Everyone in the grand auditorium and the VIP section was left speechless. The air was heavy with disbelief as countless spectators tried to comprehend what they had just witnessed.
The name of the House of Crestvale carried immense weight across the human empire. Their family legacy—their sword art—was revered, guarded, and passed down only through direct bloodlines. To outsiders, it was a sacred heritage that no one could ever hope to imitate.
Every noble house had their own treasured weapons and combat arts, symbols of their lineage and pride. They were so precious that entire wars had been fought over them. To see someone outside a noble family wielding another house's art was considered not only impossible but blasphemous.
King Edward's expression hardened, his violet eyes reflecting astonishment. Even the other nobles around him—men and women who had seen empires rise and fall—couldn't believe their eyes.
