Boom!

The grand doors of the palace banquet hall were blasted open. A drenched, battered motorcycle hurtled inside, sending guests scrambling to safety. They watched in shock as the war-torn Raven Aerial Motorbike skidded to the foot of the throne, smashing against the steps and shattering into scrap.

Through the curtain of rain, a servant, drenched in blood, with a sword tightly gripped in his hand, stepped forward.

Soaked through with crimson that no one could trace to its source, his tailcoat uniform now resembled a dark red overcoat. A mask concealed his face, revealing only a pair of eyes. No one could read his expression.

The same name echoed in everyone's mind. Aine. The Saint of fifty years. The Guardian of Nabistin. The Sovereign of the Gospel. The savior providing shelter to all beings, the benevolent emperor of perfect virtue.

Yet not everyone was content to sit back as mere spectators. Evelyn, Anphel, and Quinna all looked ready to speak until the Empress slightly lifted her hand. Instantly, they were stripped of their voices. All they could do was witness in silence the changing of an era, the birth of a new sovereign, and tomorrow, welcome...