Son of the Hero King

Chapter 761: Wedding (1)

There was an initial bout of confusion among the band of nobles after the announcement of a slight delay to the wedding proceedings. As was standard in the noble circle, wild speculations flew left and right, invoking an atmosphere of a bustling flea market. Some wondered if the wedding would continue, if the bride fled, or if the young prince finally realized how unreasonable marrying a witch was. And she was none other than the Cursed Witch herself, the very reason the witches had such a bad rep.

However, less than an hour later, a few of them were disappointed to learn that the wedding would, in fact, resume.

Accordingly, they were gently ushered toward the main room of the chapel where the ceremony would take place.

In the chapel of the church of Castitas, people were not placed based on their social rank or hour of arrival but rather depending on how strong they were.

Unironically, the chapel was the fairest location in all of Lustburg. A place where your birthright determined nothing. A place where nobles and commoners, soldiers and peasants could all sit together. Not based on equality based on human rights, but an equality based on how much talent they were born with and how much effort they put in becoming stronger and reaching the soaring heights of the heavenly sky.

Unsurprisingly, most of the first row seats were occupied by the Dukes, then members of the military and nobles who lived on the frontier— honest, diligent, and dutiful folks who had to constantly fight the invasion of other kingdoms and monsters on the borders.

The nobles from the center were relatively weaker and sat further back. Though some nobles were dissatisfied with the sitting arrangement, they knew better than to complain, lest they invite the Prince’s wrath.

“Everyone, stand up in honor of the closest to the Goddess, Camelia Castitas.” One nun's voice resonated in the tightly packed chapel, and all the attendants stood up in silence.

The door opened, and Camelia Castitas stepped into the chapel.

She wore a long white robe trimmed with gold— simple yet commanding. A soft veil framed her face, falling to her shoulders, while a modest mantle draped over her chest and back. The fabric carried faint embroidery of a phoenix, symbols of the goddess’s light.

In her hands, she carried a slender staff capped with silver, created more for ritualistic purposes than practical. This staff also helped her direct herself since she had lost her eyesight as well as her status as Castitas’ Blessed.

The faint glow of divine energy radiating from her presence silenced even the most talkative nobles.

The attendees bowed their heads, not out of respect for the person but for the authority she represented— the will of a goddess herself.

Though Camelia was a Blessed no more, something all of them could notice due to the clear absence of the characteristic Golden hair and Cerulean Blue eyes, they knew that her authority in the church did not completely vanish.

Camelia walked down the central aisle without looking left or right, her expression calm, eyes fixed ahead toward the altar.

Each step echoed softly against the stone floor, a reminder that, for this moment, despite losing her King Rank power, her presence overshadowed all else.

The rustle of her robes was the only sound until she reached the altar and raised her staff lightly, signaling for everyone to sit.

Her gaze swept across the audience, sharp and unyielding even through the blindfold. By losing her sight, she was able to see a world beyond everything the people here could ever hope to understand. She became enamored with this new world, and she wished to see the greatest light under the sun.

“Today is not simply the union of two souls. It is the binding of paths, the weaving of destiny under the eyes of the goddess. Let all here bear witness.”

The crowd bowed again in silence. Some out of faith. Some out of fear.

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Camelia turned toward the entrance of the chapel, lifting her staff.

“Bring forth the groom.”

The doors at the rear opened, and Sol, clad in his regal, flowing black robe, entered the room— a confident smile on his face and his stride matched that emotion.

His appearance was his normal human self. No horns nor the reptilian eyes that announced his draconic heritage.

Now, that did not mean he was rejecting his draconic heritage now. No, it was a more fundamental reason, a change in his very nature itself, as now, there was simply no difference between his human and draconic appearances.

As Sol Dragona Luxuria stepped into the chapel, the air seemed to have shifted instantly.

A hush spread across the hall, deeper than any command could enforce. It was not his robe, nor the confident and deep smile he wore. It was the weight behind his sheer presence, the pressure that rolled outward the moment he crossed the threshold.

The walls seemed to groan and creak in protest, the candles flickered wildly, and the weaker nobles instinctively stiffened in place, their bodies tightening as if held down by invisible chains. Some clutched at their seats, others forced their breathing steady, refusing to show any signs of weakness before the prince and future king of humanity.

It was not killing intent that emanated from Sol’s aura, nor was it mana or any form of magic. It was something purer. A natural force, the instinctive dominance of a being who had long since surpassed the ordinary. Like a storm pressing on the ocean, his very existence carried weight now.

Even without horns or scaled eyes, the dragon in him was undeniable.

The Dukes in the front row narrowed their eyes, but none dared shift their gaze away. Soldiers accustomed to the battlefield felt the same sensation they once felt facing armies, a pressure that pressed and crushed on their momentum from all directions, unyielding and absolute.

Sol walked forward unhurriedly, his steps steady and dignified, his robe trailing behind him with a silent authority. The stone beneath his feet did not crack, yet every echo of his stride sounded heavier than it should, as if each step carried the weight of a kingdom.

For a brief moment, Camelia tilted her head in his direction. Though blind, she could sense him clearly. A faint, knowing smile tugged at her lips as she fought the urge to laugh.

She knew very well that at Sol's current level, had he truly unleashed his spiritual presence, all the people in the chapel would just straight out die in but an instant.

He was someone who had slayed a God— a former one, weakened to the demigod level, sure, but still a god with his own authority. Sol was also beyond trying to intimidate such weak people with his power. There was simply no need for him to put effort into something so worthless.

What advantage would an elephant get by trying to intimidate an ant?

What was happening was simple and, for this reason, was all the more hilarious.

{To think the mighty All-Seeing Radiant Lord is feeling nervous. How cute.}

{Shut up.}

The two exchanged light banter without a change in their expression. But those words helped Sol calm down.

When Sol finally reached the altar, he stopped beside Camelia. His smile never faded, and his gaze swept across the still, intimidated crowd.

Those who met his eyes, even for an instant, felt their spirits tremble. To them, it was not a man standing there. It was a sovereign beast in human skin, a dragon that chose to sit among mortals, but could remind them at any second what they truly faced.

What they did not know was that Sol truly did not want to frighten them. He had no need nor desire to do such a thing on his wedding day.

As Camelia summarized, he was nervous. Extremely so.

When the wedding was delayed, Sol had broken down in cold sweat. Since he had intentionally stopped his dimension from observing Medea and her karmic threads, he did not know what was happening.

Was she getting second thoughts? Did she regret agreeing to stand with him before gods and men alike?

The thought gnawed at him, a rare crack in his otherwise unshakable composure. To him, facing armies or even deities was simpler than waiting for a single woman’s answer.

He swallowed down the unease and steadied his breath, but Camelia, standing right beside him, could feel it. The faint tremor in his aura, the restless shift that betrayed his calm and confident act.

A gentle smile formed on her face. She had been worried that Sol was becoming someone, or rather something, that she could not recognize any longer. That he was slowly destroying himself to attain more power.

And she was not wrong to have those thoughts; they were true, after all. As Sol’s power grew, his disposition also changed to accommodate that power.

Still, seeing him like this, she realized that the situation was not as bad as she once thought it to be. At his core, Sol would always be the same.

All Sol needed was Love. Their love.

Truly, the Concept of Love might be the strongest of them when considered from this perspective.

Camelia smirked faintly, lowering her staff. “The groom has arrived,” she declared, her voice clear and unyielding, quiet yet still echoing in everyone’s ears. “Now let the bride come forth.”

The great doors at the end of the chapel opened once more.

A light breeze stirred through the room, carrying with it the faint scent of flowers, sharp against the heavy incense that had filled the air. The nobles craned their necks instinctively, silence rippling through the crowd as every pair of eyes fixed on the entrance.

The moment stretched. Even Sol, for all his restraint, felt his chest tighten as he turned his gaze toward the open doors.

Then… Medea appeared at the end of his gaze.