Chapter 2: Vincent rushed into the main hall, maidservant chasing frantically after him as he strode towards the seat of honour. Positioned in the centre of the main hall, the gold trimmed, velvet cushioned throne stood above the main floor. On its backrest, the coat of arms of the Suttons, a proud phoenix with its wings of fire outstretched, crying out towards the sky, gleamed under the light from the arching windows lining either side of the hall. In stark contrast to all this, the man who was seated on the throne exuded a sense of despair and death, flanked by a stoic, stern looking man on the left and a weeping, fair skinned maiden on the right. Vincent ignored those who were standing, marching up to feet of the throne, and taking a knee on the last step before the throne. “Rise…, my son” These words ground against Vincent's ears, sounding weak and desolate. Struggling to hold back a sudden influx of tears, he rose to his feet, gazing upon his fathers desiccated face. Filled with a gray pallor and the aura of death, the face of Viscount Harry Sutton had never looked any worse. A Medium-Gold ranked swordsman and knight, the Viscount had participated in many wars during his younger days, earning great glory and renown on the battlefield as he served as a commander in the King's renowned Vanguard Legion. However, fate took a cruel turn, causing him to be injured by a poisoned arrow during one of the charges he led. Despite his powerful spiritforce, the Viscount barely managed to hang on to dear life during the battle, nearing falling off his mount multiple times and receiving another arrow. After the battle ended, when the battlefield healers got to him, they had to struggle for hours to save his life. As a result of that injury, the Viscount had stepped down from the battlefield, returning to his fief with his men in tow. As the years passed, he led a peaceful life, the opposite of the chaos and bloodshed he had seen on the battlefield. Now, over 20 years since he left the battlefield, his injuries had caught up to him. Months ago, his fathers old injuries had flared up, causing him to cough up blood during a meeting with his advisers. As a result, Healer Donovan Crane, the house Healer, who was standing on the left of the throne, had called Vincent to return from his studies in Arthia, hoping for him to arrive in time to see his father and succeed the Viscountcy before his health deteriorated any further. Currently, as Vincent stood before his father, torrents of emotion flowed through him, waves of sadness, despair and grief crashed against the walls of his heart as he laid eyes upon the sickly form of his father. “So...n” “Father, I await your command” “I do not have much longer to live. Donovan tells me that I might not live to see another sunrise. It appears... that it is time.” Hearing this, the maiden at his side burst out with a new round of tears, weeping sorrowfully at his fathers words. Eyes downcast, Vincent said to the maidservant that had burst into his room. “Summon the Knights of the House, Administrator Halcyon, and Butler Niel. Tell them that it is time for the succession ceremony. We shall start in an hour. ” ------ The Sutton estate burst into a flurry of motion. Maidservants bustled about the hallways, carting decorations to and fro from the storerooms, scurrying about like mice as they hurried to prepare for the unexpected ceremony. The Knights of House Sutton that were present at the estate polished their armour, shining them to perfection, mixed feelings coursing through them as they thought of what the future had in store. The various administrative staff directed the servants, stalking up and down corridors with parchment and quill in hand, fussing over the tiniest detail. In the midst of it all, Vincent sat within his room, silently contemplating to himself. Shit! What kind of bad luck is this? I barely reawakened my memories and affirmed my desire to improve as much as possible in the short time I had left before my father passed, but I’m running out of time. Things are happening too fast. After the ceremony, I have to take some time to process the changes and obtain a preliminary understanding of my new subordinates and responsibilities as well as how I can use my memories to my advantage. How am I supposed to take over as Viscount? I should have spent my time studying how to manage my future fief instead of wasting my time and lazing away. At least I have the memories of my past life now, else I’d really be doomed. Feeling the urge to beat his past self up arise once again, he quickly refocused his attention on what he would have to do during the ceremony as his maidservants dressed him in his ceremonial armour. ------ Soon, the turn of the hour arrived. The various subjects of House Sutton took their seats along the walls of the grand hall, whispering among themselves as the evening sun began to set, interchanging opinions and gossip as they waited for the ceremony to begin. Abruptly, the murmuring halted, as Viscount Sutton strode in, supported by Knight Commander Blake Lively. Dressed in his ceremonial robes, the Viscount was garbed in brilliant red and orange hues, the proud soaring phoenix emblazoned on his cloak, as if declaring the glory of House Sutton for all to see. With a jewelled longsword sheathed at his waist, the Viscount proceeded down the length of the hall, taking solemn steps towards the throne. With great effort and help from Commander Blake, he ascended the steps to the throne, lowering himself down just as the rays of the evening sun broke through the clouds and shone through the windows of the hall, illuminating the venue with golden light, giving it a divine impression. As Commander Blake took up his position beside the Viscounts seat, he received the ceremonial sword from the Viscount, holding it upright as the next procession entered the hall. Seconds later, 4 armour-clad Knights and 2 scholarly men streamed through the hallway, flanking an ornately dressed Vincent. Armour gleaming gold under the light from the windows, cape billowing behind him, empty sheath strapped securely to his waist, helmet held underarm, Vincent cut an imposing figure, topping out at 1.9 metres with a lean-but-muscular build. The procession walked towards the throne, boots causing every step they took to echo within the hall, solemn faces set straight forward, bearings sharp. As they approached the throne, the procession split off. Administrator Halcyon, a grey haired man who had served the House for years, took his place at one of the seats of honour along the sides of the hall, while Butler Niel, the head of all the servants in the House, sat directly opposite him. The Knights took up positions flanking the steps to the throne, facing outwards, swords in their sheaths but ready to act at a moment's notice. On the balcony above the entryway to the hall, the maiden Vincent had seen earlier, his father concubine, Lady Natasha, stood with two guards, prevented from participating due to her status as a concubine, which had not changed even after Vincent’s mother had died during childbirth. As for Vincent, he dropped to a knee at the bottom of the steps to the throne, face uplifted towards his fathers. For the first time since his return from the capital, Vincent felt like his father had regained his vigour, with his shoulders squared and his eyes filled with laser intensity. Seeing that Vincent had taken his place, Knight Commander Blake stepped forward, drawing all attention to him. Infusing his spiritforce into his vocal cords, his strong voice resonated within the stone walls of the grand hall. “Today, is the day, where the title, Viscount of Northwind, shall change its bearer. May all who bear witness to this ceremony, be living testaments of this moment. Due to the circumstances, many subjects are not able to join us today. I implore those present, that you may be the proof of the validity of this succession.” With slow, deliberate movements, Blake offered the sword to the Viscount. Supported by the burly Knight Commander, the Viscount gathered the remnants of his strength as a Venerable, a Medium-Gold ranked Swordsman, as he gripped the hilt of the sword, feeling its weight in his palm. A ceremonial sword, it was first given to the ancestor of the Suttons by the 4th King of Gryphon, as an emblem of the Houses authority and nobility. Throughout the generations, it had been used as a symbol of House Suttons glory, and a vessel through which its holder passed his authority as Viscount to the next generation. At the moment, this very sword was about to be conferred to Vincent. As his father stood on shaky feet, Vincent bent his neck, head bowed low as his father loomed over him, sword in hand. Holding the sword high, he recited the Rites of Succession, a tradition of Gryphon nobles. “By the right of the Gryphon.” “By the will of my Spirit.” “Rise, my heir.” “Rise, my son.” “Rise, Lord Viscount.” “Rise, Lord Northwind.” “RISE, LORD SUTTON!” With a bellow, the sword descended. The air charged with electricity, causing the hairs of everyone in the room to rise. For a moment, everyone in the room, from the would have sworn that Harry Sutton had regained the vitality of his youth. With a Swish!, the blade cut through the air, carrying the entirety of the Viscount's remaining strength as a Gold-rank knight, seemingly capable of cleaving mountains and parting seas. As the sword approached Vincent's neck with no sign of stopping, sweat broke out on his brow. Instantly, his thoughts turned chaotic. Did… did father lose control? Shit! Where's Healer Donovan? Wait, no. Even the greatest healer who ever lived wouldn't be able to reattach a body cleaved in two by Gold ranked spiritforce. Just as Vincent contemplated rolling away from the swing, he felt the hairs on his neck stand up, and his blood froze as the sword split the air next to his neck. Shit! However, before Vincent could put his plan to dodge the blade into action, he felt the cold of the metal gently kiss the skin of his right shoulder, and come to a halt. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Vincent lampooned. I almost lost all my dignity in front of all my retainers by rolling around on the floor to dodge the blade meant to appoint me. Dammit, I have to be more careful in the future. Feeling his father retract the blade, followed by another touch on his left shoulder and finally one on his head. Foolish smile plastered on his face, Vincent rose to his feet, meeting his father's gaze. “Son, do you accept these positions?” With an armoured gauntlet, Vincent grabbed the blade, signalling his father to release the hilt. Grabbing the hilt of the sword, he declared. “I accept the Title of Viscount, the fief of Northwind and leadership of House Sutton of the blazing Phoenix.” With a flourish, he brought the sword up to his lips, kissing the ruby inlaid in the guard, before sheathing it in one smooth, fluid motion. Looking at his fathers smile, Vincent couldn’t help but feel happy. All his worries over managing the fief, inheriting the Viscountcy, his new memories, his poor spiritforce rank, faded away as he basked in the feelings of joy, of euphoria and of satisfaction. Just as Knight Commander Blake opened his mouth to carry on with the ceremony, where Vincent would mount the steps to the throne, and take his seat as the new Viscount, the solemn peace was shattered by a cry. “FATHER!” At the bottom of the steps, Vincent lunged for his father, catching him in his arms as he fell. Like a brittle leaf in the wind, Harry Sutton had collapsed, the light in his eyes dimming and his wide smile gone as he hacked up mouthfuls of blood, staining his red Phoenix robes a dark crimson, leaving blood splatters on the front of Vincent's armour. “DONOVAN!”