The Founding Festival was also called the "Founding Sword Festival", celebrating how the First King and the Sword Star conquered the surrounding territories to establish the Kingdom of Aizen.

As a country that took pride in the valor of its knights, the festival stalls featured numerous games and challenges that tested skill and precision. Naturally, none of these challenges involved taking up a weapon and fighting someone—that was for the First Sword Tournament.

Most games involved dexterity to excel in: like ball tosses where you aimed to topple lion figurines; small archery ranges where you hit the "hoodlums" hiding behind their hostages; or simple things like tracing rings around a winding, twisting metal bar without the two touching.

Reivan would have easily won in all of those, so he spared the stall owners by focusing on the food stalls instead.

'Man, does food get a special buff when they serve it at festivals? Why is this so good? This doesn't any sense!'

“Here you go, young man!” A middle-aged stall owner with a friendly smile held out a big juicy skewer with sauce-soaked meat. It released a fragrance that could make anyone salivate. “Fresh off the grill! Get it while it’s hot!”

“Looks good. Thank you, sir.” Reivan reached out for the food he’d already paid for, but it suddenly vanished from his sight.

"This indeed looks good." Rodin—guise as a handsome middle-aged man with a head of dark-brown hair and amber eyes—smiled as he took a bite.

‘When’d he get here…?’

Reivan thought his senses and perception were pretty great, but for some reason, he hadn’t even sensed his father coming.

But that hardly mattered right now. What was important was what that father of his did.

“Father, that’s mine…” Reivan grumbled.

Rodin chewed and swallowed before placing a twenty-lumen coin on the counter. He smiled while holding out one finger to the stall owner. “One more for the boy, please. And please, keep the change.”

“Oh.” The middle-aged stall owner looked just about ready to call the nearby peacekeepers but realized that the two men were father and son. He snatched the coin off the counter and beamed. “Comin’ right up!”

Fortunately for Reivan, he didn’t need to wait for this one. The stall owner had seemingly anticipated more customers and had grilled up more mystery meat skewers in advance.

‘Should I look at it with [Supreme Insight] to know what kind of meat it is…?’

Reivan hesitated as he walked through the streets with his father. Part of the fun in eating mystery meat was, well, the mystery of what you were putting in your mouth.

Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally becoming a cannibal or something since all the stalls were heavily curated by some kind of festival council.

Reivan didn’t really know much about it, but Roland always complained about how much of a pain the founding festival was because he had to approve just about everything in person—yet another one of the responsibilities he’d inherited from their father.

In any case, he decided not to remain ignorant of what he was eating. What mattered was that it tasted good and it wasn’t ridiculous enough to get banned by the festival committee.

“Son.” Rodin licked his fingers and threw the used wooden skewer into his spatial ring. “Are your preparations for the tournament going well?”

“Mother said not to talk about work tonight.”

“... It’s fine since this isn’t about work.”

‘Like hell, it is.’

“It’s going pretty well, I suppose? At the very least, I’m confident I won’t embarrass myself unless I have to fight a half-ascendant…” Reivan then had a thought, sending his father a side glance. “I’m not facing a half-ascendant, am I?”

“That skewer truly tasted good didn’t it, son?” Rodin seemed to decide that changing the subject was for the best. He smacked his lips and sighed. “However, it made me quite thirsty. Why don’t you get your father something to drink?”

Reivan rolled his eyes but obediently left to find a stall that sold refreshments. It wasn’t that hard, since it was also part of the festival committee’s work to space out refreshment stalls evenly, so there was one of them for every few food or game stalls.

Eventually, he bought two cups of chilled juice made of all sorts of fruits—including ones that were apparently grown at the bottom of the sea floor. Understandably, there was a salty aftertaste. But the other sweet fruits mixed into the juice balanced it, giving birth to a flavor that—while unique and would take some getting used to—was quite good in its own right.

‘I kinda like it, I guess. Six out of ten. Maybe a seven on a good day.’

Reivan wiped his damp lips with his sleeve and walked over to where he’d left his father, only to see that some sort of incident had happened.

‘Seriously? I leave him alone for one second…’

From afar, he observed that his father was consoling a crying little girl and there was white cream smeared all over his crotch area… and an ice cream cone on the ground. It was a good thing that he saw that cone in particular since he would have called the peacekeepers to arrest the king.

‘So she accidentally ran into Father and smushed her ice cream on him, huh? Man, that little girl sure has great luck. Of all the people you could run into, you hit the king of all people.’

As Reivan neared, he started hearing some pockets of their conversation.

“It’s really quite alright, little lady.” Rodin smiled warmly as he knelt on the ground, uncaring for the dirt that got on his pants. He gently rubbed the girl’s back and spoke in a soft tone. “I don’t mind at all. There’s no need to cry.”

“B-but…” The little girl sniveled, her button nose somewhat runny. Her shaky eyes were wet with tears that threatened to fall any second now, and her trembling lips were pressed together in anxiety. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it… I’m sorry I ruined your clothes, mister.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Nothing’s ruined. Look.” Rodin took out a handkerchief and started wiping the cream off his pants. With a few swipes, all the cream was wiped off and only a wet stain remained. “See? It’s all gone. No need to cry.”

Although the stain’s position and darkness made it seem as if the king had pissed himself, it would dry soon enough.

The girl still seemed to be remorseful, however. She fished around her pockets and produced a few coins. With trembling fingers, she held them out to the man who pretty much owned Aizen. “Mom gave me this to buy food, but you can have it, mister. I’m sorry…”

“Ah…” Rodin seemed genuinely troubled over the unexpectedly earnest little girl, so he instead did something he was very good at—changing the subject. “Your mother asked you to buy food? Do you know where she is?”

“I don’t know…”

“Goodness. Are you lost, then?”

“I…” The little girl’s face scrunched up and the tears finally fell. “I think so…”

Rodin wiped her face with a handkerchief again. “Let’s go find your mother, then. Okay?”

“B-but, Mom said not to go with strangers…”

“Ah. That’s true. You definitely shouldn’t do that. You’re a smart girl, aren’t you?” Rodin chuckled as he stood up and called a nearby peacekeeper. “Excuse me, officer.”

The peacekeeper turned their way and his eyes widened for a moment before his expression returned to normal. With a light trot, he strode over to their side. “What can I do for you, Your Ma—” The peacekeeper barely stopped himself and cleared his throat to pass his mistake off. “What seems to be the problem here?”

“This poor child appears to be lost, officer.” Rodin gave the girl a pat on the head. “Kindly help her.”

“Of course.” The peacekeeper crouched low and met the girl’s eye level. “Hello, little one. Let’s go find your mother, okay?”

Despite what she’d said about strangers, the little girl nodded vigorously and ran over to the peacekeeper’s side. She grabbed the officer’s hand and clenched it tightly, her anxiety somewhat abating.

Rodin smiled at that and produced a coin, which he gave to the officer. “Earlier, I was a bit muddleheaded and didn’t notice this young lass. I accidentally remained standing, causing her to run into me and lose her ice cream as a result. I hope you don’t mind the trouble if I ask you to get her another one.”

The little girl tilted her head at the story and was about to say something, but the peacekeeper nodded seriously as he took the coin. “Of course, random citizen. I do not mind at all.”

“Thank you, officer.”

The officer took the very confused little girl away to get her another ice cream as Rodin waved at them. That was when Reivan finally stepped forward and handed one of the cups he was holding to his father.

“Way to abuse your authority, father,” Reivan whispered in a low voice. “You shouldn’t just boss around the peacekeepers like that.”

Rodin rolled his eyes and sneered. “Perhaps you could have helped me instead of slinking away to the side and watching, then.”

“And what? Make the little girl even more anxious? Two grown-ass men walling her off on both sides?”

Again, Rodin rolled his eyes and took a sip of the beverage Reivan bought and soon grimaced. “This tastes horrible.”

“What? That’s a bit harsh. It’s unique, no? New.”

“Bah. Maybe I’m getting old...” Rodin downed it in one. He made a face and stuck out his tongue afterward. “Too salty.”

Reivan snickered while taking a sip of his own.

The two of them had their fill of different foods and drinks until they eventually reached a point where their stomachs were so bloated that walking became a bit challenging. Luckily, a nearby bench was freed up, and they gladly took the chance to rest.

“Oof…” Reivan sat down and gave his stomach a good pat. “We ate too much.”

“A festival encourages a bit of gluttony.” Rodin chuckled and leaned back on the wooden bench. His gaze went here and there, observing the people enjoy the festivities. As he did, a satisfied smile bloomed on his face. “This is what I like most about the festival.”

“What?”

“This.” Rodin gestured at their surroundings. “Festivals are a sign of peace. Of extravagance. It proves that everything is going splendidly. It’s one thing to read about things on paper but…”

The king went silent for a few moments, his bright eyes reflected the orange lights of the stalls.

“These festivals allow me to see it a bit more close up.”

Reivan hummed in agreement, also leaning back and relaxing. “To see the fruits of your labor, huh? You’ve worked hard, Father. This peace, you deserve it… No, we deserve it.”

“Worked hard, huh…” Rodin trailed off while nodding to himself. “That’s true. And we’ll have to continue working hard in the future.”

“Uh-huh.”

“About the tournament…” Rodin cleared his throat and seemed sheepish for a moment. “I hope you don’t think I’m just making things hard for you.”

Reivan grimaced. “So you are making me face a half-ascendant…”

“I didn’t say anything though.”

“Your constant avoidance of answering the question tells me all I need to know.”

Over the years, he’d discovered a pattern in his family’s way of speaking. When they wanted to hide something from him, they wouldn’t lie—they would outright not answer the question. It was a counter to his ability to sense lies and gain enlightenment from them.

Of course, just their refusal to give him an answer was enough confirmation for certain things, so it wasn’t a foolproof counter.

Rodin chuckled, again, not answering the question. “You’re sharp from time to time.”

“Only from time to time?”

“Yes.”

“You’re very harsh, Father… though I won’t deny it.” Reivan snickered. “In any case, you don’t have to worry. I’ll… I’ll try my best. As always.”

Rodin nodded. “This is in contradiction to what I want of you, but you should be aware that we’ve invited ambassadors from the republic to partake in the festivities. They’ll arrive on the third day of the festival, on the same day of the tournament.”

“I know. I won’t show anything I shouldn’t show.”

“Good lad.” Rodin ruffled his youngest son’s head and smiled. “I hope you won’t curse me too much after the tournament.”

Reivan grimaced as his father continued to mess up his hair. “Just how tough are the people I'm fighting? Surely, they’re not literal ascendants, right?”

“Of course not. What fight would there even be? You’d just get beaten up one-sidedly.”

“Well, that’s good to know.”

‘I really thought I’d have to face an ascendant…’

“Don’t worry, Father. I won’t ever hate you.” Reivan sheepishly smiled, pinching the air with two fingers. “It’d be great if you took it easy on me just a little bit sometimes, though.”

“Just a little, huh?” Rodin sneered, letting go of his son’s head. His face gradually grew more solemn as he watched the countless people in the square. “Do you think I deserve to be king, son?”

“What a foolish question. Of course, you do,” Reivan said without hesitation. “You work so hard for the kingdom that your family barely sees you.”

“Hm… Is that a compliment or a dig?”

“It’s both.”

“Ah, I see.” Rodin scratched the back of his head. “So you think I deserve to be king just because I work hard? What if there was someone out there who would have worked harder than I did if he had become king? What if there was someone out there who would have gained better results than me if he had been the king?”

Reivan frowned as he thought about an answer to the question, and why the question was being asked in the first place. “The what-ifs don’t matter, Father. What I know is that you work hard, you get results, and you are the king. So everything is right.”

“Ah, but the people don’t know that, do they?” Rodin raised a finger in the air. “Your opinion comes from your viewpoint, from the things you have seen, from the things you have heard, and from everything you have experienced personally. Remember, the common people don’t know everything you know, and you don’t know everything that they know.”

“I agree. So what is it that you want to say, Father?”

“What I want to say, son, is that we have to prove ourselves to our people.” Rodin’s tone grew intense, impressing upon Reivan that his words were not to be taken lightly. “Just think, son. What is stopping me from simply killing everyone in this square?”

Reivan’s voice caught in his throat. His father’s words hinted at something that he’d been thinking about for the longest time.

To the eyes of many—especially to most of its citizens—the kingdom of Aizen was a utopia.

Food was cheap and accessible. There was always work worth doing and if all else failed, the government would even help you raise yourself back up. Diseases were worries of the past, easily solvable by taking a trip to one of Sormon's chapels. Travel to other cities within the kingdom could be done with relative ease and safety. Basic education was free and even mandatory for all young children, ensuring that they were equipped to tackle the world as adults.

And then there were the peacekeepers who maintained public security, knights who kept them safe from harm, and the almighty Sword Star—a living legend—who would seemingly protect the nation even if the heavens collapsed.

But even with all the good things, people seemed to forget about one thing.

‘All authority belongs to the king, and nobody else.’

Nobody could defy the king’s wishes. All knights—each one, a force of nature—had to obey him. The only one who could stop the king, theoretically, was the Sword Star.

‘But… that old man’s too soft for that.’

The Sword Star was a legendary figure that existed before the kingdom. He was not bound to complete loyalty like the knights were. But at the same time, the old man was just a person like everybody else—despite his record of ruthlessness.

Reivan highly doubted if the Rolf would truly act against a hypothetical tyrant. The man would protect Aizen to the death if the threats came from outside, but he was far too soft on the first king’s descendants to intervene or punish them for tyranny.

And so, if Rodin were to start ordering a massacre at this very moment, all knights in Aizen would kill their families regardless of their individual wills.

‘Well, that’s just hypothetically.’

Obviously, his father wouldn’t become a villainous despot—Reivan would bet his life on this fact. But now he realized what his father was getting at.

‘The people naturally don’t know what I know. And so, they cannot be sure that the king won’t ever become that way.’

Of course, the people also didn’t know that knights were bound by more than just a verbal oath of loyalty to the king. Nor did they know that the Sword Star was an irredeemable softie for the entire royal family’s bloodline. But if they did, there would certainly be a lot more fear spread throughout the populace.

Every time the king changed was basically a coin flip for them—one where a single failure would spell doom for them all.

‘Prove ourselves, huh?’

Reivan now understood what his father had meant. The fact that Aizen’s people placed so much trust and reverence on the royal family wasn’t only because they were ignorant of certain key facts.

It was because the royal family had a long history of results.

And those results proved that the royal family was indeed “working hard” as the rulers of the realm.

“I think…” Reivan looked to the man—the king beside him. “I think I understand, Father.”

“I knew you would, son.” Rodin smiled and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, his grip strong and firm. “I knew you would.”

“Right… I’d like to be enlightened about something that’s bothering me though.”

“Questions are always welcome. Go ahead.”

“Okay. So, how will winning an exhibition match prove the royal family’s competency?”

Rodin stroked his chin and hummed to himself. “Why do you think so?”

Reivan scratched his head and knew that his father just wanted to pick his brain to see if it was still working properly. So he tried to come up with a good answer, ultimately deciding on one. “Is it because we’re a country that prides itself on knighthood? A country of knights cannot be ruled by a weakling… Is it that kind of thing?”

“That is a surprisingly good answer.” Rodin’s brows raised slightly as he looked incredibly satisfied by his son’s words. “I’m sure that was one reason why the tradition was established.”

“Did you have to say surprisingly…?” Reivan mumbled with a frown before gesturing for his father to continue. “So? How will winning an exhibition match prove the royal family’s competency?”

“I don’t know.”

“...Excuse me?”

“I said I don’t know.” Rodin shrugged and chuckled. “There are likely many reasons. And I can name a few right now. I can even think of more given enough time. But I cannot be sure if that was what the ancestors thought when they started this particular tradition.”

Reivan massaged the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“The point is,” Rodin clasped his hands together. “The royal family has many traditions. Sometimes, we can easily see their purpose. Sometimes, we can’t fathom them no matter how hard we think. But you know what, son?”

“What…?”

“They always work in the end.” Rodin’s smile widened. “No king who has been raised by our traditions turns out as some hedonistic bum. Not all kings were wise, smart, strong, or even competent. But none of them were shitheads that would ruin the kingdom.”

‘I see. So it’s a winning formula.’

It was a popular saying back on Earth after all—that good people did not necessarily raise good children. And for a nation that gave absolute power and authority to a single individual, the possibility of raising a bad apple must have been terrifying for any decent king with their heart set on the people.

For them, relying on traditions to raise at least someone who wouldn’t burn everything down was a matter of course.

‘I think it’s a bit dangerous in some ways though…’

As if seeing through his thoughts, Rodin hastily said, “Of course, we don’t just blindly follow everything. Times change, people change. And no matter how proven traditions are, we have to try to adapt those to the current era too.”

“Oh, okay.” Reivan smiled and nodded. As expected, the kings of Aizen weren’t just dumb sheep who followed traditions blindly.

“In any case.” Rodin placed his arm around Reivan’s shoulders. “Do your best, son. I’m counting on you.”

“Sure thing.”

Reivan had been initially planning to just fight a good fight and then lose if it was truly too hard. But now, a fire had been lit inside him. Since he was going to fight anyway, he might as well aim for the win.

“I won’t disappoint you, Father.”

“I know you won’t son.” Rodin looked at his son with a slight twinkle in his eyes. “I know you won’t.”