuntarily.

They all knew what it meant.

The Graymist Defense Zone had once been a defensive line that filled the Kingdom of Austeria with pride, with heavy cavalry drawn up in formation, ample supplies, and a complete Sacred Flame system.

But during last year's Blood Moon Season, a single error of judgment by the governor had allowed the Werewolf Tribe to break through head-on. The defensive line was snapped in two, and the entire region swiftly became a Werewolf playground.

Though the Church's holy knights had barely managed to drive the werewolves out after the Blood Moon Season ended, the area had become a wasteland. Everything would have to be rebuilt from scratch.

And given the current situation, barring a miracle, there was an eighty percent chance that the Graymist Defense Zone would fall again during this year's Blood Moon Season, burying these five new Long Night Lords with it.

But no one dared object or voice dissatisfaction.

For under the laws of the Most Holy Church, refusing an appointment as a Long Night Lord was tantamount to betraying human civilization.

Their lineages would be stripped of their titles, their property seized, and their names erased from the rolls.

They themselves would be handed over for holy judgment and sent to the Burning Stake, their souls declared cast out from the Sacred Flame's shelter.

So for the five young men, this was less an appointment of honor than an exile from which nine out of ten would never return.

As for the nobles watching below, they had long grown used to seeing batch after batch of young lives sent to the Eternal Night Wall, that vast meat grinder that never stopped turning.

On the bench in the corner, the two noblewomen turned slightly toward each other.

"The Graymist Defense Zone..." The red-haired noblewoman covered her lips with her fan, her voice tinged with cheap pity. "Of those five children, I'm afraid only Roland and Kevin will make it through the first year. Great lineages can send them more support, after all."

The blonde noblewoman replied softly, "If the others live until this year's Blood Moon, they can count it as a blessing from the Sacred Flame."

Several family members in the cathedral could no longer hold back their emotions, and soft sobs escaped them.

They dared not cry aloud. They could only twist the lace handkerchiefs in their hands.

In the distance, several young noblemen exchanged knowing looks, faint mockery and relief playing at the corners of their mouths.

They, too, were candidates to become Long Night Lords this year. Now that the most dangerous territories had been filled, they had escaped the worst fate.

On the dais, Bishop Castian's gaze had returned to the five newly invested Long Night Lords.

The first four still held the proper posture for investiture, their bodies straight and their expressions deferential.

They had all received a fine knightly education and knew that any lapse of composure in the cathedral would show disrespect to the Most Holy Church.

Yet the cold sweat beading at their temples and the involuntary deepening of their breaths inevitably betrayed their unease and dread.

Bishop Castian was not surprised. These days, the name Graymist Defense Zone alone was enough to strike fear into any Long Night Lord.

Fear was no sin. Fleeing was.

His gaze settled at last on the fifth.

The ever-composed silver-haired boy's ice-blue pupils contracted slightly, then quickly returned to normal.

Clearly, the outcome had shaken him too. He was simply better at hiding it than the others.

Bishop Castian remained expressionless, but he sighed inwardly. It was too soon for this child, after all.

But he did not know that what had truly stunned the boy in that instant was not the location of his territory, but the whisper that had sounded in his mind without warning.

"Territory confirmed. The Canon of Grace and Righteousness has been activated."

The Golden Finger, a year late, had finally arrived.

Shien lowered his eyes, hiding that flicker of shock perfectly beneath his lids.