webnovel

The Prince of Obelia

A young man dies of cancer and is reincarnated in a magical world then dies again....he transmigrates into the body the youngest prince in the kingdom of Obelia now. When his uncle usurps the throne, his father pleads for his life, sparing him from execution while his family is killed. Exiled to the kingdom's frozen outskirts, the prince must survive using the knowledge from his past lives

TundraHundredth · ファンタジー
レビュー数が足りません
40 Chs

Chaper 28 Frostir

Days after Frostfall ended and now Rotengen's grand hall stood as a beacon of warmth and light. The setting sun cast long shadows across the frost-covered city, but inside the palace, the atmosphere was one of festivity and reverence. Lanterns illuminated the space with a soft, golden glow, contrasting sharply with the icy chill outside.

King Martin, draped in a regal fur-lined cloak, stood at the entrance of the hall. His demeanor was a mix of humility and resolve. The hall was richly decorated with frost-themed tapestries and ice carvings, celebrating both the harsh beauty of winter and the resilience it required. The long banquet table, adorned with intricately carved ice sculptures and laden with an array of preserved and cold-stored dishes, was a testament to the people's endurance.

The hall was packed with nobles, council members, and citizens. Each person was dressed in their finest, the warmth of the palace contrasting with the biting cold outside. The air was filled with the rich aroma of roasted meats, hearty stews, and spiced berries. The community had gathered not just to celebrate their survival through the grueling winter but to honor their king and the god they held in highest reverence, Frostir.

Elara, the Minister of Health and Welfare, approached Martin with a warm, respectful smile. Her eyes reflected the deep gratitude and admiration felt by many. "Your Majesty," she began, her voice thick with emotion, "tonight we honor Frostir, the god who has guided and protected us through these harsh times, and we celebrate your unwavering leadership. Your strength and sacrifice have been the beacon of hope for our people."

The ceremonial bell rang with a deep, resonant toll, signaling the start of the feast. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned toward the chief priest of Frostir. The priest, an elderly figure with a long white beard and robes adorned with frost patterns, carried a beautifully carved wooden bowl filled with snow and glacial ice. The bowl was a sacred symbol, representing the purity and enduring strength of Frostir.

The priest approached King Martin and presented the bowl with a deep, respectful bow. "Your Majesty," he intoned, "Frostir has watched over us through the darkest days of Frostfall, and your leadership has been a guiding light. Accept this offering as a token of our profound gratitude and the god's blessing."

King Martin accepted the bowl with a nod, his heart swelling with a mixture of pride and humility. He raised it high for all to see, his voice steady but thick with emotion. "Tonight, we celebrate not just the survival of our people but the spirit that has carried us through. Your support has been my strength, and together, we have overcome the greatest of challenges."

The room erupted in applause, the sound echoing with genuine admiration and respect. The faces of the guests were illuminated with warmth and gratitude, their eyes reflecting the candlelight and the deep bond they shared with their king.

The feast began, and the table was soon filled with hearty dishes. As guests served themselves, they recounted tales of King Martin's bravery and sacrifice. They spoke of how he had guided them through perilous times, sacrificed his own well-being for the protection of the realm, and inspired them with his unwavering resolve.

As the evening progressed, the atmosphere grew even more intimate. The guests, now relaxed and animated, engaged in lively conversations and laughter. The bond between King Martin and his people was palpable, their shared joy a testament to the strength and unity they had achieved together.

The highlight of the evening came when the council members, led by Marek, presented Martin with a finely crafted silver medallion. The medallion bore the emblem of Frostir, symbolizing the deep connection between the king and the god they revered. Marek, with a voice filled with heartfelt respect, said, "This medallion is a symbol of our deepest gratitude. It represents the unbreakable bond between you, our beloved king, and Frostir. May it remind you of the strength and unity of our people."

King Martin accepted the medallion, his fingers caressing the cold, smooth surface. As he looked out over the assembled crowd, he felt a surge of resolve and affection. The feast, filled with warmth and celebration despite the frigid cold outside, was a testament to the enduring spirit of Obelia and the profound respect the people held for their king.

As the feast progressed, the grand hall of Rotengen resonated with a sense of collective elation and reverence. The ambient glow of the countless candles danced across the frost-carved walls, casting long, dramatic shadows that added to the hall's atmosphere of solemn celebration. The long table, now strewn with the remnants of the feast, was a testament to the community's unity and endurance.

Marek, rose again slowly from his seat, commanding immediate attention with his imposing figure. The room fell into a respectful hush as he moved to the center of the hall, his movements deliberate and filled with purpose. In his hand, he held a finely crafted goblet of spiced wine, the rich red liquid reflecting the flickering candlelight.

He took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping over the gathered nobility, council members, and common folk—each face a testament to the trials they had endured together. Marek's voice, deep and resonant, cut through the silence like a clarion call.

"Noble lords and ladies, brave souls of Rotengen," Marek began, his tone imbued with both gravity and passion. "Tonight, we stand on the edge of a momentous occasion, one that marks not only our triumph over the icy grip of Frostfall but also the enduring spirit of our beloved kingdom. We are here to honor not just our god Frostir but the man who has been our stalwart defender and guiding light through these dark times—our King Martin."

The hall seemed to hold its breath as Marek's voice soared, each word heavy with the weight of deep respect. "In the harshest of winters, when the cold threatened to extinguish hope, King Martin stood unwavering. He faced unimaginable perils, sacrificed his own well-being, and led us with a valor that has become the very essence of our strength."

Marek raised the goblet high, the wine shimmering like liquid fire in the candlelight. His eyes locked onto King Martin's with unyielding admiration. "King Martin has been the heartbeat of our resistance, the beacon of our courage. His sacrifices have carved a path through the storm, illuminating a future where hope and unity prevail over adversity. He has not only led us but has inspired us to rise above the frost, to stand together as one unbreakable force."

With a dramatic flourish, Marek swept his arm wide, encompassing the entire hall. "Tonight, we lift our glasses to the man who has become the very symbol of resilience, to the king who has given everything for the good of his people. We celebrate his heroism, his unwavering dedication, and the indomitable spirit he has instilled in each of us."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle. The room was charged with anticipation, the silence profound. Marek's voice then rang out, powerful and resonant, as he delivered the toast with a fervent intensity.

"To King Martin!" he declared, raising his goblet high. "The steadfast leader, the enduring hope, the king who has shown us that even in the deepest cold, our spirit can burn bright and unyielding!"

The assembled guests erupted in a roaring cheer, their voices blending into a thunderous chorus. "All hail King Martin!" they bellowed, the words reverberating through the hall with a force that seemed to shake the very walls.

Marek took a deliberate sip from his goblet, his gaze never leaving the king. As the cheers subsided and the hall settled into a deep, emotional quiet, Marek gave a profound bow, his respect for King Martin evident in every gesture.

King Martin, deeply moved by the tribute and the overwhelming display of loyalty, stood with a dignified grace. The warmth of the celebration, combined with the profound respect of his people, filled him with a renewed sense of purpose and unity. The night continued, a testament to their shared strength and the epic journey they had embarked upon together, illuminated by the light of their king's unwavering leadership.