"Cherish your neighbors, honor your friends—Their hands will lift you when fate is against you."

  Alexander's voice echoed in Kai'len's mind. After all, he wasn't just his father—he was his mentor, his teacher, and in Kai'len's eyes...

  "The strongest man he had ever known."

  The Al'woods and Imperias both exit the church, and the banter between the teenagers can be heard.

  "Why is Liam so nervous?!" Celeste asked aloud in a cheeky tone.

  "Hey, stop that," Gareth immediately assumed his big brother role.

  "Not fun!" Celeste shot back, slightly pouting.

  Liam, on the other hand, was deep red, his thoughts tangled. Lyn'chael, ever the exuberant one walked just slightly beside him with a grin etched on her face.

  "Pudding time!" Lyn'chael declared with excitement as if there were no greater joy than dessert.

  She really wants that pudding.

  "Pu-pudding?! Can I join?" Celeste asked innocently.

  "Of course!" Lyn'chael replied she was looking forward to her best friend joining them.

  Meanwhile, the adults watched on, listening to the exchange with fondness as they were grateful that their children had formed such strong bonds of friendship.

  "Pudding? I wouldn't mind having one," Roderick said casually.

  "What are you, a child, Roderick?" His wife, Priscilla, spoke back, though she was simply teasing.

  "Never too old or young for pudding, dare I say!" Alexander proudly spoke, his good-natured humor showing, while Ana'lyn kept a watchful eye on the sea of attendees. She was scanning for the robed stranger, unable to forgive him for what he had done.

  "Mom, can I come with them?" Celeste asked, seeking permission.

  "Certainly, just don't be late in the afternoon," Priscilla answered, giving her daughter exactly what she wanted to hear.

  Celeste's face lit up with joy!

  "Gareth, Liam, how about some pudding?" Roderick asked his two boys.

  "I'm good, Father. I'd love to rest for a bit," Gareth responded with a small shrug, but then his eyes turned to Liam.

  "I know exactly what you're thinking. Just admit it—you want to go eat pudding with the Imperia family," Gareth whispered in Liam's ear.

  Liam was being glanced at by everyone, his mind debating the situation, but he knew he needed to come up with a different excuse.

  "Ah! Haha, I'll go have pudding with Celeste. I'll walk her home afterward!" he blurted out with a sheepish smile

  "How kind~ of you!" Celeste didn't stop her teasing, leaving the adults amused.

  All the while, on the left, Kai'len was only half-listening. He kept fidgeting his fingers, paranoid that he might've been cursed.

  "Hopefully, I'm still able to live a long and healthy life."

  Thud!

  Suddenly, he felt an arm drape over his shoulder—it was Gareth.

  "You good? You've been quiet for a while."

  Kai'len was startled but quickly composed himself. "I'm hungry. I want that pudding," he said, brushing it off.

  He wasn't sure whether to bring up what had happened with the stranger. It wasn't exactly something he felt comfortable sharing—besides, this was Gareth.

  He'd definitely go looking for the stranger. Because this man does not let his friends be disrespected.

  Gareth, happy to see his brother from another mother in good spirits, released his grip. "Glad to hear it. I thought you were feeling down with all those years of being single."

  "What is wrong with you?!" Kai'len replied.

  "Just pulling your leg," Gareth said, followed by a friendly tap on Kai'len's shoulder.

  But then Gareth spoke again.

  "Good luck on your ritual—you've earned it."

  The ritual...

  "I haven't yet learned the details,"

  Kai'len was 17, the age when young page paladins took their first steps toward receiving the ?wiatian Crest.

  The holy power of Svet.

  An intricate, glowing white symbol would be etched onto the back of their hand, bestowing upon them the Light Aspect—and its eight divine arts.

  Only those who have been baptized by a priest can learn its teachings and harness its power.

  But it's not as simple; there are steps to take.

  The Paladinic Order is handed down by lineage and recommendations. From the age of 7, children begin their training under the watchful eye of a high-ranking paladin, earning the title of Pages.

  Alexander and Roderick are former Royal Paladins.

  Over the course of ten years, they are prepared both physically and mentally for the ritual, which signifies their formal initiation into the Illuminated rank.

  Illuminated Paladins bear the ?wiatian Crest. In its early stages, the crest emits a soft white glow. Through faith, servitude, and dedication to the church, along with upholding the values in the second book of the Luminary Codex, it gradually evolves.

  "The second book of the Luminary Codex… I've never read it myself, but I've always wondered how it differs from the first book, which covers vision and law. The second book, titled Fate and Service, is where, as Father has told me, the mechanism of the holy language, Luxon, originated."

  He continued with his thoughts. "The crest will be embedded on the same hand the stranger touched. I shouldn't worry too much."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  At first, the crest bestows enhanced physical abilities and resistance to mental corruption, but its true importance lies in granting access to the power of the Light Aspect. Initially, Illuminated Paladins can harness the first art of Light, and as their crest evolves, they can ascend through to art 4.

  Upon reaching the pinnacle of their growth (art 4), an Illuminated Paladin becomes eligible for Consecration, a sacred ceremony conducted by the Pope.

  The ?wiatian Crest undergoes a second evolution, unlocking arts 5 through 8 of the Light Aspect.

  Only the Pope, the sole keeper of the Third Book of the Luminary Codex, holds the knowledge and authority to perform the Consecration Ritual.

  Royal Paladins are elites, bestowed with a divine blessing that grants them even greater resistance to mental strain and corruption. They are tasked with confronting beings of powerful names—names that, by merely knowing them, can curse you.

  "But this era has been peaceful; I have no experience in fighting such monsters," Kai'len muttered to himself.

  But there is one more rank in the Paladinic Order—the individuals who make Svet a powerful theocratic nation. These paladins have reached enlightenment, yet they remain a mystery. Their faces, names, and whereabouts are unknown.

  The Red Paladins, bearers of the title "Saints of the Holy World."

  But two names are well-known—S'ven Titan Cry and Sha'll Mae, the Purifying Mercy, both Saint Paladins. No one knows what they look like, but rumors abound that they might just be demigods walking among humans.

  Kai'len didn't want to be reminded of the ritual. For some, becoming a paladin was a great honor, but he couldn't muster the right emotions for that kind of life. No matter how grand it seemed, it felt pointless if he couldn't form any attachment to it.

  It's more of an obligation and an expectation, being the eldest son.

  He smiled, "Thanks," he replied to Gareth.

  Gareth, proud of his friend, reassured him, "No problem. Let's celebrate once it's over."

  Kai'len, not opposed to the idea, smirked.

  "Hell yeah,"

  As the two families made their way through the cobblestone streets of Leuvana, admiring the fall season, they caught the smell of fresh bread and roasted nuts from the market square.

  They were surrounded by crimson, red, and yellow leaves, with houses bathed in their colors. By now, Roderick, Priscilla, and Gareth had already parted ways, leaving only Alexander, Ana'lyn, and the younger group continuing towards the plaza.

  Kai'len kept to the back of the group, half-listening to Lyn'chael and Celeste's excited chatter about pudding flavors. Liam, still recovering from Celeste's teasing, walked beside them, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets.

  With every step Kai'len took, he could hardly believe he was already 17—soon to be 18. Thoughts of age, obligation, and faith etched themselves into his mind. He glanced at his father, who was trying to cheer his wife up with stupid dad jokes.

  "Tuna fish, tuna fish?"

  "Honey, shut up~," Ana'lyn said.

  "Oh.."

  "I'll end up like him in the future," Kai'len worried.

  The center of the town was lively, bustling with hustling merchants as well-dressed townsfolk surrounded them.

  Everything was still damped; it was trench coat season, although some of the town's folk were coughing excessively, which wasn't a healthy sign.

  This part of East Leuvana is a lot less industrialized, but the west side is being filled with machinery and smoke, though it helped with jobs for the common folks.

  They stopped at the pudding vendor, the scent of fresh pudding just caught the full attention of the two girls, Celeste and Lyn'chael.

  "They smell so good!" Lyn'chael remarked.

  The humble vendor stood behind a wooden cart, steam was rising from the large brass pot where a treacle sponge pudding gently simmered.

  The vendor was a Stout man in a well-worn wool coat, a flat cap atop his head, and flour dust clinging to his sleeves.

  "Fresh pudding, warm and sweet! A proper treat for this fine autumn day!"

  Lyn'chael and Celeste practically bounced on their heels, while Alexander prepared the payment and Liam just watched in awe, waiting for whatever Lyn'chael ordered.

  Because his gonna order the same thing.

  The girls were seeing eye candies as the vendor lifted the steaming pudding off the pot and carefully placed the golden sponge onto a porcelain plate. The treacle glistened as it dripped down its soft... pillowy... sides.

  Lyn'chael looks excited.

  "Patience, young lady," the vendor chuckled while reaching for a silver ladle.

  Celeste leaned against the counter, her fingers tapping idly.

  "I dunno, sir, I think she might pass out if you take much longer."

  "Hey!" Surprised by Celeste's words, Lyn'chael playfully shook her.

  "So mean!"

  The vendor was delighted with his customers as if seeing them brightened his labor-intensive days. The small things could bring a good smile.

  He poured a thick stream of warm custard over the pudding, which looked delicious as it pooled around the edges.

  "There we are! A proper treacle sponge pudding, just as they serve in the grand halls of Svet—though I dare say mine's better."

  The two girls were having a great time. "So delicious!" they exclaimed.

  Soon, the others—Alexander, Ana'lyn, and Kai'len—also received their puddings, all of them enjoying the warm treat together.

  "It's delicious," Liam said, savoring the sweet custard. He silently thanked the Imperia family for inviting him and his sister, to which Ana'lyn assured him, "It's our pleasure."

  "Papa, why not buy more so they can take some home?" Lyn'chael suggested.

  But thick sweat started forming on Alexander's face. "Wait a minute, darling, I have a very important question to ask."

  He turned to the vendor. "My good sir, how much does all of this pudding cost?"

  "That would be 20 Marks, including the extra the young lady suggested."

  "Holy shit, that's a whole crown," Alexander mentally shattered.

  "Alexander, we're not poor—why the sudden face?"

  Indeed, Ana'lyn was right; they weren't poor, but Alexander was still conscious about money.

  Growing up poor will give you that kind of mentality.

  In the holy kingdom of Svet, wealth flows through the hands of merchants, nobles, and common folk alike in the form of meticulously crafted coins and finely pressed banknotes.

  At the pinnacle of currency lies the Crown (?), a luscious-looking gold piece, its center designed with the image of a Seraphim, symbolizing its high value.

  Reserved for grand transactions—land, fine steel, and opulent luxuries—it represents wealth and prestige.

  But in this system, where 20 Marks make up a Crown, it can just as easily be spent on the extravagant indulgence of… puddings...

  Alexander shakily handed over the Crown, pulling it from his leather wallet before passing it to the vendor.

  "With great pleasure, my good sir," the vendor said, his smile so bright it could block out the sun.

  I'll do anything to protect the happiness of my daughter.

  Beneath the Crown (?) lies the Mark (M), a silver coin and the dominant currency for everyday trade. Like the Crown, it is designed with a heavenly creature—a Cherubim with four wings at its center.

  The Mark is the heartbeat of commerce, commonly spent on garments, a good meal, and tools for everyday use. Each Mark is divided into 12 Trinkets (T), smaller bronze pieces designed with an angel bearing two wings—the second lowest denomination.

  These coins line the pouches of laborers, teachers, and street vendors, ensuring the flow of coins never halts.

  At the lowest, the humble Token (Tk)—copper discs worn by countless hands. Is the lowest-valued coin, four Tokens make up a Trinket.

  A Token doesn't buy much, but oddly enough, its design features a face at its center—Adam, the First Prophet.

  But currency is not limited to metal. War is expensive and demands vast sums, far beyond what precious metals alone can sustain. Thus, paper money was introduced—light, efficient, and capable of carrying immense value without the weight of gold or silver.

  At the forefront is the Fivefold (?5)—a crisp grey note worth five Crowns, commonly used in business deals and investments, designed with an image of the sky and clouds, the first thing you see in heaven.

  Beyond it lies the Gild (?10)—a prestigious note used for major ventures, depicting serpent-like creatures 'swimming' in the sky, the second sight of heaven.

  The Regal (?20), a mark of stability in noble dealings, bears the Pillars of Creation—the very structure holding heaven.

  The Sovereign (?50), a note of power, held by aristocrats and military officials, bears the image of a golden scale—the symbol of judgment.

  At the highest stands the Papal (?100)—a rare and sacred note, its existence tied directly to the Holy Treasury of Svet. Few ever hold one in their lifetime, for it is used only in the grandest of exchanges.

  And with it the image of god, the ?wiatian cross.

  As they all enjoyed their time with the pudding—and Alexander suffered deeply over his spending—Kai'len noticed his mother walking toward the weathered statue at the center.

  There stood a fountain with a statue of a man. The Imperia family visited it every Sunday after mass. It was a marvelous sculpture—the statue of an angel. The nameplate had worn away with time, and the only letter still visible.

  It was an "A."

  Legend said this angel was born from a virgin woman, a true product of miracles.

  Kai'len observed closely.

  Mom, I never understood you.

  She never cared during mass. She never prayed. She never asked for blessings. Yet here, in front of this grand statue of an angel, she asked.

  "Protect my family."

  She took out five marks and tossed them into the fountain. She does this every Sunday.

  Kai'len looked at the statue, and he asked himself—

  "Why does it look like it's always weeping?"

  Chapter End.