The coronation followed a tradition that had been passed down for generations, carried out by three individuals who each held a different kind of authority. One would bless the new King by the Holy, another by the Sword, and the last by the Supreme Power. Each part had its weight, its meaning, and skipping any of them would make the whole thing feel incomplete.

Right now, the first to step forward and carry out his role was the High Priest.

"Behold, everyone… Myrcella Odette of Milham," the priest announced, his voice echoing clearly throughout the hall. "At this very moment, she steps forward to take her place, to accept the weight of the crown, and to finally wear it as her own. What we are witnessing today is history in the making. This moment will be remembered, recorded, and written into the history books for generations to come."

His voice did not waver. There were no unnecessary pauses, no over-the-top dramatics. He spoke plainly, yet every word carried weight. He did not try to dress it up with fancy language that would lose its meaning halfway through. Instead, he kept going, as if he understood exactly what needed to be said and nothing more.

This High Priest was different from the ones before him.

The previous High Priests had not exactly left a good reputation behind. They had been exposed as corrupt, tangled in their own greed and abuse of power. Once their crimes came to light, they were removed from their positions and punished accordingly. Their downfall had been messy, and it had left a gap that needed to be filled carefully.

Compared to them, this man stood out.

There was something genuine about him. It all gave the impression that he truly believed in the teachings of the Goddess Jeanne. This was not someone reciting lines out of obligation. This was someone who had chosen to follow those teachings, someone who actually tried to live by them. He had devoted himself to doing what was right, avoiding what should not be done, and holding himself to the standard expected of someone in his position. That alone made him worthy of being called the High Priest.

While that thought lingered in my mind, the priest slowly raised his hand. Then he closed his eyes, as if sinking into a quiet prayer that only he and the Goddess could hear.

Myrcella followed his lead.

She closed her eyes as well.

"Now, with the blessing that the Goddess Jeanne has granted me," the priest said, his voice softening slightly but still carrying across the hall, "I shall pass that blessing on to our new King-to-be. May she be guided by the Goddess Jeanne along the rightful path of kingship. May the hands of the Goddess lead her to do good, to act with compassion, to remain kind, and yet be firm when the moment calls for it."

He paused for just a breath, then continued.

"May she grow into someone magnanimous, someone capable of leading with both strength and understanding. Someone who knows what it truly means to be a king, not just in title, but in action."

The words settled into the air, and for a moment, everything felt still.

Then Myrcella opened her eyes.

"Starting today, Your Highness," the priest continued, lowering his hand, "the Goddess Jeanne will watch over you. She will see your actions, both the good and the bad. She will guide you, reward you when you act justly, and correct you when you stray from what is expected of a king."

"I am honored… to be watched over by our Goddess, Jeanne," Myrcella said.

Her voice was steady, though there was a hint of something deeper beneath it. Respect, maybe. Or the quiet realization that there was no turning back from this point onward.

Not long after, another figure stepped forward.

The shift in atmosphere was immediate.

He looked to be in his early fifties, yet there was nothing about him that felt worn down or slow. If anything, his presence felt sharper than most. There was a weight to him, something that pressed down on the space around him without him even trying.

It was the Sword Saint. Johanne's father.

The priest approached him and handed over the crown. The Sword Saint accepted it with a firm grip, his expression unchanged. There was no hesitation in his movements. He already knew his role.

"My lord," Myrcella said, giving a small curtsy.

The Sword Saint gave a slight nod in return, then reached for the hilt of his sword.

The sound of the blade being drawn was clean and precise.

Myrcella lowered herself to her knees in front of him.

The Sword Saint placed the flat side of the blade against her shoulder. It was not meant to harm, but it carried a clear sense of authority.

"Your Highness," he began, his voice calm but firm, "there will come a time when others will seek to destroy the land you are sworn to protect. When that moment arrives, stand your ground and defend it."

His grip on the sword did not falter.

"A king is someone willing to risk their life for their land and for the people they rule. When that time comes, you must be brave. Not just for yourself, but for all of us who depend on you."

He lifted the sword from her shoulder, guiding it slowly across above her head before resting it on the other side.

"Your duty does not end with protection alone," he continued. "You must also preserve the kingdom's interests. If there are those who act only for their own gain, those who seek to benefit themselves while causing suffering within your reign, you must not ignore them. Do not turn a blind eye. Make sure they are judged and punished to the proper degree."

His tone remained steady, but there was an edge to it now.

"And if there are those who grow dissatisfied and begin to act in ways that could endanger the kingdom, speak to them first. Use your words. Try to understand. But if it becomes necessary, then you must use your power."

After finishing, he lifted the sword away and returned it to its sheath in one smooth motion. The entire action was done with one hand, as if it required no effort at all.

"I will follow the guide of the sword," said Myrcella.

Then came the final part.

The blessing of Supreme Power.

The sharp, steady sound of heels clicking against the floor echoed through the hall, drawing everyone's attention without needing an announcement. It was enough on its own.

A figure stepped forward.

It was none other than the Queen herself. Queen Meriona Milham.

Under normal circumstances, this role would have belonged to the reigning King. He would have been the one to pass on the final blessing, to confirm the authority of the next ruler.

That was no longer possible.

With the King gone, the responsibility had fallen to the Queen. She was the one who would complete the ceremony, the one who would place the crown upon Myrcella's head and make everything official.

All eyes were on her now.

This was the final step.