freenovelworld Chapter 90: The Principle Beyond the Path
Chapter 90: The Principle Beyond the Path
Today’s White Slipper Club was arranged differently.The first floor’s tables were pushed to the corners, and the bar where Aaron and the bartender usually stood was empty. Chairs were neatly arranged in three groups before and beside the stage.
Clusters of reporters huddled in the gaps, whispering, with flashbulbs nearby. The largest camera, nearly human-height, resembled a giant accordion on the ground; smaller tripod or handheld ones dotted the scene.
Few guests were seated yet. In the center front row sat a fully armored silver knight, helmet on, alone, surrounded by empty chairs. He sat rigidly upright.
His right-hand seat held a silver greatsword, its long hilt a third of its length, with a narrow, thick, hexagonal blade—less a sword, more a sharpened lance, ideal for thrusting, not slashing. Unsuitable for city combat, it was favored by Air Cavalry on griffins.
Sheathed in heavy leather with a silver-gray casing, it glittered with embedded diamonds spelling “Honor” in ornate script, designed by Queen Sophia herself, each gem hand-set by royal artisans.
This “Sword of Honor” was awarded to retired Air Cavalry with at least three major victories. If descendants didn’t join the cavalry, it was reclaimed after seventy years; if they did, they could carry it to Avalon’s Royal Air Force Academy—a legacy of honor.
Though his face was hidden, the sword identified him: Gordon, the newly transferred former局长.
At Aiwas’s signal, Lily pushed his wheelchair toward him.
Aiwas observed Gordon from afar. Before getting close, Gordon sensed his gaze and turned. Recognizing Aiwas, he nodded slowly—friendly or approving.
Then he noticed Princess Isabel beside Aiwas. The old knight stood, removed his helmet, and knelt with a clank.
“By the Silver-Crowned Dragon, greetings, Your Highness,” Gordon’s aged, resonant voice cut through the club’s noise.
Heads turned. Reporters, ready to snap photos of Aiwas, froze upon seeing Isabel, startled.
Photographing Aiwas was fine—he was a Moriarty foster son, not bearing family armor.
In Avalon, armor symbolized Authority. Armored knights demanded respect, but unarmored ones, even Round Table members, were treated as civilians—photographable, touchable, requiring no courtesies or right of way.
Isabel was different. Despite her Beauty path and lower esteem compared to her brothers, she was true royalty.
Snapping her photo without permission could summon black-suited, white-gloved visitors by nightfall.
Guests knelt or bowed, their uneven greetings echoing.
In the past, Isabel would’ve frozen up.
Now, she took a deep breath, mimicking Aiwas’s gentle smile and waving reservedly. “Good afternoon, everyone. Please rise. May the Silver-Crowned Dragon bless you.
You may photograph once the ceremony begins.”
Her clear, melodious voice prompted the crowd to stand.
They thought: [This shy, reserved princess seems quite poised today.]
Aiden, trailing Aiwas, darted forward under scrutiny, boldly taking the chair to Gordon’s left.
Lily gracefully maneuvered Aiwas’s wheelchair into the space. Isabel took the seat to Aiwas’s left, deterring others from approaching.
The entire left side of the front row remained empty.
Aiwas directed his classmates to sit there, but Isabel’s immediate left stayed vacant, with Angela next.
As Aiwas settled, the scattered, chatting guests found seats. To Gordon’s right, a man in a white suit with neat blonde hair—likely a First Faculty law graduate, a judge or lawyer—shook Gordon’s hand, spoke briefly, and sat.
Further right was a mix of attire. Aiwas’s brother Edward sat in the left group, nodding distantly without approaching.
Gordon placed his helmet beside his sword.
Hesitating, he turned to Aiwas. “Mr. Aiwas.”
“Inspector Gordon,” Aiwas nodded, smiling. “Or should I say Supervisor Gordon now?”
“Either works. Just a job,” Gordon said, unbothered by his promotion. “Inspectors and supervisors both guard Avalon, just with different tasks.
I have a question, Mr. Aiwas. What’s your relationship with Her Highness?”
“Friends,” Aiwas replied, smiling.
He glanced at Isabel, who leaned forward, emphasizing, “Very good friends, Mr. Gordon.”
Aiwas patted her arm, signaling her to sit back.
For some reason, Isabel seemed elated—bolder than usual, almost humming if not for the crowd.
“I understand, Your Highness,” Gordon replied promptly, his weathered face hesitating as he saw her hand on Aiwas’s wheelchair.
He swallowed his words, looking down, pretending not to notice.
The lively club quieted after Aiwas—or rather, Isabel—arrived. Within ten minutes, all were seated.
Only reporters, photographers, and corner-standing inspectors and supervisors remained standing. The doors closed, blue-white runes glowing on the walls.
Gordon was the only armored figure; even black suits were few. White suits made up a fifth, with others in varied attire—mostly officials, scholars, priests, professors, and executives. Aiwas spotted his mentor, Professor Bard.
The second floor held more spectators—adults in formal attire, no invitation needed.
Aiden had found his father there, a chubby, mild-mannered merchant with small eyes, waving excitedly before being hushed.
Suddenly, Aiwas’s heart stirred.
His Shadow Demon awoke.
[My master…] its raspy, venomous voice echoed in his mind. [The thief who stole shadow power is nearby—]
[The assassin?]
Aiwas’s eyes narrowed.
[You really dared come back?]
Eagle Eye’s assassin was bold. Unlike Monday, high-tier superhumans abounded today, and the sealed doors bore magical wards after last time’s lesson.
[Is she just watching me?]
Aiwas touched the heavy key at his waist, calm.
He wasn’t afraid—almost eager.
[If you don’t act, I brought this key for nothing.]
[My master… may I act if your life’s in danger?] the Shadow Demon asked, anxious and frenzied.
“Where is she?” Aiwas asked inwardly.
The demon shared its power, granting temporary “Shadow Vision” despite Aiwas’s low shadow affinity.
His pupils darkened, veiled by a thin black haze.
The room dimmed in his sight, shadows turning transparent gray, and hidden figures deepened in color.
He clearly saw the female assassin beneath the largest, cart-sized camera, lurking in its shadow.
“No need,” Aiwas replied calmly, looking away. “I’ll handle this, Shadow Demon. Watch me.”
[…Very well, master,] the demon’s voice cooled, sounding more human, less raspy. [I’ll lurk silently… and observe.]
It implied that if Aiwas called it later, it might not obey.
Craving holy flesh, the proud demon wouldn’t beg to help after being dismissed.
“Of course,” Aiwas smirked. “I won’t disappoint you.”
He knew that defeating or surviving a stronger foe without the demon’s aid would earn its respect. Proving his strength and cunning independently showcased his spirit’s power—unlike the near-irresistible control of “Herding Arts.”
It was true demonic acknowledgment.
Like when Aiwas, weak, challenged the corrupt sorceress Veronica, using meticulous plans to face a stronger foe, winning or wounding them.
This was the core of the Transcendence path: rebellion and victory.
It demanded talent and courage.
(Chapter End)