Son of the Hero King

Chapter 718: Southern Pride belong to him

[Southern Pride; Center]

After Sol left the palace reserved for him and his woman during his stay in Southern Pride, he was sent to a large clearing where the dignitaries of the Elven Kingdom waited for his arrival.

Nefertiti and the other women made sure to take a step back and stand behind him while Satella and Jasmine joined the other elders among the dignitaries.

The Grand Priest had been giving a speech while waiting for them, and though he was quite eloquent and imposing, it was clear that the elves were already getting impatient due to his seemingly endless rambling. They had not gathered there to listen to his boring speech after all; there was a more important matter at hand.

Sol stood before the gathering of elves, his eyes scanning all those he could see with naked eyes and even those outside of his vision.

There were numerous. He had a feeling that nearly all the elves alive in this country may have been summoned to this location. Some huddled together on the ground while the others huddled on the gigantic trees in the distance, all observing him with bated breath.

Curiously, none dared to climb the trees closest to him. From what he had gathered during his stay among the elves, doing so was considered an offense— to look down upon the Dragon Emperor was an insult that no elf, either friend or foe, would ever dare to commit.

Elves truly are a different breed of madness.

However, there was a charm in their madness; such were the thoughts of Sol Luxuria. He was no stranger to mad admiration and absolute obsession. Women like Milia, Nefertiti, or Skuld made sure that he was already immune to any sort of feeling of awkwardness when in contact with such forms of intense emotions.

In Sol’s eyes, their madness was thus both beautiful and admirable. It was a relentless emotion born from pride, reverence, and an unshakable sense of tradition.

“I would now like to offer the stage to His Majesty, the Dragon Emperor,” the Grand Priest announced, his voice carrying a clear and unshakable charisma that resonated in everyone’s heart.

In a gathering filled with eternally youthful faces, the Priest's aged features stood in stark contrast. A reminder of just how ancient the man truly was. Sol knew that he was one of the oldest mortals alive and one of the most fervent believers of Tiamat. He had participated in the war opposing chaos vs order, which would make him more than ten thousand years old at the very least.

And yet, there was a gleam in the old man’s eyes— not the wisdom of age, but the undeniable spark of youth. He stepped down with a calm smile, his eyes twinkling as if he was giving Sol a silent encouragement.

Silence fell with his departure.

The kind of silence born from eternal reverence instead of fear or despair. Every murmur ceased when he stepped up. Every rustle of leaf and breath of wind seemed to pause as if even nature itself awaited his words.

Thousands of eyes turned to him.

Waiting. Watching. Worshipping. Hoping.

And then— he felt it.

A current, like a tidal wave made of light and expectations, rushed toward him like a tsunami’s relentless barrage. Faith. Not abstract, not poetic. Nearly tangible and visible to his eyes. It curled around him like heat, like power, like a crown made of fires of devotion and silent pleas.

He wasn’t even a Demigod. Not yet.

And yet, the belief of thousands flowed into him, feeding something deep within his core.

Thanks to his connection with Nefertiti, this ability had only grown stronger. Behind him, he could hear Nefertiti gasp softly, silent enough that only he could hear her. Clearly, even for her, the relentless barrage of faith had been a tad too much to handle at once. He wondered just how the goddesses could support billions of prayers, hopes, and wishes all centered on them every second of every day. He also understood why the gods and demigods were indifferent to the struggles of mortals.

It was overwhelming.

It was also extremely humbling.

At this very moment, watching all those elves await his words with trepidation, Sol felt himself hesitate for the first time in quite a while. He had not felt this kind of pressure even when he was delivering speeches during the war against Wratharis.

Yet this was certainly different. A wave of attention on a whole other dimension. Few in Lustburg had looked at him the way the elves were doing now. The sheer trust they had in him, the faith so pure it burned like flames of molten white, made him hesitate. Not from fear, but from respect.

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What should he say?

He understood more than anyone that here and now, even if he were to say the most outlandish thing, the elves would still cheer and scream in joy as if he had delivered the very truth of the universe.

He knew that most of the elves here would blindly accept any of his words as the gospel of the Lord Almighty, even if said words were detrimental to them.

This should have made things easier for him and yet it did the opposite.

The knowledge that they trusted and believed in him made him reluctant to simply dismiss them and leave after giving banal remarks.

So he wondered once again… What should he say at the moment? What could he even say?

He closed his eyes, the weight pressing down on his shoulders heavier than any crown ever could.

But even that single breath was enough.

Enough for him to find it within himself.

Not the perfect words. Not the speech of legends. But the truth that was his.

Sol opened his eyes and spoke,

“I hate war.” He started, a calm dignity in his tone. His words drew confusion from the elves because of the sheer randomness of the topic. It was a bolt out of the blue for all of them.

“War is a monster that devours wealth. But if that were all, it would be tolerable,” Sol continued, his voice never losing its steadiness, the unwavering dignity.

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop there. It disrupts economies, shatters lives, and erases futures. War is a calamity, one born not from nature, but from the greed of those who stand above.”

Sol loved fighting. The feeling of his blood pumping as he exchanged special moves and techniques against a worthy opponent was simply exhilarating, and because of that, he found war to be supremely distasteful.

“A war of conquest is worse,” he said, his tone colder, more hateful. “The economic losses. The emotional devastation. The generations erased before they’re born. The consequences reach further than I can truly comprehend. But I know many of you do.”

The confusion slowly settled, and a few elves had eyes filled with reminiscence. Indeed, many of them lived through war and they understood the weight of it.

“Culture. History. Economy. Values. You can’t absorb a nation without absorbing its soul. If you subjugate it by force, the backlash is inevitable. And even if you succeed… conquest is never short-term.”

This was why, even after winning the war, Sol made sure that Lustburg did not display an open control of Wratharis beyond a certain point.

Lustburg never pressed too far. It was important for the citizens of Wratharis not to feel cornered.

He let Wratharis breathe and gave it space to remember its own name.

But even so, rebellions still rose on a daily basis. Of course, most of them were caused by machinations from nobles and other individuals with vested interests. However, there was no denying that some citizens also participated in those rebellions. Had Sol tried to get full control instead of putting Setsuna at the front, he was sure that the situation would have been a hundred times worse. The whole country and its people would have revolted in the first week.

“One thousand years ago,” he said quietly, “My ancestor, The Conqueror King Jupiter Luxuria, waged war for no reason but his own desire to stand above all. He bathed this world in fire and called it his moment of glory.”

Sol’s fists clenched at his sides.

“I despise that man. And yet…” He inhaled. “I now walk the very same path I had despised.”

Jupiter was nothing but a filthy bastard in Sol’s eyes. A vile man with a pride too big for his own good and who died a miserable death, befitting of the pride that devoured him whole.

But he did not have much right to insult the man since he was now causing bloodshed all for his selfish desire. Luxuria may have asked him to do so, but he was the one who accepted her command and even decided to go beyond the initial assignment.

A murmur began to rise again but died before it could form. No one dared to speak. The air around Sol shifted, heavy with something vast pushing out of his very soul.

“I hate war, and yet, I will not hesitate to continue this war. No. This conquest.”

The elves gazed at each other, slowly understanding the situation. This was no random speech.

This was a declaration.

“Attention elves of Southern Pride. Hear my proclamation. I am Sol Dragona Luxuria, ruler of Lustburg.” Sol said with utmost solemnity in his voice.

“Wratharis has surrendered to me, and yesterday so did your Queen.” He paused, letting the silence stretch. “But I will not stop here. My ambition and goal cannot be satisfied with only this much.”

His eyes swept over them, glowing with small motes of golden light. Too small for anyone to notice.

“I want to control the Fate of this world, and if anyone dares to resist my supreme authority,” His eyes darkened visibly as he declared, “I will show them no mercy.”

He let his words spread for them to truly understand the determination that was inlaid in his speech, his very will. He would conquer this world, no matter what. But he could not do it alone.

He looked down at the elves, his eyes now filled with a certain warmth.

“At this moment, the only ones who can challenge my military rules are the angels, and a clash between us is inevitable. So, I ask here and now. Despite knowing all of this…”

He extended a hand not in threat, but in offer.

“... Will you stand by me?”

For a heartbeat, the world held still.

Then from among the sea of elves, one figure stepped forward. She was young— or rather, appeared so. In elven terms, she might have been living for centuries, no one could be sure other than she herself.

She fell to one knee, her hand over her heart, and lowered her head.

“I will.”

Another elf followed. Then another.

Thousands of elves bowed their heads, hands pressed to hearts, the gesture as old as their very race and sacred as any vow. Not even the elders stayed standing, and soon Jasmine and Satella followed their lead.

A murmur ran through the crowd, not as speech, but as a single breath shared between them all.

“““We will.”””

Sol did not smile at their devotion, their belief, and their determination.

He was unable to.

This was different from the blind devotion shown when he first arrived.

This was not admiration or devotion directed at a dragon.

This was pure faith and belief directed solely at him.

***

Sol left Southern Pride.

On the day he arrived, the elves knelt for him.

On the day he left, the elves still knelt for him.

However, the weight behind the two moments was completely different.

This was why he could say now with no doubt or hesitation.

Southern Pride belonged to him.