The Genius Mage Was Reincarnated Into A Swordsman Family - Chapter 211

Chapter 211: The Seven Thrones
The Imperial Chamber, located in the heart of the Lionhart Estate, had been designed with a single purpose: to impress upon visitors the unassailable power of the Rikxia Empire and its ruling family. Massive columns of ice-veined marble rose to a vaulted ceiling adorned with frescoes depicting the Founding Emperor’s triumph over the ancient darkness. Light poured through tall windows of multi-hued glass, creating pools of color across the polished floor.

At the chamber’s center stood seven thrones, arranged in a perfect circle. Each had been crafted to reflect the nature of its occupant: one of blue-white ice, another of living wood that flowered with the seasons, a third formed from coral and pearl, the fourth of volcanic glass shot through with veins of magma, the fifth of windswept stone, the sixth of shimmering metal that caught every ray of light, and the seventh—largest and most imposing—of bones and teeth from creatures long extinct, polished to a terrible gleam.

For thirty years, these thrones had remained unoccupied, gathering dust beneath protective shrouds. Now, as dawn broke over the Lionhart Estate, servants hastily removed these coverings, polishing and preparing for the most consequential gathering in a generation.

Roman Lionhart stood in the anteroom, reviewing final preparations with Melo. He wore the formal regalia of the Ice Monarch—a mantle of silver-white fur over armor of crystalline blue, the Lionhart crest emblazoned on his chest in platinum and diamond. The crown of the Rikxia Empire rested on his brow, its ancient splendor a physical manifestation of the authority he wielded.

“The Ocean Monarch arrives now,” Melo reported. “The Wind Monarch’s procession is at the main gates. The others are assembled in their respective chambers. Only the Flame Monarch has yet to—”

“He will arrive last,” Roman interrupted. “Lyros always preferred dramatic entrances.”

Melo hesitated before continuing. “The Beast Emperor has requested a private audience before the council convenes.”

Roman’s eyes narrowed. “Denied. Whatever Reizhor wishes to discuss can be addressed within the council.”

“He was… insistent. He mentioned family matters that precede imperial concerns.”

“No doubt.” Roman adjusted his mantle, the temperature around him dropping subtly. “All the more reason to ensure such discussions occur with witnesses present.”

A gong sounded, signaling the approach of the second monarch. Roman straightened, his mask of imperial dignity settling into place. “It begins.”

The Imperial Chamber’s great doors swung open, admitting the first of the Seven Monarchs. Queen Sylvana of the Eastern Isles—the Lightning Monarch—entered with characteristic precision, her steps measured, her iridescent blue-green robes flowing like water around her slender form. The crown upon her brow crackled with contained electrical energy, a physical manifestation of her dominion.

“Roman.” She inclined her head, the precise degree of bow between equals. “It has been too long.”

“Sylvana.” He returned the gesture. “The Rikxia Empire welcomes you, though I regret the circumstances.”

“As do I.” Her eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, surveyed the chamber. “The others arrive?”

Before Roman could answer, the doors opened again to admit King Varroth, the Stone Monarch. Stocky and grim-faced, he wore armor of interlocking slate and granite, a crown of uncut diamonds resting upon his bald head. He nodded to both Roman and Sylvana without speaking, taking his position near his throne.

They came in quick succession after that—Queen Naevia, the Ocean Monarch, her robes the color of deep water, pearls woven through her hair; King Taerin, the Wind Monarch, whose slight frame belied the power he commanded, his clothing seemingly in constant motion though no breeze touched it; Empress Lirelle, the Metal Monarch, her silver-white hair crowned with a circlet of metals unknown to most, her ageless face revealing nothing of the ancient mind behind it.

Roman greeted each according to protocol, exchanging the formal phrases that had governed interactions between the Seven Monarchs since the Concordat was signed centuries before. All the while, his awareness remained fixed on the still-empty bone throne and its absent master.

As if summoned by this thought, the atmosphere in the chamber shifted. The great doors opened to admit a figure that seemed to fill the space with his mere presence.

Reizhor Raikra, the Beast Emperor, stood nearly seven feet tall, his massive frame draped in robes of midnight black embroidered with gold thread that formed the shapes of creatures both familiar and unknown. Upon his head rested a crown fashioned from the horns of some great beast, curving upward like reaching claws. His face—deeply tanned and lined with age—retained the fierce handsomeness that had been legendary in his youth. But it was his eyes that commanded attention—gold like his daughter’s, with vertical pupils that expanded and contracted like a predator’s.

Behind him padded a creature that caused several attendants to step hastily back. A saber-toothed panther, its muscled body covered in black fur shot through with streaks of gold, its fangs extending well below its jaw. It moved with the same predatory grace as its master, eyes constantly scanning the room.

Roman stepped forward. “Emperor Reizhor. The Rikxia Empire welcomes you.”

The air between them seemed to grow heavy as the two emperors regarded each other, their powerful energies recognizing a worthy opponent.

“Emperor Roman.” The Beast Emperor’s voice resonated through the chamber, deep and powerful. “I trust my grandson is receiving the care his condition requires?”

The emphasis on “grandson” was subtle but unmistakable—a claim laid before all present. Roman’s expression remained impassive, though those who knew him well might have noted the slight narrowing of his eyes.

“Young Klaus receives the finest care the empire can provide,” he replied smoothly. “As befits a child of the Lionhart family.”

A low sound emanated from Reizhor’s panther, something between a growl and a purr. The Beast Emperor rested one large hand on the creature’s head, calming it with a touch.

“I look forward to assessing this care personally,” he said, the statement carrying the weight of both request and demand.

Before Roman could respond, the chamber doors opened once more, and a wave of heat swept through the room. King Lyros, the Flame Monarch, strode in with dramatic timing, his crimson robes trailing actual fire that dissipated inches from the floor. His copper-hued skin seemed to glow from within, his crown a circlet of dancing flames.

“I see the gathering is nearly complete,” he announced, voice crackling like a bonfire. “Forgive my timing—I find it more efficient to arrive once the tedious greetings are concluded.”

Roman gestured toward the circle of thrones. “Let us convene properly, then speak of such matters.”

Each monarch moved to their designated seat, the circular arrangement ensuring no one held position of primacy over the others. As they settled, the thrones activated in response to their rightful occupants—ice crystallizing, wood blooming, stone settling, metal gleaming, water flowing, flames dancing, and bone throne creaking as ancient materials recognized their master.

Roman waited until all were seated before beginning. “I thank you for answering the call. It has been three decades since the Seven Thrones were last occupied simultaneously—a testament to the stability our Concordat has provided.”

“A stability now threatened,” Naevia of the oceans interjected, her voice carrying the rhythm of waves. “The Eternal Rift is gone, Roman. An impossibility made reality.”

“We have all felt the consequences,” Taerin added, his wispy form seeming to blur at the edges. “Rifts throughout the continent behave erratically. The patterns we have studied for centuries are disrupted.”

“Get to the truth, Roman,” Lyros demanded, flames flickering higher around his throne. “What happened at Northwatch? The official explanation—a ‘catastrophic barrier failure’—insults our intelligence.”

Roman’s gaze swept the circle, assessing each monarch in turn. The truth would endanger Klaus. A lie would be detected by those whose magical senses were as refined as their own. He chose his words with extreme care.

“The truth, then. Northwatch was compromised from within. The Duke and population had been replaced by artificial beings created through forbidden alchemy. They attempted to use the Eternal Rift as a gateway for something… beyond our realm.”

Murmurs circulated among the monarchs, quickly silenced as Roman continued.

“A team from White Lion, led by my grandson Klaus, discovered this plot. In the confrontation that followed, an entity of immense power manifested. This entity consumed Northwatch, the Duke, and the Eternal Rift itself before disappearing. Only two survivors emerged—Klaus and his cousin Alexandra, my granddaughter.”

“An entity,” Reizhor repeated, golden eyes fixed on Roman. “You speak in riddles, Ice Monarch. Name this power.”

“It called itself Gluttony,” Roman admitted after a moment’s hesitation. “Beyond that, its nature remains unclear.”

The chamber fell silent as the implications settled over the gathering. It was Empress Lirelle who broke the silence, her voice like chiming metal. “The prophesied return. The ancient texts speak of seven such entities—”

“Speculation,” Roman cut in. “We deal in facts, not folklore.”

“Then fact me this,” Reizhor growled, leaning forward on his bone throne. “How does a twelve-year-old boy survive an encounter that destroyed an entire city and closed an Eternal Rift? What is his connection to this ‘Gluttony’?”

The question struck to the heart of what Roman had hoped to avoid. Before he could formulate a response, Sylvana spoke.

“I believe I can answer that.” All eyes turned to the Lightning Monarch. “My scholars have been translating ancient texts recovered from the Eastern Isles Archives. They speak of vessels—humans chosen by these entities as mortal anchors in our world.”

“Apostles,” Varroth rumbled, speaking for the first time. “The old myths call them Apostles.”

Roman’s hands tightened imperceptibly on his throne’s armrests. “We cannot leap to conclusions based on fragmentary translations of questionable texts.”

“Then perhaps,” Reizhor said, his voice deceptively calm, “you can explain why my grandson now lies unconscious with his mind shattered? Or why my daughter—my only daughter—reports that his contracted creature suffers through their severed connection? A creature she describes as a ‘Night Dragon’—a species thought extinct for millennia.”

A wave of shocked murmurs swept the chamber. Several monarchs leaned forward in their thrones, newly alert at this revelation.

“A Night Dragon?” Empress Lirelle echoed, genuine surprise coloring her ageless voice. “That bloodline was believed lost during the Calamity of the Third Age.”

“Precisely,” Reizhor continued, his golden eyes fixed on Roman. “Yet somehow, my grandson formed a contract with such a creature. This would only be possible if he had awakened the Beast Art bloodline—an ability that flows through my lineage alone.”

“You overstep, Reizhor,” Roman stated coldly. “Klaus’s condition and abilities are Lionhart matters.”

“Are they?” The Beast Emperor rose to his full height, his presence seeming to fill the chamber. “When my daughter—my only daughter—married your son, the agreement was clear. Ludovic would be your heir, and their children would be raised with knowledge of both bloodlines. Then Ludovic’s core shattered, and you cast him aside like damaged goods, relegating my daughter to a life in your shadow annexes.”

Roman remained seated, a deliberate statement that he would not be provoked. “Elisabeth chose to remain with her husband. I honored her choice.”

“You provided no alternative!” Reizhor’s powerful energy rippled through the chamber, causing several attendants to step back. “You broke our agreement when you disowned Ludovic. Elisabeth’s loyalty to her husband drove a wedge between us that persists to this day. A division you did nothing to heal.”

“And now her son manifests the Beast Art—a bloodline ability impossible without Raikra blood. The awakening of this dormant bloodline enabled him to contract with a Night Dragon, a creature that would respond to no lesser calling. And when this ‘entity’ appears, it selects him as its vessel.” Reizhor’s eyes flashed dangerously. “These are not coincidences, Roman. The boy’s heritage has marked him for powers beyond your understanding.”

“Let us not forget,” Sylvana interjected, “that this same boy became the youngest Swordmaster in continental history mere months ago—an achievement Roman himself celebrated with considerable fanfare. His prowess clearly extends beyond either bloodline alone.”

“I am exercising my right under the ancient laws of bloodline inheritance,” Reizhor declared, addressing all present. “Klaus Lionhart carries the blood of the Beast Emperor. He has manifested abilities unique to my lineage. And now he lies injured after serving the continent by containing a threat none of us could have faced. I claim custodial rights to oversee his recovery and training.”

The chamber erupted in overlapping voices as the monarchs responded to this unprecedented claim. Roman raised a hand, silence gradually returning as the air grew noticeably colder around him.

“Klaus Lionhart is my grandson and a child of the Rikxia Empire,” he stated, each word precise and edged with fury beneath his controlled tone. “He remains under Lionhart protection and care.”

“A protection that failed him at Northwatch,” Reizhor countered. “A care that cannot heal his fractured mind. I have healers versed in the connection between beast and human—healers who might succeed where your Ethereal Confluence has failed.”

“This is not merely a family dispute,” Sylvana interjected, lightning crackling around her crown. “If the ancient texts are correct, and Klaus is indeed an Apostle, his significance extends beyond either of your houses. He may represent both threat and opportunity to the entire continent.”

“All the more reason he should remain where he is,” Roman argued. “The Lionhart Estate has contained and studied rifts for centuries. We have the resources to—”

“To what?” Lyros interrupted, flames leaping higher. “To contain another potential catastrophe? The Eternal Rift is gone, Roman. Your greatest achievement and burden, erased in a single night. Can you truly claim the expertise to handle what comes next?”

Roman rose slowly, the temperature in the chamber dropping precipitously. “I claim the right to protect my own blood. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“As do I,” Reizhor growled, his massive frame casting a shadow across the circular chamber. “And I will not leave this estate without seeing my grandson.”

The two emperors locked gazes across the circle of thrones, ice and beast energy pulsing in the air between them. The other monarchs watched in tense silence, aware that centuries of carefully maintained balance teetered on the edge of dissolution.

It was Empress Lirelle who finally broke the impasse, her ageless voice carrying the weight of centuries. “Perhaps we should hear from one who witnessed these events directly. The girl, Alexandra. Let her account guide our deliberations.”

Roman’s expression revealed nothing, though internally he calculated the risks. Alexandra had been careful in her official testimony, but under direct questioning from the Seven Monarchs…

“A reasonable suggestion,” he conceded after a moment. “She will be summoned tomorrow, when we reconvene.”

“And I will see Klaus before then,” Reizhor added, not a request but a statement.

Roman inclined his head slightly. “Accompanied by myself and Raphael, as attending physician.”

The Beast Emperor’s golden eyes narrowed, but he nodded once in acceptance of these terms.

As the monarchs rose from their thrones, the ancient chamber seemed to exhale, as if the very stones had held their breath during the confrontation. Attendants appeared to escort each ruler to their assigned quarters, leaving Roman and Reizhor momentarily alone in the circle of thrones.

“You cannot keep him from his heritage forever, Roman,” the Beast Emperor said quietly. “Sooner or later, blood will tell.”

“It was never my intention to deny his heritage,” Roman replied. “Only to protect him from those who would use it for their own purposes.”

“Including you?” Reizhor’s tone carried centuries of suspicion.

Roman’s expression remained impassive. “We will continue this discussion tomorrow, after you have seen his condition for yourself.”

With that, he turned and departed the chamber, his imperial mantle sweeping behind him. As he walked, frost formed in his footsteps, spreading outward in crystalline patterns before slowly melting away. The gathering of monarchs had proceeded much as he had anticipated—with Reizhor making his claim and the others divided in their responses.

Tomorrow would bring Alexandra’s testimony and Reizhor’s visit to the Frost Chamber. Neither could be fully controlled, but perhaps they could be guided toward an outcome that served the greater need.

And throughout all these machinations, Klaus remained unaware, his consciousness still fragmented, his body lying motionless within the protective embrace of ancient runes. The focal point of continental politics, yet unable to speak for himself or understand what forces gathered around him.