Emery arrived at Nova Roma’s capital just in time to witness a grand spectacle.

Tens of thousands of citizens packed the streets, crowding into the massive square at the heart of the city. The atmosphere buzzed with electric anticipation, the air thick with reverence as every eye was turned toward the sky.

Their King, Julian made his appearance, he descended gracefully from the heavens, clad in gleaming white and gold armor, a crimson cloak billowing behind him, and a majestic crown atop his head, he wore an ominous mask that obscured his face, enhancing the divine aura surrounding him.

His form cut an imposing figure as he floated down, landing atop a massive statue—his own likeness that loomed over the square.

As he removed the mask, revealing his face to the crowd, a wave of jubilation erupted. Thunderous cheers filled the air, drowning out any other sound. Then, as if part of a well-rehearsed ceremony, the entire assembly of people dropped to their knees in perfect unison, bowing deeply before their ruler. It was a sight to behold—an empire forged in both love and fear, where Julian had transcended the role of king. He was worshipped as a god.

Annara, ever sharp-tongued, stood beside him, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “You have to admit,” she said with a slight smirk, “he’s really good at this… Very theatrical!”

Emery remained silent, absorbing the scene. Sensing his thoughts, Annara added with a sly smile, “I wonder what role he plays in this story… the best friend? The rival? Or perhaps, the main antagonist?”

Her words hit harder than intended, as Emery couldn’t help but question where Julian’s loyalties lay—or worse, what his true ambitions were.

The two followed the sea of people as they streamed toward the grand Nova Roma palace, where hundreds had gathered in anticipation. Senators in their ornate robes, military generals adorned in ceremonial armor, magus with their enigmatic presence, and advisors lined the majestic halls, awaiting their ruler’s entrance.

When Julian finally arrived, the crowd bowed deeply in respect, murmurs of admiration rippling through them. Emery was placed among the envoys, positioned as one of the esteemed guests in the grand hall. From this vantage point, he had a clear view of everything unfolding before him. The majestic throne loomed at the far end, and Julian, now fully adorned in his regal attire, took his seat with a commanding presence.

On his left sat the striking figure of Athena, her beauty radiant and her expression one of calm authority. To Julian’s right, however, was a figure that immediately drew Emery’s attention—a powerful, elderly man who exuded an aura of immense strength.

VIA swiftly accessed the identity of the elder: Marius, a Nephilim grand magus from one of the secondary families. The records painted a picture of a highly decorated veteran commander, a figure of respect and fear in equal measure. Marius had retired from his post over a hundred years ago, but his presence here signaled something far more significant—Julian had surrounded himself with individuals who held not just power, but also the experience to wield it effectively.

As Julian settled into his throne, Emery expected the formalities to begin, perhaps the acknowledgment of the envoys who had traveled far to seek an audience. Yet, there was an eerie stillness in the air. The grand hall had fallen into an anticipatory silence.

No one spoke. All eyes were fixed on Julian, waiting.

Emery could feel the tension rising. Whatever was about to happen, it was clear that this gathering wasn’t merely a formality. They were all waiting for something… or someone.

As the tension in the grand hall reached its peak, Emery’s heightened senses detected the subtle hum of a descending ship overhead.

His attention shifted to the main entrance, where the doors opened to reveal a group of figures in flowing white and gold robes, each adorned with intricate symbols that marked them as the high priestesses of the Papal Church.

This denomination, closely tied to the Seraph lineage, was one of the most revered and powerful organizations within the Nephilim faction. But what caught everyone’s attention was the figure leading them—a grand magus of immense power, one of the Twelve Apostles of the Nephilim.

Whispers of reverence spread through the crowd as the group made their entrance.

Their presence alone seemed to radiate divine authority. The apostle, a tall, imposing figure with a face etched in the stern lines of someone used to wielding both spiritual and political influence, strode forward confidently. His gaze locked on Julian, who, without hesitation, stood from his throne and stepped forward.

“We are honored by your eminence’s presence,” Julian spoke, his words carrying weight.

In a display of humility, Julian bent one knee before the apostle, his head bowed. The air in the room grew even heavier as all the high-ranking officials, magus, and guests, in a show of complete obedience, followed suit, dropping to their knees in reverence. Even Emery and Annara, to avoid drawing unnecessary attention, did the same.

What happened next unfolded with a chilling sense of ceremony, as the apostle’s tone shifted to one of casual authority. He congratulated Julian for his triumphs, his words dripping with an air of inevitability, as though this moment had been predetermined.

“You have proven yourself,” the apostle declared, his voice echoing through the grand hall. “Now, embrace your fate. Align yourself fully with the Nephilim gods, and you shall receive what has been promised.”

Emery watched closely, his eyes narrowing as Julian spoke a line of practiced words, a solemn declaration of faith. He recited oaths pledging his trust, loyalty, and soul to the Nephilim gods.

Emery watched closely, his eyes narrowing as Julian spoke a line of practiced words, a solemn declaration of faith. He recited oaths pledging his trust, loyalty, and soul to the Nephilim gods.

The ceremony reached a crescendo as the apostle revealed a sacred artifact—an ancient relic that radiated with power. It was a gleaming, ornate chalice, engraved with runes that glowed faintly. The crowd hushed, a collective breath held in reverence as the apostle lifted the holy grail high, proclaiming it to be the blood of the Nephilim gods.

A flicker of unease gripped Emery’s chest. His instincts screamed at him to intervene, to stop Julian from completing whatever pact he had made with these beings. But he remained still, his mind racing, as Julian accepted the chalice without hesitation.

As Julian drank, a visible change came over him. His skin seemed to glow faintly, and the air around him pulsed with energy. The apostle placed a hand on Julian’s head, murmuring words of blessing in a language only the highest ranks of the Nephilim could understand.

With a solemn gesture, the apostle took a new crown—crafted of gold and dark celestial metals—and placed it upon Julian’s head.

“Behold!” the apostle shouted, his voice booming through the hall. “The birth of Julius Kaesar, the 82nd Heavenly Son of the Nephilim gods!”

The crowd erupted into thunderous cheers, their voices rising in unison to praise their new god-king. The energy in the room shifted from reverence to euphoria, as one by one, envoys stepped forward to congratulate Julian on his ascension. Sёarch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

But as Emery stood amidst the celebrations, a cold dread settled deep in his core. While the others rejoiced, he felt a sense of profound unease.

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