Lackey's Seducing Survival Odyssey - Chapter 1123: The Ruler chosen by people

Chapter 1123: The Ruler chosen by people

The Next day,

In the early hours of the morning, the entire Empire awakened to a brilliant display of glowing holograms flickering across every city, town, and village. The broadcast was live, covering the entire throne room of the royal palace, showing every detail to the world without filter or delay.

Outside the palace gates, a restless crowd had already gathered, their numbers growing by the minute. Citizens stood shoulder to shoulder, some with fists clenched in frustration, others shouting slogans and demands.

They didn’t agree with the outcome of the test—many believed it to be unfair, some cried manipulation, and others simply didn’t want to accept the result.

But what could they do? Their voices were powerless against the ancient customs.

“It’s the tradition test,” one man grumbled bitterly to his neighbor.

“And according to that damned tradition,” the other replied under his breath, “Aria won. Legally, officially, and without fault.”

There was anger in the air, but no room for protest. No one could openly oppose the result without risking punishment or exile.

’If you didn’t like it—so what?’ That was the unspoken rule of the royals.

This was the empire’s way. Royalty didn’t bend to the common voice.

Inside the palace, the ceremonial hall was magnificent—bathed in golden light. Massive red and silver banners fluttered gently from the marble pillars, each embroidered with the royal crest.

The air was perfumed with the scent of burning sandalwood and sacred herbs, an ancient blend used only during coronation rituals.

Every camera with Lyirrs’s help hovered silently in place, capturing the event from all angles. Billions of eyes from across the world watched, holding their breath as the most awaited moment unfolded.

Aria stood at the centre of the throne room. She was dressed in traditional noble robes of the highest order—a long, flowing gown made of deep blue velvet with intricate golden embroidery swirling across her sleeves and hem. A thick, fur-lined cape hung from her shoulders, pinned with a brooch shaped like an arrow rising from the earth. Her hair was tied into a regal bun, adorned with silver chains and sapphires that sparkled under the soft ceremonial lights. Her expression was calm, composed, yet powerful—carrying the weight of a thousand years of legacy.

Kaelen was beside her, clothed in equally majestic attire—his uniform was formal, lined with sharp creases, decorated with sashes and medals that shone like stars. The white and crimson fabric hugged his form tightly, tailored to perfection. He didn’t speak, didn’t shift, only stared forward, his face hard and unreadable.

When the sacred horns played their notes from the upper balconies, Aria slowly stepped forward. The carpet beneath her was crimson, stretching all the way to the base of the ice throne. She knelt down before the ancient seat, lowering her head in reverence, both hands placed firmly over her chest.

Kaelen followed suit, kneeling beside her in silence, his head bowed just as deeply.

Behind them stood Aether and the others—figures of importance, each in their own formal wear, though they kept respectfully to the side. They stood still, backs straight, making sure not to block the view.

Only Aria, Kaelen, and the wooden throne covered in ice stood at the centre, visible to all watching from every screen across the Empire.

Then she arrived—Maelona, the Temporary ruler of this Empire, carrying the ceremonial scroll and staff of recognition. She walked forward slowly, each step deliberate and grounded, her ceremonial robe trailing behind her like liquid gold. Her gown was made of white silk laced with enchanted threads that shimmered with ancient runes, and a silver crown circled her head like a halo of divine authority.

The entire hall fell into an eerie silence as she approached, her eyes fixed on the two figures kneeling before her.

Maelona stopped a few steps in front of the kneeling Aria. She stood tall, her ceremonial robes gently fluttering from the sacred breeze wafting through the throne room. Her silver eyes, calm and unyielding, looked down upon Aria with a quiet pride. Raising the ceremonial staff, she began speaking—her voice echoing across the marble halls, reaching beyond the palace walls to the ears of millions.

“Let it be known,” she declared, her tone solemn and unwavering, “that the Trial of Tradition has been fulfilled as it has been for generations. The path was harsh, the burden heavy—but such is the law of succession within our Empire. And in the end, the one who stood unwavering, who bore the test with fire and dignity, was Aria of the royal bloodline.”

The camera zoomed in slightly as Aria remained bowed, her expression unchanging. But there was a flicker of breath—a tight exhale—as the acknowledgement of her victory rippled through the room.

Maelona’s voice continued, measured and reverent.

“This tradition was not designed to seek strength alone, nor to favour popularity, nor desire. It is sacred—a binding force between the past and the future, between the spirits of those who came before and the ones who will shape what is to come. It exists to ensure the throne is earned… not inherited.”

Outside the palace, the gathered citizens fell into an uneasy silence as her words echoed from the loudspeakers. Disappointment lingered in their faces. Many still felt bitter, confused. To them, Aria’s triumph felt like cold formality.

She had won—but their hearts were not with her.

But then… Maelona shifted.

She turned, slowly and gracefully, toward Kaelen.

The shift was subtle, but instantly caught everyone’s attention.

Inside the throne room, everyone exchanged surprised glances. Outside, murmurs rippled through the crowd. Even Aether’s eyes widened slightly before he smiled softly.

Kaelen, still kneeling, lifted his gaze just enough to meet her eyes.

“And yet,” Maelona began again, her voice taking on a deeper weight, a richer emotion, “this trial revealed not only a victor… but a sacrifice.”

The silence deepened. Every screen across the Empire held on her every word.

She took another step forward, her eyes never leaving Kaelen. Her hand slowly rose—not to point, but as if offering invisible recognition.

“There was one among the contenders who had every right to claim the throne. One who possessed the strength, the resolve, the right bloodline… and perhaps even the favour of the people.”

Gasps spread throughout the room. A few whispers broke the silence.

“But he gave it up.”

Kaelen didn’t move, but his breath was sharp, caught in his throat.

Maelona continued, voice now softer, but filled with a strange reverence.

“He gave away his only chance… not for glory, not for himself, but for the people. He surrendered the crown he could have taken… so that blood would not be spilled, so that a ruler could rise without hatred at her back.”

Even Aria’s eyes widened just slightly, lips parting in a stunned breath.

The people outside stared in disbelief at the screens.

“He did not lose,” Maelona said firmly. “He chose.”

She paused, looking around at the silent crowd in the chamber.

“And in that choice… he displayed a different kind of nobility. Not the kind inherited by blood—but earned through sacrifice. Through understanding…. Through love for the people.”

The silence turned heavy with emotion. Kaelen’s jaw clenched, but he remained motionless, kneeling not in defeat—but in quiet dignity.

“For once,” she said, her voice shaking the very foundation of what was believed unchangeable, “the Empire shall break tradition.”

Gasps filled the throne room. Some nobles stood half from their seats. The watching world froze in disbelief.

Maelona took a step forward, facing both Kaelen and Aria. Her presence stood like a wall of divine judgment between them.

“Tradition has been our backbone for centuries… but even the bones of the old must bend, if the future demands breath.”

Her words were calm, yet they shook the very pillars of the hall.

“It was… Kaelen who was chosen in the end,” she announced.

Aria lifted her eyes sharply, breath caught between her lips.

Maelona nodded, gently—her voice now more solemn, softer.

“He gave up the throne… to prove that power alone should not define a ruler. And in doing so, he showed greater wisdom than any war-born king or throne-bred heir ever could.”

’Did I?’ Kaelen really wondered inwardly.

Outside, people were silent—but their hearts were racing. Even those who had doubted, who had shouted and protested, now found themselves breathless, unsure of what they felt.

Then came the footsteps—light, ceremonial, and graceful.

Liora entered the chamber.

She moved slowly, reverently, her footsteps echoing like notes from a harp. She wore ceremonial robes of white and gold, decorated with violet blossoms stitched across the sleeves. A long veil trailed behind her, catching the light of the divine circle carved into the floor.

In her delicate hands, she held a tray of polished black wood lined with silk. Upon it rested the crown—not a traditional gold or jewel-covered relic, but something far older, far more sacred.

It was a twisted circlet made of ancient wood, smoothed by time, shaped by the hands of forgotten Rulers. Interwoven with it were living flowers—small, glowing blooms that had never withered, never faded, passed down from ruler to ruler for centuries. The petals shimmered faintly, as if kissed by eternal spring.

A symbol of humility, unity, and living legacy.

She reached Maelona without a word. And with a single nod, offered her the crown.

Maelona took it with both hands, holding it above Kaelen’s bowed head.

“For peace,” she said softly.

“For the people,” she continued.

“For the future… we name him ruler.”

Her hands lowered with slow, deliberate grace, placing the crown upon Kaelen’s head.

The flowers didn’t tremble. The wood felt warm against his skin.

And the Empire… held its breath.

Kaelen didn’t rise.

He remained kneeling, unmoving, humbled beneath the weight of not power—but the meaning behind it.

Maelona then spoke the final words.

“Rise, Kaelen Darkfang—Crowned Ruler of the Empire. The one who was chosen by the People”

Kaelen didn’t move at first.

For a moment, the entire world felt silent. Even his heartbeat seemed to hesitate.

He slowly opened his eyes.

’So this is what it feels like… not to win—but to be trusted. Even by those who doubted you.’

He didn’t feel proud.

He felt responsible.

And yet, in the silence, in the stillness… There was peace.

Drawing a long breath, Kaelen finally moved.

He shifted his foot, pressing it into the soft carpet, and began to rise. His long crimson-and-white ceremonial robes flowed down his shoulders and back like a stream of royal silk, trailing behind as he stood tall before the throne and the gathered court.

Gasps echoed across the throne room… The screens across the world captured every second—Kaelen, crowned not by tradition, but by choice.

BY THE PEOPLE!!

Aria, watching with silent respect, her gaze filled with unspoken understanding.

Outside, the people stared at the broadcast in stunned awe.

Was this real?

Was the boy who lost the throne now seated as ruler?

Kaelen took a step forward.

The wooden throne stood ahead of him—massive, ancient, and revered… but it was covered in a thick layer of frost, its arms and back etched with crystal veins of enchanted ice.

Kaelen stared at it for a moment, eyes narrowing—not with fear, but with understanding. He walked forward, each footstep a drumbeat, each movement confident and deliberate.

As he reached the throne, he flicked his robe to the side with a subtle motion, preparing to sit. The edge of his garment brushed the frozen wood.

And then… it happened.

The ice began to melt.

sssshhh!

The frost hissed quietly, evaporating into thin mist as it receded into the air. Cracks splintered gently across the surface, and soon, the throne stood bare and warm, its wood glowing as if it had awakened from a centuries-long sleep.

A hush spread across the Empire.

Kaelen slowly lowered himself onto the throne, the robe folding around his legs in perfect layers, his hands resting calmly on the armrests.

He sat not like a king demanding obedience… but like a guardian accepting duty.

His eyes lifted.

Straight ahead, through the line of cameras, through the people watching—he stared into the soul of the Empire.

And then, he spoke.

His voice was low but steady. Rich. Honest.

“I did not take this throne to rule over you,” Kaelen began, “but to carry the weight you were never meant to bear alone.”

His gaze swept across the chamber, his tone sharp yet reverent.

“I stand here because you believed. Not in bloodline… but in something greater. In the possibility that we could be more than what tradition demanded of us.”

He placed his hand over his chest.

“This crown… is not a symbol of who I am. It is a promise.”

“To you. To every voice that was silenced. To every hope that was cast aside. The Lost. The Love. The responsibility. I swear upon the roots of this Empire and the souls of our ancestors… I will not rule in arrogance. I will serve in honour.”

“I am Kaelen Darkfang, chosen not by law, but by will… Will of you all!”

“And I am your Ruler.”

As his words ended, the throne behind him pulsed once with a soft, living glow. The flowers in his crown shimmered gently, as if breathing with him.