"I will lead the delegation."
The voice cut through the tense silence, calm and absolute. The figure that had appeared was Saint Noel, the Archlord who served as the unshakable pillar of the human kingdom.
"My lord Saint!" King Harold, Grand Duke Richard, and Prince Theodore chorused, rising to their feet and bowing with the deepest respect. This man was not just the kingdom's ultimate protector; he was the bedrock upon which their power was built.
"Sit," the old man said, his voice gentle but firm. "There are things you need to understand."
They retook their seats, their backs ramrod straight, their full attention on him.
"Theodore is correct," the Saint began, affirming the prince's earlier analysis. "Orion is treating this wedding with the utmost gravity. He has invited every major player on the continent." He paused, and his tone grew heavy.
"The reason is simple. The elven queen from another world, this Lady Isilra… is a peak archlord."
Silence.
