What could be more worthy of a crown than gold?

Trimmed with silver, embellished with precious stones, embellished with crystals, with flames and the finest craftsmanship in the world, it transforms it from an ordinary pile of ores into a symbol of supreme power, the crown of the flaming goshawk, and the treasure of the town blessed by the glorious cross.

It was sublimated - from a stone that no one cared about to become a symbol of coveting, awe, fear, love, and worship by all, and all but the true owner could only look at its splendour.

Standing beneath the hall, Berrion Marcherus, dressed in the robe of a flaming goshawk, stared at the crown placed under the sculpture of the Radiant Cross, and in the quiet and serene room, a few rays of sunlight cast through the narrow windows of the roof, gathering impartially at the place where the crown was.

From the day the doctors of the royal palace officially announced the imminent death of Horace I, the clergy of the church placed the crown at the top of the tallest tower of the Glorious Cross - a custom that has been the practice of the Kingdom of Turin for centuries, where the king was crowned and then sworn allegiance to all his subjects in the throne hall on the hill of Marchelus.

And of course, Berion will not stop this kind of thing - he has always believed that he is the one chosen by the Radiant Cross to rule the kingdom of Turin, and not the brother Horace who is not even a knight, such a weak person is not qualified to be king!

This mistake should have been prevented decades ago, but it was not too late - he was about to accomplish what even Convenience Vi Marchelus had failed to accomplish, and what he wanted to achieve was what all kings had ever dreamed of. People who can really succeed. Only yourself!

Truly supreme. The true ruler of the whole kingdom has only one will, one voice!

The longing look in his eyes was blood-stinging, and Berion, who was standing at the foot of the steps, didn't even notice that in just a few months, his sideburns had turned gray, and his once full forehead wrinkles were getting more and more, but he did realize that his body was becoming more and more difficult to maintain, and many things were becoming more and more inadequate.

But the more so. The more you have to persevere—your time is running out, every minute of rest is a luxury, and if you don't step up your efforts, do you want to bring this dream to the coffin and let the ghosts of the dead laugh at you?

It is absolutely not allowed to stop, it is absolutely not allowed to stand in the way - anyone who stands in his way will either surrender or perish!

As for what would happen after his death, Berion was not worried at all—the two sons, though young, were a little younger than Anson. But by the time he leaves, he should be old enough to inherit the unparalleled inheritance he left him. Hold on to this dream.

But in fact, even if the time comes, what should the dear Anson nephew not be able to do? What king can refuse such supreme power before him? It does not matter if he hates himself so much that he wants to crush himself to ashes - for he will still become another version of himself, and continue the new kingdom of Turin until the moment of the fall of the Radiant Cross.

Because that's the right thing to do. A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of Barion's mouth.

A soft knock came from behind him, and the closed door was pushed open a crack. The little priest in a white robe walked in with an indifferent expression and bowed slightly to the minister of the seal: "It's prayer time, Your Highness Berion Marchelus, it's time for you to return to the palace, the whole team is waiting for you." ”

"Oh, thanks for the reminder. Berion, who was in a good mood, did not even forget to thank him, and turned to look at Weber Alexander, who was standing directly opposite him: "But please help me close the door and stand there - this is just a request, not an order, you can do it or refuse it." ”

Although he said it very earnestly, Berion's tone was incomparably unquestionable. The little priest had no choice but to close the door and stand motionless: "Is there anything wrong, Your Highness?"

"Weber Alexander, from the countryside of Fort Hague has come to the Glorious Cross of Turin, and my lovely niece Adele has even called you a 'saint,' and I have heard about you from some people. Berrion smiled and asked, "You used to preach in the slums of the East City, right?"

"Anyone is entitled to the favor of the Radiant Cross. The little priest bowed his head slightly: "You may think that I am disrespectful to you in this way—but before the Radiant Cross, there is no difference between the souls of noble kings and beggars. ”

"I admire this kind of behavior of yours, and most of the priests are pampered nowadays, and few are as pious as you, and it must be because of this that my dear nephew of Anson will keep you in the palace. Berion tilted his head slightly: "You have really come into contact with them, have understood them, and I am sure you must be very familiar with them." ”

"I am one of them, we are all people of Turin. ”

"Tell me, then, pious priest. How are we supposed to prove our existence in this world, how can we make our existence meaningful, and not waste the life that the Radiant Cross has given us?"

"Do what you need to do, do what you should do, and do what you desire the most. Weber, a young priest who was well versed in doctrine, replied: "Don't leave regrets behind, so that you can let go of attachments." ”

"Then I know very well now that all I have to do is to become a king like never before, I want to accomplish what all kings have never done, and the Radiant Cross will bless my mother?" Berion's expression was like that of a devout believer, a persistent and confused believer: "The people of Turin, would they like to see such a king with unprecedented power?"

"Which of you want to ask me, the people of Turin, or the pious clergy?"

"It's both. Berrion smiled expectantly, "But you can say them one by one." ”

"If you are the people of Turin, what they need is a secure life, clean water, good food and a job that will allow them to live with dignity. The little priest shook his head, "As for who is their king?" with all due respect, but most of the people I have met don't care about that. ”

"Then why do they love my dear brother Horace so much?"

"For it was His Majesty Horace who gave them all this—for decades as one day, and the kingdom was at peace. Weber Alexander's expression was extremely sincere: "Loss is cherished, and it is precisely because of the imminent loss that they understand how comfortable their days were, and it is this comfort that makes them full of fear of the future." ”

The Chancellor of the Seals nodded his head in understanding—although he was dismissive of Horace's usual cowardice, he had to admit that his cowardice did make him so much loved that many people still prayed for him. Even this alone is enough to make all the monarchs of all generations envious.

"As for the Radiant Cross, will it bless you...... Actually, you know the answer. ”

"Oh?"

"I don't know. Weber Alexander slowly raised his head, his clear eyes and Berrion's eyes, "But if I said, 'The Radiant Cross will never bless you,' would you stop all this immediately?"

There was a brief dead silence, and then Barion, who had just been mild-mannered, suddenly laughed maniacally.

"Heheha............!!!!ha

The night owl's laughter echoed in the cramped room, and Barrion, who couldn't stop laughing, even bent down, his whole face distorted, and even had to endure it with all his strength to keep his body from convulsing and falling to the ground.

The little priest stood there, his eyes calmly watching Berion laugh - no fear, no excitement, as if he had already seen the end.

The man is doomed—from the moment he has gone completely insane, and his future is nothing but a gray hell—and the Radiant Cross may bless a vicious man like the devil, a crazy eccentric, but it will never bless a madman who has lost his mind. (To be continued.) )