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The next day.
Ron dressed in his most formal attire and departed for the Royal Palace by carriage.
At the palace gates, a palace official was already waiting for him, smiling warmly.
"Baron Arnold, please follow me. I will escort you to the palace for your audience with His Majesty."
Ron nodded politely.
Although the man worked in the Royal Palace, he clearly held no noble rank himself. For a newly appointed baron, a higher-status guide would never be arranged.
With the King's conferment letter in hand, Ron passed smoothly through the layers of security until the palace proper came into view.
The King's residence was magnificent—vast, solemn, and overwhelming in its grandeur.
As expected of the royal family's home.
Even though it was his first time seeing such a structure, Ron managed to contain his awe.
"Baron, this way please," the official said respectfully.
Ron followed. As they stepped inside, the number of guards visibly increased—one stationed every few steps.
After walking for quite some time, the official stopped before a massive hall.
"Please wait here, Baron. I will report your arrival to His Majesty."
Ron nodded. The official bowed and entered, leaving Ron alone outside the hall.
Moments later, footsteps echoed from the opposite direction, followed by a low voice:
"Oh? Someone from the Arnold Family?"
Ron turned. Approaching him was a thin middle-aged man dressed entirely in black. His face was pale, his aura cold—every aspect radiated a forbidding presence.
The first image that flashed through Ron's mind was… a vampire.
If this man added a curled mustache, the resemblance would be uncanny.
Ron noticed the man glance at his hair, clearly identifying his bloodline.
So Monica was right, Ron thought.
"And you are—"
Before Ron could finish, the official returned. Upon seeing the man, he stiffened, then blurted nervously:
"P–Prime Minister!"
Ron's pupils contracted slightly.
This man is the Prime Minister?
You truly couldn't judge a book by its cover.
He looked like a villain in every way.
Outwardly calm, Ron offered a respectful greeting. "Prime Minister."
Marquis Norchis merely grunted in acknowledgment.
"His Majesty is inside?"
"Yes," the official quickly replied.
At the confirmation, the Prime Minister walked in without another word.
Only after the man disappeared inside did the official exhale, visibly relieved. Then, remembering Ron beside him, he hurried to explain:
"My apologies, Baron. You may not recognize him—he is Marquis Norton Norchis, Prime Minister of the Carlo Kingdom."
He continued speaking, listing several other notable figures of the kingdom—names Ron quietly memorized. Of particular note was Earl Eugene, whom the official clearly admired.
Before long, a messenger from the hall appeared.
"Baron Arnold may enter."
"Excuse me," Ron said politely to the official—who looked flattered to be addressed so courteously.
"Baron, you're too polite! Please go in. His Majesty awaits."
Ron stepped inside.
—
The grand hall wasn't huge, but it was dignified, brilliantly lit, and arranged with ceremonial precision.
At the top of the short staircase sat an elderly man wearing a pale-gold crown and resplendent robes. His presence was regal yet not unkind.
King Carlo — Meredith V.
The moment Ron saw him, the royal surname flashed through his mind.
Cronin Glo Meredith—the highest name in this kingdom.
To the King's right stood Marquis Norchis, cold and silent, his gaze fixed directly ahead.
Several scribes stood nearby, ready to record every part of the ceremony.
Ron reached the foot of the stairs and bowed according to the kingdom's noble etiquette—left hand relaxed, right hand over the heart, head and torso bent at the appropriate angle.
"Kneeling" was for commoners. Titled nobles bowed, nothing more.
"Mm. Rise," the King said.
Simple words, yet they carried undeniable weight.
Ron raised his head.
The King was studying him.
Ron stayed calm.
A king who had ruled for decades could read a person at a glance. Almost no one could hide under his gaze.
Meredith observed countless people every year. His judgments were swift, near instinctual.
But—
He kept looking.
And looking.
Until Marquis Norchis quietly reminded him, "Your Majesty."
Meredith finally snapped out of it and hid the surprise in his eyes.
Then his dignified face broke into a broad smile.
"It seems the glory of the Arnold Family will continue for centuries."
Ron responded immediately:
"Your Majesty, the glory of Arnold is the glory of the Kingdom. The Arnold Family is willing to safeguard the Kingdom's borders for you."
"Excellent!"
The King's smile deepened noticeably.
He gestured to the waiting scribes.
"Begin."
Ron blinked inwardly.
He had only spoken a standard loyalty phrase—yet the King seemed unusually pleased.
Of course, the vow was symbolic. Arnold Territory bordered only the Black Valley Forest; there were no foreign enemies to defend against.
Setting that aside, Ron focused on the ceremony.
—
The process was simple, exactly as Ron had memorized:
Part 1 — The King's Proclamation
It described the founding history of the kingdom and ended with:
"…I, Meredith V of the Carlo Kingdom, Cronin Glo Meredith, hereby confer Ron Arnold as Baron and Lord of Arnold Territory!"
Part 2 — Ron's Oath of Allegiance
Ron recited the oath flawlessly.
The scribe closed his record book.
It was done.
He was now a fully recognized baron, protected by the royal family.
The King seemed about to speak again, but Marquis Norchis murmured,
"Your Majesty, the time."
Meredith paused, then nodded.
"Baron Arnold, someone will contact you regarding the remaining procedures. You may withdraw."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Ron sensed the King had other urgent matters, so he bowed and exited the hall.
Outside, his guide was nowhere in sight.
As he walked down the corridor, he noticed two men approaching from afar. Their faces were tense, almost stormy.
Ron passed by them, then glanced back as they entered the grand hall.
So the King's next pressing matter concerns those two.
His eyes drifted to the emblem on one man's chest.
It was familiar.
Ron narrowed his eyes.
I saw that crest before… outside the Royal Noble Academy.
And on a specific carriage.
"…Earl Eugene?"
_____________________
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