MPNS Ch 74

Chapter 74

The temple was built entirely of white marble. Following the scripture that the Sun, the high god, wore vestments woven of cloud, every temple across Ossinis insisted on white marble.

The problem was that fine white marble—with small crystals and few impurities—was rare in Ossinis and cost like gold. Yet the temples still demanded it. If this were truly a faith meant to better the common folk, could it justify such luxury?

Entering the forecourt, Nikiel stepped over consecrated marble pavers. To a modern sensibility, white‑armored paladins arrayed before a white‑marble temple evoked not divine awe but excessive sacralization. He slowed. He had come to inspect consecrated iron, not to socialize with the Knights.

Paul had said the Knights rarely delivered iron to the palace themselves. He had to avoid looking like a gawker. Public opinion still painted him as a feckless platinum‑haired royal.

As he hesitated, Yullan strode past him toward the paladins. All the Knights shared the same hair and eye colors. Whatever they’d been born with, upon investiture their hair turned silver and their eyes black.

The uniformity fascinated Nikiel. After life among a riot of hair and eye colors here, this single palette felt alien—though, as someone born among black‑haired, black‑eyed Koreans, it was also oddly familiar.

He asked Benedict quietly, “Are all Knights silver‑haired and black‑eyed?”

“Yes, Highness,” came the brief assent, as if he’d asked the time. Accustomed now to such looks, Nikiel only thought, I’m not a native; of course I don’t know your “common knowledge.” Do you know the wolf’s binomial name? He continued studying their faces.

Benedict, gentle as ever, elaborated, “From the moment of investiture, hair and eye color change. As squires they keep their birth traits, but upon their oath, the high god’s grace descends.”

Nikiel’s eyebrow lifted. He’d always found Allewyn and Benedict loyal and clever. As Yullan’s left and right marshals, they shone as scene‑stealers—meeting them in person wasn’t bad either. It seemed only their superior’s temperament was a problem. He still couldn’t keep Allewyn’s real name straight.

Satisfied by the explanation, he nodded.

“Thank you, sir.”

“My pleasure. If it’s the weapons that interest you, this way. After greeting the Grand Master, Your Highness may examine them freely.”

Viewing consecrated goods was no offense. The faithful of Ossinis, raised on Solius’s blessings, were naturally curious about sacred arms—especially boys. That it was “this” prince who showed interest was surprising, but Benedict, in the absent captain’s stead, escorted the prince, his prospective fiancé.

“For now, the captain must greet His Excellency first. Will you wait, Highness?”

“Of course. And if you’re needed, don’t mind me.”

Rational to a fault, Nikiel didn’t want Benedict neglecting duties to babysit him. Too much attention irked him as much as too little. Relieved, Benedict bowed off and headed toward the captain and the Grand Master.

Thus Nikiel could view the Grand Master from afar. Taller than even the already imposing Raymon, the man looked massive. Oddly, though said to be the Grand Master of paladins, he had black hair and red eyes—not silver and black.

Hadn’t Benedict just said all Knights turn silver‑haired, black‑eyed upon investiture? Had this Grand Master not received the high god’s grace?

Curiosity sharpened. He studied the man’s features: prominent brow ridges, a strong, ridged nose like a mountain range, sensuous lips beneath a deep philtrum, clean skin the color of milk. Thick eyebrows, black. And—he didn’t look entirely of Ossinis.

Not the right word perhaps, but if forced: like a mixed‑heritage face to a Korean eye—familiar to him, but more alien here because of it.

Strange. And familiar—how could a face be familiar in a world where he’d only begun seeing “handsome men” after falling through?

While he pondered, the Grand Master looked his way. Startled, Nikiel widened his eyes. As the man stared, Yullan turned as well and frowned seeing their eye contact.

Time to greet? Nikiel hesitated, then went forward quickly and said, with a touch of cheek, “I was waiting for the kind duke to introduce me to His Excellency.”

“…Your Highness, this is Oryx Ziments, Grand Master of the Paladins. Grand Master, this is—”

“Prince Nikiel.”

Oryx spoke first, smiling broadly. The sharp‑featured beauty softened so completely that the air brightened. Nikiel started; no one had welcomed him like this since arriving in this world. Even Paul, now utterly loyal, had not greeted him warmly at first sight.

“An honor. Nikiel Ossinis,” he answered, still wary. Most others reacted very differently—this stood out.

Oryx immediately extended a hand. Nikiel reached, uncertain, but Yullan stepped between them and looked down at the prince.

“Are the consecrated blades of no interest to you, Highness?”

“They are,” he replied at once.

A rare initiative from Yullan—Nikiel nodded quickly. Missing a handshake with the Grand Master nettled him, but he would see the blades, then slip home.

Yullan guided him to the weapons the Knights had brought. Nikiel glanced back; Oryx still stood smiling, rock‑steady. Head tilting, he resumed walking. Perhaps Oryx’s warmth masked a different disdain than the usual scorn he received.

He lacked the cultural instincts to sort smiling enemies from snarling ones. He could spot small fry like Count Gaspar easily, but the Grand Master didn’t look a man whose insides were so readily revealed. The openly growling types were easier to manage.

Soon they stood before a line of huge white wagons—more than twenty.

“The weapons are stored in the Temple for now,” Yullan said, voice level. “Two days before the Tournament, they’ll be distributed to each company.”

“Which companies?”

“The Black Thorn Knights, House Boltwick’s men‑at‑arms, House Turun’s mages, and Marquis Griffoux’s guild members.”

Boltwick’s house had its own levy; Turun’s were magi; Griffoux’s guild included fighting men.

Nikiel examined the wagons. Each white wagon held crates; each crate likely, at minimum, over 150 iron swords. Even if five wagons held arrows for bows and crossbows, the number of blades would exceed two thousand.