They were led upward.
The stairs were wide, carved from pale stone worn smooth by centuries of passage. Iron lanterns lined the walls, their glass panes carefully cut—neither crude nor modern. The architecture spoke of a world caught between eras: feudal authority upheld by steel and stone, yet refined by knowledge and craft. Magic was present, but subtle, woven into structure rather than displayed.
A hybrid age.
They passed through several corridors, each broader and more ornate than the last, until they stopped before a massive double door carved with the crest of the Empire. Gold inlay traced symbols of authority and conquest, old enough to feel unquestioned.
As the guards moved to open it, a voice rose from among the summoned.
"Sir."
The young man who had carried himself confidently since the white void stepped half a pace forward.
"May we know your name?"
The knight at the front halted and turned. He lifted his visor just enough to reveal a stern, weathered face—eyes calm, practiced, and unimpressed by ceremony.
"My name is Albedo Valerius," he said. "I serve as Grand Marshal of the Imperial Palace—the highest-ranking knight entrusted with its defense."
Louis studied him quietly.
Not the strongest, he thought.
Of course not. He'd read enough novels to know how this went. Empires never paraded their true monsters. The real veterans—the ones who had survived calamities and divine whims—were always hidden, waiting for the world to burn before they emerged.
This man wasn't that.
He was simply the highest-ranking knight who stood in the open.
And that alone made him terrifying.
The doors groaned open.
Beyond them stretched a vast hall supported by towering pillars, banners cascading from the ceiling like frozen waves. At the far end, upon a raised dais beneath a canopy of gold and white, sat the ruler of the Empire.
A voice rang out—clear, practiced.
"Presenting—His Imperial Majesty, Sovereign of the Central Continent, Bearer of the Radiant Crown, Lord of the Twin Lions—Emperor of the Empire."
The Emperor rose.
His hair, once pale gold, had faded into whitish-blonde, nearly white with age. His posture was composed, effortless, and heavy with authority.
To his left and right stood the highest nobility of the Empire.
"The Four Pillars of the Empire," the announcer continued.
"To the north—Duke of the Northern March."
A tall man with deep red hair, his presence dense and unyielding.
"To the east—Duke of the Eastern Provinces."
A noble with white hair and eyes like verdicts.
"To the south—Duke of the Southern Provinces."
Purple hair, a faint smile, and the gaze of a man who weighed value instinctively.
"And to the west—Duke of the Western Armies."
Golden-yellow hair. Features subtly mirroring the Emperor's.
Blood, Louis noted.
The announcer stepped aside.
"Welcome," the Emperor said calmly. "Those summoned from beyond this world. You now stand within the heart of the Empire."
He spoke of the Empire's strength, its reach, and its pillars—measured words, carefully chosen. Then he finished.
"You may ask your questions."
For a moment, no one moved.
Then a young man stepped forward.
"Y-Your Highness—Your Majesty—Ustama—"
The Emperor raised a hand.
"Young lad," he said evenly. "Your Majesty will suffice."
The young man nodded quickly. "Yes, Your Majesty. My name is Kirian."
He took a breath.
"We were told by the Goddess that upon our arrival, the Empire would accommodate us… and explain what you require our help with."
Silence fell.
Not ceremonial silence.
Something heavier.
Kirian hesitated, confusion flickering across his face.
Before the Emperor could reply, a man stepped forward from beside the throne.
"My name is Marcus Halvane," he said. "Imperial Chancellor."
His gaze swept across the summoned.
"The truth is that your summoning was not conducted with the prior consent of the gods."
A murmur spread.
"Normally, heroes are summoned regardless. Any individual brought over from another world possesses what we call a Unique Skill. That alone justifies the ritual."
He paused.
"But what occurred this time was excessive."
Louis felt a chill.
"The gods' acknowledgment explains why so many of you arrived," Marcus continued. "And why you were granted more than mere Unique Skills."
Several summoned opened their status screens.
Louis did the same.
Light bloomed.
Under Skills—
Unique Skill.
"With divine recognition," Marcus said, "you were granted Graces. That elevates you above ordinary incarnates."
The hall remained quiet.
This time—not from tension.
But understanding.