Saint Vlaro Empire, Royal Capital.
The Constantinople Hall of the Traveling Palace.
In the great hall, a middle-aged man around forty, dressed in lavish attire, was drinking tea uncomfortably, as if sitting on pins and needles.
He was His Highness, Crown Prince Simon Wald.
At the head of the hall, draped in a red cape with gold embroidery, the King of Saint Vlaro was reclining on his throne with no regard for image. In his hand, he held a piece of parchment, his demeanor casual and indifferent.
Yet, the entire hall was silent, an inexplicable sense of oppression filled the air.
Suddenly, the King at the head seat let out a snort of laughter.
His Highness Simon, who was just about to drink, trembled and almost spilled the tea. He hurriedly placed it back on the table.
Then, the King spoke languidly, "The Pope of Light will soon set off for the Royal Capital to crown you, Simon. You must prepare yourself."
