The crowd's unified roar thundered through the hall, and for Leo, whose hearing was sharper than any ordinary human's, it felt like a sonic tidal wave crashing against his skull.
Why me? Leo blinked, stunned. Even Emelda hadn't received such a roaring ovation. He understood that the name "Fanghyr" carried mythic weight now, but still—this level of adoration? He wasn't prepared for it.
"He's so young," came the hushed voice of an elderly woman, probably seated somewhere in the upper rows.
Another added in awe, "The legend in flesh."
Leo forced himself to tune out the noise, focusing instead on the grand stage—its polished marble reflecting the colored glow of ceremonial lights. Just moments ago, his friends had knelt there, recognized for their valor. Now it was his turn.
Cassandra prepared me for this… he reminded himself. But even with her guidance, he hadn't truly grasped the emotional weight of this moment.
A knight of Valor. The words danced in his mind, pulling childhood memories to the surface—memories of bruises, relentless training, insults that forged him into the blade ascending the steps now.
At the high table, Elder Cassandra clapped furiously, the joy in her eyes unmistakable. For a moment, she seemed less a matron of ancient secrets and more like a proud mother watching her son come of age.
Even the stoic Alexandre cracked a rare smile.
"Congrats," Clyde mouthed silently from the stage, but Leo caught it loud and clear.
He nodded in return before dropping to one knee, posture rigid, heart steady. Beside him, an acolyte unveiled the Antium Greatsword, its bluish steel humming faintly with mana. The weapon glowed beneath the stage lights, its edge bared for all to witness.
Clyde stepped forward, scanning the gathered crowd. His voice rang out:
"Fang Leo—or, as our elven allies have named him, Fanghyr—first came into prominence during the infamous War of the Wells."
The crowd chuckled lightly, and Clyde smiled. That rebellious skirmish hadn't even earned a formal name until now. But the people enjoyed the flair, and so the name stuck.
"That so-called war," Clyde continued, "was Leo's first mission. He was sixteen—"
Fourteen, Leo almost corrected out loud but let it slide. History was already being rewritten in real time.
"—and despite his youth, he uncovered a plot that would have poisoned countless Magnitian wells. The true mastermind, Vilfortz, was a traitorous mage attempting to frame the elves for mass murder."
Murmurs of shock rippled through the crowd. Clyde raised a hand.
"Thanks to Leo's cunning and bravery, the conspiracy was exposed. He faced Vilfortz in battle and emerged victorious. And when that cursed Night of Betrayal fell upon us, he did not flee. He stayed, saving guests and even confronting the Supreme traitor, Wulfe."
A moment of silence fell.
"For these acts of heroism—" Clyde lifted the Greatsword, its blade casting silver streaks across Leo's shoulders, "—I, Clyde Blanca, do proclaim you… Sir Leo of Valor."
Tap.
The sword touched Leo's shoulder gently, but the impact echoed deep in his spine, resonating with a surreal finality.
Fanghyr chants erupted again. The entire hall trembled with celebration.
It feels like a dream, Leo thought. Emelda and Hamilton's knighting had seemed destined. Bethran's had surprised him. But this? This felt like he'd slipped into another world—one he never wanted to leave.
"Now," Clyde said, the blade still resting on Leo's shoulder, "take your vows and prove to the people that today marks not an end, but the beginning of greater deeds to come."
Leo took a deep breath and recited the ancient oath, his voice clear and solemn.
Cheers followed immediately.
"People of the Great Four Races," Clyde announced, "I present to you… Sir Leo of Valor!"
He stepped back, returning the Greatsword to the kneeling acolyte.
"May he serve well," came the resounding reply.
But the ceremony wasn't done yet.
A second acolyte arrived, this one carrying a smaller, yet far more ornate box—ebony wood trimmed with golden vines.
"We hope you'll accept this gift," Clyde said with a small smile.
Click.
The acolyte opened the box, and a radiant light burst from within, briefly blinding Clyde. He reached inside and held up a brooch shaped like a panther crouching mid-pounce—carved from deep onyx, its eyes shimmering with red mana.
"The Phoenix—especially the Sun—offers this gift," Clyde said. "An enchanted item we call… the Brooch of Shadows."
Somewhere near the high table, Alicia groaned and covered her face.
"I told him not to go ahead with that awful name…"
Clyde didn't flinch. He extended the brooch on an open palm.
Leo accepted it respectfully, bowing to the elders. Why such a tiny thing needed such a massive box, he mused, I may never know.
"Despite its looks," Clyde said, addressing the curious audience, "this brooch carries enchantments that will aid Fang Leo greatly in future battles."
Leo could sense it already. The moment he fastened it to his cloak, the brooch tugged at his mana with an eager hunger. A sharp, elegant magic.
Interesting, he thought, smiling.
He had to fight the urge to activate his Azure Eye and unravel its secrets—especially with Clyde standing right in front of him. Sensing his restraint, Clyde gave a nod and released him.
As Leo walked off the stage, the applause still thundered behind him. Only Hawthorn's shrill voice on stage managed to calm the frenzied crowd.
At the table, his comrades rose to greet him.
"Congratulations!" Bethran grinned, slapping Leo on the back hard enough to make his lungs stutter. Hamilton followed with a handshake that could've crushed a lesser man's bones.
"Nice brooch," Emelda said, eyes twinkling as she reached for it. "Can't wait to see what enchantments it holds."
Leo smirked and unfastened it, gently placing it in her palm.
Bethran blinked. Was that… a blush? The Princess's cheeks definitely colored, even if briefly. But she recovered instantly, marveling at the brooch like it was a royal artifact.
"Surely you know what enchantments it holds, Hamilton?" she teased.
Hamilton shrugged. "Why spoil the surprise?"
"I know, right," Bethran said, leaning back in his chair, already fantasizing about smashing skulls with his hammer again.
The group's laughter turned into playful arguments about who might be knighted next.
Meanwhile, onstage, the final knighting ceremony had begun.
"Finally," King Redbeard muttered, stretching his aching back as Cassandra knighted the last candidate—a stoic elven commander who'd rallied the Elyrian forces against the Brotherhood.
"That's over," he whispered to Queen Tulip beside him. "Why must we stand through the blasted thing?"
Queen Tulip scoffed. "Because it symbolizes strength, you grumbling goat. Show some respect."
"I'm showing respect with my knees," the dwarf growled under his breath.
At the podium, Queen Emelda stepped forward, her regal voice cutting through the chatter, signaling the closing ceremony.
And thus, the night—one of glory, camaraderie, and new beginnings—drew toward its end.