The Heart of the Tide was not a mere ornament, but a magical artifact. Placing it in a harbor or offshore area allowed for small-scale tidal regulation, early warnings for extreme weather, and resonance with distant Merfolk Magic Circles.
Sea Silk, on the other hand, was a textile produced by the Merfolk. It was light and thin yet incredibly tough, woven from the silk of deep-sea creatures, and possessed a strong affinity for and amplification of water magic.
Serena’s gaze swept across the high platform, and her voice, as soft as an ocean song, rang out once more.
“The Heart of the Tide symbolizes Naggaroth’s humble understanding of the ocean’s laws. May it assist the Saint Tiriel Empire in securing its maritime borders and ensuring its sea lanes remain unobstructed. As for the Sea Silk, may it carry the goodwill of the Merfolk.
“The land is different from the deep sea, yet we are connected by the ebb and flow of the tides. May the Empire’s ships always remember that above the deepest trenches, there is a calm surface illuminated by moonlight — and beneath that calm surface lies a depth that carries all.
“Finally, may these gifts foster greater understanding between the sea and the land.”
The Regent maintained a reserved smile.
“I thank the Deep Tide Court for these generous gifts. The Empire has always valued its friendships with neighboring nations. May the Heart of the Tide ensure our routes remain clear forever, and may the Sea Silk be as enduring as the bond between our two lands. The Empire’s vessels shall always respect the laws of the ocean.”
Among the naval generals and nobles involved in maritime trade, their eagerness was gradually replaced by solemn expressions.
There was no doubt that the two gifts provided by Serena were of immense value. The Heart of the Tide would be invaluable for shipping and coastal defense, and Sea Silk was an exquisite trade commodity.
However, this also served as a side demonstration of the Merfolk’s control over the ocean. It was not just a gesture of goodwill; it was a display of power.
After presenting the gifts, Serena and the two merfolk guards exited the Golden Oak Hall the way they came, seemingly having no intention of lingering.
‘They’re probably leaving because those giant water spheres make it impossible for them to sit in chairs, and they’d find it awkward to just stand there,’ Villanelle guessed.
Shortly after, the Master of Ceremonies paused for a moment before announcing the identity of the next envoy:
“The fourth representative, from the Ashen Alliance, Edgar Varey.”
The atmosphere in the hall froze instantly, and even the court music played by the orchestra seemed to falter for a beat.
Countless gazes — filled with curiosity, hatred, caution, and disdain — focused on the burly, middle-aged man seated in the envoys’ section.
Edgar Varey, the Diplomatic Affairs Commissioner of the Ashen Alliance, was tall and sturdy. He had short, graying hair, sharp facial features, a faint scar on his left cheek, and piercing eyes.
He wore no court finery. Instead, he was dressed in a simple, deep-blue military uniform with a bronze medal consisting of a sword and an olive branch pinned to his chest.
Ignoring the whispers and strange looks surrounding him, Edgar walked toward the high platform with steady steps. He did not bow; instead, he simply pressed his left fist to his chest in a crisp, clean Alliance Citizen’s Salute.
He turned and took a dark, wooden longbox from a tense young attendant.
The box itself was made of ordinary material with common craftsmanship, forming a jarring contrast with the gold and silver vessels seen everywhere else in the hall.
Edgar held the wooden box with one hand and steadily lifted the lid with the other.
On the left side was a thick, brand-new book with a plain binding. Simple words were printed on the cover: *Alliance Constitution and Declaration of Civil Rights*.
In the center lay a magic guide instrument. Its wooden grip had a clear grain, and clean, orderly runes were engraved upon it, stretching from the energy storage crystal at the base to the miniature magic circle at the muzzle.
It was… a Magic Guide Gun.
On the right side was a small bag woven from flax. The mouth of the bag was slightly open, revealing plump, golden wheat grains that shimmered with the warm color of life under the lights.
Edgar’s gaze swept over the three items in the box, then he looked up, staring directly at the Regent on the high platform. His voice rose, steadily drowning out the last few whispers in the hall.
“In the name of the Ashen Alliance and its free citizens, I bring greetings to the Saint Tiriel Empire.”
He paused, his deep gray eyes as sharp as an eagle’s.
“These three items represent the gifts the Alliance offers the Empire, as well as our beliefs.
“The code represents the equality of the law and the rationality of governance; the magic guide instrument represents the determination and strength to defend our rights; and the seeds represent the value of labor and the foundation of survival.
“The Alliance has no interest in empty formalities. We believe that a nation’s dignity lies not in the height of its throne, but in the security of its people’s livelihood; not in the weight of its crown, but in the existence of its principles.
“May your country have a peaceful Winter Veil.”
Dead silence.
The hall fell into an absolute, chilling silence, as if the very air had been frozen solid.
Countless faces were etched with unbelievable shock, offended rage, and deep loathing.
One old noble’s face turned the color of a pig’s liver. His finger trembled as he pointed at Edgar, his lips quivering, yet he was unable to find words.
Several ladies in magnificent gowns and heavy makeup covered their faces with fans, their eyes filled with blatant horror and disgust, as if they were looking at something filthy.
Upon the high platform, the Regent’s smile had long since vanished, replaced by a cold, obsidian-like rigidity.
The veins on the back of his hand, resting on the armchair, bulged slightly. An invisible pressure emanated from him, slowly spreading through the entire hall.
Finally, the Regent raised his hand, signaling an attendant to step forward and take the gift.
The attendant’s movements were marked by unprecedented stiffness and hesitation, as if he were holding a poisonous snake rather than a gift box.
The Regent’s gaze bore down on Edgar, as sharp as an ice pick, as if trying to pierce through him. “The Empire acknowledges your country’s gifts.
“Every nation has its own path. The glory and order of Saint Tiriel come from a 1,000-year-old heritage that cannot be judged lightly. We hope your country finds true peace soon.”
Caesar’s brow was furrowed, his features clouded with displeasure and disgust. Beside him, Claudius’s expression was equally grim.
Roderick narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze shifting back and forth between the three gifts Edgar had presented, a playful smile appearing on his lips.
Villanelle was dazed for a moment, only later realizing why the atmosphere was so tense, almost to the point of drawn swords.
She didn’t quite understand the underlying meaning of Edgar’s words, but she could faintly sense that some parts ran contrary to the Empire’s philosophies. Perhaps it was those things that had angered the Regent and the others.
Edgar Varey returned to the envoys’ seating, and a persistent whispering filled the Golden Oak Hall.
The gift-giving ceremony ended there, and the court musicians began to play a solemn overture.
The previous unpleasantness was temporarily suppressed. The Regent raised his glass, leading the nobles in a toast to the empty throne, wishing for the Emperor’s health and well-being.
As the music transitioned into a lighthearted banquet melody, the suffocating tension finally seemed to ease. Waiters moved between the long tables, serving dish after dish of delicacies.
The nobles also began to leave their seats, moving around to chat and toast one another.
The banquet had only truly begun at this moment.
Caesar was laughing and talking with several high-ranking members of the Imperial Cabinet, though his smile was somewhat tired and stiff. Claudius stood up and headed toward the side hall, seemingly going to check on his Dragon. A crowd had also gathered around Roderick, even including the dwarven envoy who had presented a gift earlier.
Villanelle also relaxed, excitedly picking up her knife and fork. Her gaze darted between the various delicacies on the table.
After waiting so long, she could finally eat.
Time passed slowly in the leisurely atmosphere.
Just as Villanelle thought the rest of her time would be spent like this, an unexpectedly tall figure appeared by the table, blocking a portion of the light and casting a shadow over her.
She looked up in surprise. 1 second ago, she had just popped a Red Sunset Fruit into her mouth, and her cheeks were currently bulging.
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