The Rise Of The Clydon Family-Chapter 15 : You Are the One Who Desecrates the Divine!

Chapter 15: Chapter 15 : You Are the One Who Desecrates the Divine!

"That must be Eliana," Angor said with a smirk. "No wonder you still pine after her."

Eliana sat in silence beside the casket, veiled in black. Though motionless, she had already become the center of the hall's attention.

She wore a sleek black silk dress, its soft, flowing fabric clinging delicately to her legs, perfectly outlining every curve. The hem fell just below the knees, edged with lace, and her black stockings shimmered faintly under the light.

Her legs were pressed modestly together, and the tops of her high heels just barely peeked out, the graceful arch of her feet enough to stir anyone's imagination.

And then there was her status—as a widow. That, combined with the black veil and the sorrowful, distant gaze in her eyes, gave her an air of fragility, like a beautiful piece of porcelain on the verge of shattering. It made one want to draw her close, to hold and protect her.

Boom.

The doors closed with a deep echo. Rus stepped forward and gave a respectful nod to the guests.

At the same moment, the rhythmic sound of footsteps echoed across the stone floor. A graceful figure entered the hall.

It was Lux.

Her attire was more formal than in their past encounters. Her golden hair was wrapped in a white headscarf.

Normally, such plain colors would wash a person out—but her flawless skin made even the pristine white fabric appear dull in comparison. Her sapphire-blue eyes shimmered with serene brilliance.

She wore the traditional uncolored linen robe of a priestess. Though coarse in quality, the robe did little to conceal her charm. As she walked, her body shifted beneath the fabric, unintentionally accentuating her form. She made no attempt at allure, but every man in the hall found their gaze drawn to her.

Amid the silence, Lux stepped before Donald's casket and lifted a wooden holy symbol, shaped like an infinity loop, to her chest. One side was painted gold, the other silver.

This was a sacred relic of the Church of Light—the two interlocked circles symbolizing the god's dominion over the sun and moon, eternal in power.

The hall fell into reverent silence.

Everyone, that is, except Rus, whose expression twisted ever so slightly.

The relic's strange design stirred an irreverent thought in his mind: It looks like it's missing a stick...

Lux, misunderstanding his look, thought he was overcome with grief. She sighed softly and began the service.

"Today, we gather to honor Baron Donald Claydon. I ask you all to join me in prayer..."

The ceremony unfolded with quiet solemnity.

There was no magical fanfare, no prestigious guests giving flowery tributes. It was just Lux—alone, sincere, and dignified. In fact, the simplicity of it all impressed many of the nobles in attendance.

First, it matched their assumptions about the fallen Claydon family—once noble, now reduced to a baronate inherited by a thug. A modest ceremony was only appropriate.

Second, no one really wanted to linger long in the castle anyway.

These days, nobles of means installed magical temperature wards in their homes, keeping the brutal summer heat at bay. The Claydons clearly had no such luxury. Even from the front row, some guests could detect faint traces of Donald's "scent," barely masked by incense.

After the prayers, Lux turned to face Rus.

"Today is special," she said. "It is both the funeral of Baron Donald and the investiture of his heir, Baron Rus."

"He is a devout follower, a gentleman of integrity, and a kind and caring lord."

Eliana nearly broke the casket lid with her grip.

Devout?

Honorable?

Kind?

Are we still talking about Rus?

Her eyes flicked between him and Lux.

Rus stood calm and solemn, grief etched lightly on his face. Lux spoke with steady grace.

Eliana sighed inwardly.

She's either in league with him... or she's been completely taken in by that handsome face of his.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

She leaned toward the latter.

"And now, I ask the late baron's widow, Lady Eliana, to come forward."

Lux's voice roused her. Eliana stood gracefully and walked to her side.

Rus nodded to himself. Even standing side by side, it was hard to say who drew more attention—Eliana, the elegant widow, or Lux, the angelic priestess.

"Lady Eliana," Lux asked, "do you willingly entrust your late husband's title to Baron Rus?"

"Of course," Eliana replied with practiced poise. "Rus is our nephew. It was thanks to him that my husband was able to pass peacefully."

She paused, steadying her voice. "He is devout, kind, and just. He honors his aunt and respects his kin. He is, without question, a worthy heir."

Lux smiled, visibly moved by the praise.

"Then," she said, turning to the audience, "I call Baron Rus forward."

Rus adjusted his formalwear and approached. "Priestess Lux."

Her smile returned.

"Before the casket of Baron Donald, in the presence of these witnesses, and under the gaze of the Lord of Light, do you vow to uphold the duties of your title?"

"I do," Rus said clearly, his voice echoing through the hall.

"I vow to uphold the Claydon legacy, to care for my aunt and my kin without fail."

"I vow to honor the noble traditions born from the knighthood—humility, integrity, compassion, courage, justice, sacrifice, honor, and soul."

His voice was clear and powerful, like a soloist in a grand opera. The nobles murmured among themselves, visibly stirred.

"I must admit," one whispered, "those aren't the words of a mere street rat..."

"Anyone can memorize lines," another muttered skeptically.

"But listen to him! That voice, the conviction... I find it hard to believe he's never received formal noble training."

Rus heard them, inwardly smug.

No, I've never had noble tutoring—but I did rise from the masses in my past life. And I've been trained harder than any of you could imagine.

You have any idea how many hours I spent rehearsing speeches in front of a mirror just to get a few extra points on my college exams?

Lux turned and opened a wooden chest, retrieving a ceremonial hat.

It was made of deep crimson velvet, crowned with a brass band. A silver thread split it two-thirds from the top. Around the brim were six polished silver beads—marking the rank of baron.

The Baron's Coronation Crown.

Rus dropped to one knee, sword hilt in hand, and bowed his head.

He felt the slight weight settle on his brow.

Rus Ota Claydon, Baron—officially crowned.

"May you walk a path that honors goodness and righteousness," Lux said.

Rus pounded a fist to his chest. "May the Lord of Light guide my steps!"

From the sidelines, Angor watched, face twisted with contempt.

A monkey in noble robes. This... this is an insult to everything a noble stands for.

Then the side doors opened, and maids in black-and-white uniforms entered, each carrying trays of wine glasses. At the drink table, they uncorked the bottles and poured the red wine into fine crystal, then began distributing it to the guests.

Angor's sneer deepened.

So, Rus. You respect your uncle? You're kind and just? Then let's see how you explain serving cheap wine at his funeral!

Lux's voice rang out again.

"Faithful friends, let us share this divine wine together—may it bring peace to Baron Donald's spirit, and celebrate Baron Rus's new beginning!"

Everyone lifted their glasses.

Angor joined in, calm and composed. He sniffed the wine with deliberate disdain.

No acidity? Not even the cheap, tart sting of Flowing Amber?

Heh. Looks like I gave you too much credit. You couldn't even afford real Flowing Amber?

He scanned the room. As the first sips were taken, expressions began to change—eyes widened, brows lifted in surprise.

Astonishment. Disbelief. Admiration.

Smash!

Angor hurled his glass to the ground. Shards and crimson wine scattered in all directions, prompting gasps and shocked whispers.

Rus frowned. "Baron Angor—what is the meaning of this?"

"The meaning?" Angor shouted, his nose flushed red. "I should be asking you that!"

"This is the funeral of the noble and virtuous Baron Donald—a man of honor and stature! And you, you serve this swill as wine? You DARE to insult him in death? To deceive the faithful? To desecrate the Lord of Light?!"

Rus's heart skipped a beat.

Did he actually taste the glycerin? Did he figure out my trick?!

But his panic lasted only a second. He quickly composed himself.

Raising his own glass, he asked, "Baron Angor, I'm afraid I don't understand. What are you accusing me of?"

"Oh, of course you don't!" Angor barked. "Shameless, Rus. Utterly shameless!"

"I'm sure the others were prepared to overlook this... if only you'd shown a hint of humility. But no—you insult us all by pretending this is real wine!"

He turned dramatically, arms open to the room.

"Gentlemen! Ladies! Tell him—tell him what this wine really tastes like!"

But silence met his outburst.

The nobles glanced at one another, uncertain.

Even Viscount John, caught off guard by the confrontation, lowered his eyes to his glass and took another careful sip.

No mistake.

Sweet. Smooth. Exquisite. A fine wine—better than most on the market.

Following his lead, the others took another taste. More whispers followed—this time directed not at Rus, but at Angor.

What was he talking about? This wine was incredible.

A strange, sinking feeling began to gnaw at Angor's gut.

Something was very wrong.

Seeing the stunned expressions around him, Rus's heart finally settled. He raised his wine glass and spoke in a calm, ringing voice:

"Baron Angor, this is not a classroom, and you are not our teacher. We are not your students. So please, enlighten us—what exactly is wrong with this wine?"

Viscount John stepped forward as well. "Indeed, Baron Angor. This wine is remarkably smooth and fragrant. What flaw do you claim it has?"

Angor stood frozen, unable to believe what he was hearing.

Fragrant?

This wine? This cheap-looking, low-grade wine?

And yet the eyes around him—judging, confused, even pitying—left him no room for doubt.

Most damning of all was the look from his own son, Joudra—a mix of bewilderment, embarrassment, and... pity.

"Give me that!" Angor strode forward and snatched the glass from his son's hand, downing it in one gulp.

And then... he froze.

It was, undeniably, the smoothest, richest wine he had ever tasted. Sweet but not cloying. A gentle acidity that accentuated the grape's fragrance. Compared to this, even his favorite—"Coagulated Flame," at eighty silver coins a jug—suddenly seemed like dishwater.

Joudra, seeing his father drowning in the crowd's scrutiny, stepped up to support him gently by the arm. "Father, let's go."

But the gesture only ignited Angor's notoriously prideful temper.

To him, this wasn't concern—it was a challenge to his authority.

"I said, use my title in public!"

Then, turning back to Rus, his expression twisted into a snarl:

"No. Wine shouldn't taste like this!"

"This isn't wine—it's demon's blood!"

He jabbed a finger at Rus, roaring, "Donald must have struck a deal with dark gods! That's the only explanation for how this wine tastes so... unnatural!"

A ripple of unease ran through the crowd.

Everyone in the Norland province knew about Donald's obsession with 'magical experiments'. And the mysterious deaths of his wife and children—though mostly ignored due to their commoner status—had never been fully explained.

Now, with Angor bringing it up so publicly, the room stirred with suspicion. Some guests even dropped their glasses in fear.

Rus's expression darkened.

"Baron Angor, do you have any evidence for such a serious accusation?"

Angor, emboldened by the crowd's reaction, shouted, "Evidence?! What more evidence do we need than this wine—this unclean concoction with no known origin?!"

Rus replied calmly, "I improved it myself."

"Improved?" Angor laughed bitterly. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"

"Everyone knows the Claydon family has never had any tradition of winemaking. And you? You're just a street rat from an orphanage, a rodent who crawled through the city's trash heaps. You? Improve wine?"

That made Rus smile—not in amusement, but in restrained fury.

"I have respected your age and your title, Baron Angor. But that does not give you the right to insult me—nor to trample on the honor of the Claydon family."

"I demand that you apologize, here and now. To me. To House Claydon."

Angor's nose flared red as a beet. "No. You are the one who should apologize—to us, to the royal court, and above all, to the Lord of Light!"

"You desecrated this sacred ceremony with heretical wine. You should fall to your knees and repent, before I show you mercy and spare you the pain of dying at the stake!"

Rus's expression went cold. He turned to Lux.

"Priestess Lux, may I ask you to make a ruling?"

Lux had been frozen in place throughout the argument, clearly shaken. She lacked experience in such volatile social scenes. But at Rus's words, she took a breath and composed herself.

With unshakable calm, she declared:

"Baron Angor, you owe Baron Rus an apology."

Angor balked. "Priestess Lux, you've been deceived! This wine should not exist in the world—"

"You're right," Lux interrupted gently. "This wine... cannot be made by ordinary means."

Angor's face lit up. "Haha! I knew it! Rus, are you still going to deny—"

But Lux's next words dropped like thunder:

"Baron Rus is not guilty of anything—because this wine is a blessing from the Lord of Light."

"What—what!?" Angor's body stiffened.

A stunned silence swept through the room.

Even Eliana, wide-eyed, stared at Rus in disbelief.

How... how had he convinced Lux to say something like that?

Lux continued, voice calm but resolute:

"Baron Rus is a kind and just noble. A lord who always puts his people first. Moved by his compassion, the Lord of Light bestowed upon him the knowledge to improve wine."

"This wine you now taste, is that sacred creation. It is called—Tears of the Angel."

An uproar followed.

Nobles looked at one another, utterly stunned.

Even Viscount John's heart skipped a beat.

All that talk of divine blessings and noble virtue? Nonsense.

But what wasn't nonsense—was that a priestess of the Light publicly stood with Rus and endorsed his wine.

This was no trivial matter. A town priestess would never dare to make such a declaration without higher approval. Could Rus's claim to nobility have deeper backing? Could he be the illegitimate child of a Church official?

"No! No, this is impossible!"

Angor's voice broke into a frenzied scream. His hair and beard were wild now, like a beast on the verge of madness.

He pointed at Lux. "I see it now! You're no priestess! You've been seduced by Rus! You've fallen—and that's why you defend him!"

Lux's face went pale, her lips trembling, her eyes welling with tears.

"You—you're slandering me..."

Angor pressed forward, sensing his last chance.

"If you're truly uncorrupted, then prove it! If Rus hasn't—"

His words caught in his throat.

Lux's fingertips glowed. A brilliant, blinding light burst from her hand, radiant as a miniature sun.

There could be no doubt.

This was the light of the Lord of Light Himself—proof of divine favor. Only the purest and most faithful of clerics could summon such brilliance.

The room fell into silence.

Angor's face turned gray, even his massive nose seeming to shrink. His fists clenched at his sides, lips trembling.

"No... no... it can't be..."

Rus stepped forward and looked down at him coldly.

"You insulted me. You insulted House Claydon. And worst of all—you insulted a priestess of the Lord of Light."

"You... are the one who has desecrated the divine."

The nobles' whispers started again, now openly scornful:

"Angor is as stubborn and reckless as ever. This time, he finally kicked the iron wall."

"Always had a sharp tongue and no filter. Guess that whole 'righteous fury' thing was just a mask, huh?"

"Think he'll really put himself on the pyre now, like he promised?"

"Please. That old fox? He cares more about saving face than saving his soul. He's just scrambling for an exit now."

Angor, a Tier-3 warrior, could hear every word. His senses were sharp—and those whispered barbs stabbed like daggers.

He wanted to defend himself, to justify his actions.

But he had no excuses.

And he couldn't admit fault—not now. Not in front of all these people.

Admitting guilt would be worse than death.

"It was my father's mistake."

Joudra stepped forward and bowed deeply to Rus and Lux.

"Baron Rus. Priestess Lux..."

He turned to face the crowd.

"And to all you honored ladies and gentlemen."

Angor's eyes widened. He knew what his son was about to do. He wanted to stop him, but his body refused to move.

"My father spoke out of turn without proper investigation," Joudra said sincerely. "The Warton family will take full responsibility."

"For disrupting this solemn and sacred occasion, we offer our sincerest apologies and regret."

He stood tall and faced Rus directly.

"Baron Rus, the Warton family will not shy away from what must be done. But please, allow me to take my father home. I will personally visit you later to discuss reparations."

His words were graceful, measured, and flawless—leaving no room for criticism.

Rus turned to Lux.

"Priestess Lux. What say you?"

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye with a delicate pinkie.

"I defer to Baron Rus's judgment."

"Thank you." Rus nodded slightly and looked back at Joudra.

"I accept your request. But I expect a concrete promise—not just polite words."

"Then let it be witnessed by all here, and by Priestess Lux."

Joudra took a deep breath.

"Two tracts of land currently under Warton control are still part of Hawk's Reach territory. On behalf of House Warton, I pledge that we will return them—to serve as restitution for this offense."

"You—!"

Angor's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull.

Those two tracts of land had been wrestled away from John at great cost—his most prized acquisitions. And now they were being given up?

But instead of a furious outburst... blood welled up in his throat and poured from his lips.

Still clad in full armor, Baron Angor collapsed to the floor with a crash.