Ascension Of The Villain-Chapter 288: Rite of Acknowledgement

A stunned silence blanketed the room. Then, chaos. In the best way. The applause returned with tenfold intensity, cheers rising in waves, congratulations echoing off the gilded walls.

Vyan leaned toward Iyana and muttered with a mischievous smirk, "Man just got proposed to by the future Empress in front of the entire high society."

Iyana matched his grin, eyes twinkling. "He's lucky he didn't pass out."

Clyde, frankly, looked like he might.

He'd always been comfortable with attention—dancing in and out of social circles, charming dukes and daughters alike—but this was a different level. He hadn't expected the nobles to accept the announcement so readily.

Then again, being blessed with good looks, a disarming smile, and a mind sharp enough to cut through politics like butter had always worked in his favor. His charm had earned him allies in the most unlikely of places.

Add to that the influence of his family name—revived and reinforced after Vyan lifted the penalties on their county and even expanded their territory—it wasn't surprising that the high society welcomed him as their future emperor-consort. Vyan had even nudged him into finally accepting the title of Count Magnus, saying it would smooth out public acceptance.

And it had. There were few voices raised in protest about Althea's choice of consort—save, perhaps, one.

The emperor's expression said it all. He looked like he'd bitten into a lemon.

Edgar subtly gestured to the imperial herald, signaling him to step forward and break the overwhelmingly romantic atmosphere that had settled over the hall.

The herald cleared his throat and announced, "Now begins the Rite of Acknowledgement. Nobles and officials shall come forth, one by one, to kneel before the Crown Princess—symbolically pledging loyalty and formally recognizing her ascension."

As the rite commenced, hundreds of lanterns floated into the sky, glowing softly as they carried the nobles' silent wishes to the stars. The air buzzed with raised toasts and sweeping music, celebration pulsing through every marble arch and golden chandelier.

Yet just behind one of those marble columns, a very different scene was playing out.

Clyde had slid to the floor, face buried in his hands, breathing like someone who'd just run a marathon in full court attire. "She… she basically proposed to me," he mumbled, peeking up at Vyan with wide, disbelieving eyes. "In front of everyone."

Vyan crouched beside him, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. "You better start picking wedding colors, my friend. She just claimed you in front of the empire."

Clyde let out a breathless, almost hysterical laugh and nodded, as if that was the only possible response.

Iyana joined them, chuckling softly at the sight of the usually smooth and composed Clyde looking like he'd been emotionally steamrolled.

"You done, love?" Vyan asked, rising to his feet and wrapping a relaxed arm around her waist.

She gave him a small smile and nodded. "Are you going to go?"

By status, Vyan wasn't required to kneel. As the Grand Duke, he ranked above the crowned heir-apparent. He had to acknowledge her only, and just being present at the ceremony was enough for that. Kneeling was a choice for him, not a duty.

"I will," he said simply. "Once everyone else is done."

And as the night wore on, under the rising moon and glittering stars, the streets of Haynes erupted in celebration. The common people had already received word: a new Crown Princess had risen. Hope blossomed like spring across the empire.

Yet, beneath the elegance of the ceremony, perfection was a fragile illusion, especially in a society that thrived on whispers.

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Behind jeweled fans and brocade sleeves, murmurs stirred.

"Can the future empress even perform purification magic?"

"No... just healing. And healing's not the same."

"Well, the Archbishop and High Priests led the rites. They wouldn't have let her ascend if she were unworthy."

"Still. An emperor who can't dispel darkness—isn't that a bad omen?"

"She healed an entire battalion after the border raid last year. That's power."

"Healing and ruling are different crafts entirely."

"At least the ceremony's been smooth so far. Practically flawless."

Smoothly, they said.

Well, flawless ceremonies in imperial halls rarely stayed that way for long.

The last acknowledgement had just been spoken. Or so they thought.

Light filtered through the stained-glass dome, casting soft mosaics over marble pillars and golden drapes. The air, thick with incense and tradition, crackled faintly with the expectancy of conclusion.

It should have ended there.

The Rite of Acknowledgment was traditionally a formal affair—strict, ceremonial, and predictable. No surprises, no deviations.

And yet, a shift rippled through the hall like the first tremor before a storm.

All eyes turned as Vyan stepped forward. The crowd straightened with collective attention, some even holding their breath. Surely, this was merely a gesture of respect. Perhaps a closing nod. But then—

He didn't stop at the line.

He kept walking.

Whispers erupted once more, louder this time, as Vyan crossed the invisible boundary that separated nobles from royalty. And when he halted before the Crown Princess—before Althea—the silence snapped back, sharper than before.

Heads tilted. Eyebrows rose. Fans fluttered nervously.

No Grand Duke had ever kneeled before a crowned heir.

Not in recent history.

Not even in memory.

Vyan's knee touched the ground in one fluid, graceful motion. Gasps swept through the crowd like wind rustling leaves.

And then, with deliberate elegance, he took Althea's hand and pressed his lips against the back of it. The hall inhaled sharply. They couldn't figure out what was going through Vyan's head. First of all, he came dressed for a funeral, as if he was opposed to the ceremony. Then, he does this?

Vyan was a Grand Duke. The highest noble in the empire. A man not meant to kneel before anyone except the emperor. And even then—only in ritual. So, why was he doing this? Like every noble, he too took pride in not kneeling before anyone beneath him. At least, that's the vibe he always gave off. So, again, why?

Althea did not flinch; she didn't even seem surprised. Her expression was luminous under the flickering chandeliers.

Then Vyan's voice rose.

"I, Grand Duke Vyan Blake Ashstone, pledge my loyalty to the sun of the Haynes Empire for eternity. Congratulations on ascending to your rightful place, Your Imperial M—"

The tension snapped.

"The sun?!" hissed a voice from the back. It was one of Easton's supporters, face flushed with outrage. "That title belongs only to the sovereign of our empire! How can a Grand Duke be so careless—"

Vyan didn't flinch.

He simply lifted his gaze, wine-red eyes smoldering with something unreadable—like embers just beginning to burn.

"But I didn't say anything wrong," he said smoothly. "I'm merely acknowledging the sovereign of our empire."

Silence. Appalled. Confused. On the brink of scandal.

"What is the meaning of this?!" another noble barked, sputtering as others joined in, their voices rising like a storm tide against stone.

Finally, Vyan stood up.

And pointed.

"It means," he said, with a smile as cold and deliberate as drawn steel, "look for yourself."

All eyes turned. And the room erupted into chaos.

Edgar and Jade, the once-proud rulers, were now on their knees, eyes wide with terror. Swords gleamed against their throats, held steady by imperial knights.

The gasps this time were louder—shocked, furious, and reverent all at once.

The Rite of Acknowledgement had not ended.

It had only just begun.