Imperator: Resurrection of an Empire-Chapter 395 - 390 - Trial By Combat

The air inside the inner palace was unnaturally still.

The moment the massive oak doors creaked open, a hush fell over the great hall beyond.

Smoke and dust drifted lazily through the beams of golden light filtering from shattered windows, illuminating the marble floor now streaked with blood and soot.

Julius entered first.

His crimson cloak trailed through the debris, the echo of his boots against the polished stone a steady drumbeat in the cavernous silence.

Behind him, his Praetorians filed in—two ranks of obsidian-clad giants, shields polished black, visors glinting with faint crimson reflections.

Opposite them stood what little remained of the Francian royal guard.

No more than a dozen men, exhausted and broken, their armor scorched, their once-proud tabards torn and bloodstained.

Behind those battered soldiers huddled a handful of nobles—gaunt, trembling, their silken finery turned to rags.

And beyond them, at the far end of the chamber, sat the King of Francia.

He looked every bit a ghost of his former glory.

His gilded crown tilted on his graying hair, his robes rife with stains.

The great throne of alabaster and gold dwarfed him, reducing the once-proud monarch to a trembling relic of a dying world.

The door closed behind Julius with a heavy thud.

"Your Majesty," Julius said, his tone almost courteous.

The king’s trembling hand lifted, as though to steady himself.

"You have... entered peacefully," he said, his voice thin, uncertain. "Then you have come, I trust, to honor the old ways."

A murmur rippled through what few Francians remained.

Julius’s gaze swept the hall—the guards, the nobles, the desperate eyes of men who knew their end had come.

"I entered peacefully," he said at last, "because I no longer need to raise my sword to win."

He took a slow step forward, his aura—subtle, invisible yet undeniable—spreading through the air like a gathering storm.

The Praetorians behind him mirrored the motion, shields locking in perfect unison.

The king swallowed hard.

"Then you are here for the Trial, as tradition dictates. Our honor remains... even in defeat."

Julius’s expression hardened.

"Honor?" His voice sharpened, echoing through the chamber. "Do you speak of honor after breaking the Concordate? After abducting her—my love, my fiancée, my Empress?"

The word struck the hall like a thunderclap.

The Francian nobles exchanged nervous glances.

The king’s face tightened.

He did not speak at once; his silence was answer enough.

The old man was well aware what action started this war, but was unable to undo the theft, and even if he were to return the girl, along with his sons head surely that would not be the end of things.

This new Emperor was one known for bloodshed just like the Gothic one.

Julius took another step forward, his eyes burning like twin embers.

"Where is she?"

The king’s hand clenched the armrest of his throne.

"She stands under divine protection now," he said hoarsely. "Her fate is no longer yours to command."

"Where. Is. She."

For a heartbeat, no one dared breathe.

Then, from behind the throne, movement.

A figure stepped forward—slowly, as though dragged by invisible strings.

She was clad head to toe in gleaming Francian plate, white chased with gold.

A full helm hid her face, with white wings on either side as if their head bore an angel itself.

Even through the armor, Julius could feel it—the faint trace of a familiar aura, once radiant, now muted as if suppressed. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

His chest tightened.

It had been months since last he had caught sight of the young woman, and now he was only a few dozen feet from her, but just as the reports had stated she had been... changed.

The king’s voice rose, steadier now, desperate to reclaim some measure of authority.

"You ask where she is, Emperor of Romanus? There stands your answer. Saint Joan—the Blessed Blade of Francia, the voice of our people, the champion chosen by God Himself!"

He lifted his scepter and pointed toward her.

"By ancient rite, she shall be my champion in the Trial by Combat!"

The words sent a shiver through the hall.

Julius stared, unmoving.

The Praetorians’ hands hovered near their swords, ready to strike—but Julius raised a hand, stopping them.

His expression was unreadable, the fire behind his eyes dimming to cold iron.

He had all but expected this at this point.

If a battle was to break out he could not guarentee her safety, at the same time the Francians did not have the martial prowess to put forth any other with confidence of their victory.

But for Julius this was the best outcome.

He could win the fight without harming her.

In doing so winning the trial but also reclaiming his lost love.

"So," he said at last, his tone quiet, almost mournful. "You would hide behind her. A scared old man cowering behind a womans skirt. Behind Yurasia herself."

The name hung in the air like a curse.

The Francians flinched.

Even the king’s mask of defiance cracked.

Yurasia—known to them as Saint Joan—did not respond.

She stood motionless, her armored gauntlets resting on the hilt of the sword at her side.

Julius exhaled, slow and deliberate.

"Very well." He stepped forward, drawing his sword. The blade came free with a whisper of steel, its crimson edge humming faintly with restrained power. "If she fights for you... then I shall fight for Romanus."

The king’s eyes widened. "You mean to—"

"To mark myself as my empire’s chosen champion." Julius raised his blade in salute. "There will be no proxies today. No delay. No retreat."

The throne room was hardly filled, as the two combatants stepped forwards closer to one another.

The praetorians advanced but stopped while keeping a reasonable distance away from the meeting ground between the two.

Their meaning such that should interferance come, the entire cohort would resist and end whomever sought to interrupt this ’sacred’ duel.

The hall was filled with whispers, as Julius himself was struggling to keep his emotions in check, he wanted nothing more than to give the command, to let this hall run red with blood, all just so he could claim his beloved, but first... first he must stop her, then once she is safe he can wipe away this stain on the world.