"Do I really have to wear this in such hot weather?" Horn stood in front of the mirror with a bitter expression, looking at Catherine behind him.

At this moment, Horn was wearing a teal knee-length long-sleeve coat, with a stand-up collar and front buttons, and four gold buttons extending to the waist.

The cuffs with lapels were decorated with two silver buttons, and the hem was embroidered with gray crosses, crossed swords, and fern patterns.

It was paired with a streamlined leather belt.

The entire garment was made from a wool and spider silk blend, considered a high-end fabric currently promoted by the Holy Alliance.

Before Catherine could speak, Falan tailor Croni chimed in, "Your Majesty, there’s a famous saying in the Falan fashion world.

Your design doesn’t need to be beautiful; as long as the King can wear it, it’s the best-looking."

Croni bowed to Horn, "I came to the Holy Alliance because here I don’t have to be constrained by the cumbersome tailor guilds.

If you want your ready-to-wear clothes to at least occupy the mid-range market, you can’t compete with Falan on existing court style.

This central conference is not only watched by the people of the Holy Alliance but also by outsiders.

As long as you can lead a new fashion trend—you already have that status—you can promote a new trend, one designed by me, Croni.

So, not only must you dress like this today, but you must follow my designs in the coming days."

Horn looked at Croni, who was bowing deeply, and could only scratch his sweating cheek, "Alright, but can we remove those suspenders? I don’t really like them."

"That’s not up to you; maybe someone else might like them."

Horn looked at Catherine, who just shrugged.

There was no way around it; this was a true artist, unconcerned with whether Horn was hot or not, or whether he was the Saint’s Grandson.

"...Alright." Horn looked at the other Saintesses already dressed in new designs, "Once you’re ready, let’s set off."

......

In the noisy hall, attendants brought free bread and fresh water to the spectators, along with paper and a small piece of ink.

People murmured to each other, creating a buzzing sound.

Not only was Duke Laban’s ears ringing, but even Aleksei’s head was aching from the noise.

How did these Thousand River Valley people make a noise of thousands with just a few thousand, or was it that the structure of this Half Moon Theater amplified the sound?

Just as Aleksei frowned, he suddenly noticed the noisy sound quieted a bit.

At this moment, a rousing military horn resounded.

Four clarinet players of different sizes formed a V-shape and walked in from the entrance passage.

The Ceremonial Officer’s deep and shrill shout echoed with the help of amplification monks and the pots under the seats, reaching everyone’s ears.

"Silence!"

The bustling crowd immediately quieted down, eagerly looking toward the passageway.

Following the four trumpet players were rows of drummers and four Battle Commanders, leading in the front and back, each with a saber at their waist.

They wore knee-length new military uniforms, with a stand-up collar, turned-back cuffs, and double rows of buttons from the chest to the waist.

The most eye-catching feature was the half cloak on their right shoulders, attracting curious glances from many foreign guests and merchants.

It must be said, unlike the relatively loose and baggy clothing of other regions at this time, the military uniforms of the Holy Alliance underwent starching.

After starching, the previously soft wool fabric became extraordinarily stiff.

It was originally clothing, but when worn, it clung to the body like armor, making them look spirited and majestic.

Behind the Battle Commanders were the representatives of public opinion from various places.

They wore badges on their chests and a variety of clothing, from the simplest shirts and vests to coarse black and yellow tunics and high-end silk robes.

Though not as imposing as the Battle Commanders, they still drew cheers from the observing crowd.

But when the Cardinals and Monastery Heads appeared, the entire venue immediately became polarized.

Some people cursed loudly, wishing to jump down and fight them, while others praised them as if they were their parents, in support of these Cardinals and Monastery Heads.

Especially Chervis, many former drunkards and Workshop Masters from malt and brewing workshops threw rotten eggs and stones at him.

However, they were too far away, and the projectiles only splattered stains on the ground.

There was no way around it, although the Prohibition Order was signed by Horn and enforced by the local monasteries.

But as the Head of the Saint Scythe Monastery, Grand Cardinal Chervis could regulate how much grain would be used for brewing this year, with exclusive rights to buy and sell.

The raw materials were provided by the Saint Scythe Monastery, and sales were only permitted to designated taverns, mainly those under the Saint Scythe Monastery’s chain.

Though it might not have been Chervis’s intention, the fact was that his taverns sold high-priced raw materials and bought beverages at low prices.

In the past four years, while other industries thrived and made money.

Only malt workshops, brewing workshops, and similar brewing industries declined, with many workshops switching to making apple cider vinegar.

Not to mention, he was previously a fake liquor vendor, and many tabloids published lengthy exposés on Chervis’s scandals.

In the eyes of most people in the Holy Alliance, the Prohibition Order equaled Chervis, and Chervis equaled the Prohibition Order.

Beside him, Grampwen stifled a laugh and elbowed the gloomy Chervis, "Brother, your reputation is thoroughly ruined. Need me to produce a play to clear your name?"

"I was always innocent; they just don’t understand the underlying reasons and only lay blame on me."

Chervis mumbled, trying to shrink his neck and hide among the cardinals.

Once the people’s representatives and cardinals were seated, another strong drumbeat resounded.

"Saintess has arrived—"

Behind the black and red banners raised by the loyal followers, four differently colored warhorses strode out majestically.

Sitting on the rough saddles were not princes, but four women with angelic appearances.

Jeanne and Jia Li, both in full dress uniform, rode at the forefront, their faces relaxed and serene, waving to the surrounding crowd continuously.

Following behind them, Catherine wore a formal smile, while Hilov’s face was as cold as ice but her tail swung back and forth.

As for the last Ancient Aier chariot pulled by four warhorses, Armand and Madlan stood on either side, steering the horses for the Saint’s Grandson.

When the person in the middle appeared before the crowd, sunlight glanced off the golden crown atop his head, making it seem as if he wore the saintly crown of an angel.

"Long live His Majesty Saint Sun!"

"Long live His Majesty Saint Sun!"

"Freedom for the Holy Alliance! Equality for the Thousand River Valley!"

"Make the Holy Alliance great!"

At once, the Half Moon Theater, which could hold over a thousand people, erupted in waves of cheers like a raging sea.

As far as the eye could see, almost everyone stood up, waving their hands or colorful flags and flowers frantically towards the young man on the chariot.

The overwhelming sound, like waves crashing repeatedly, filled everyone’s ears, even overpowering the military band and ceremonial officer.

The audience spontaneously unleashed ribbons into the air, painting colorful lines across the sky, while various colored confetti fell like floral rain.

Horn, having witnessed such a scene many times before, merely smiled and waved towards the audience on both sides.

Amidst the men’s cheers and women’s screams, Horn and the Saintesses circled the arena before arriving at the wooden platform.

Armand and Madlan attempted to assist Horn, but he brushed them off and jumped down from the chariot himself.

Before him, a mountain-like stepped seating arrangement had been set up on the wooden platform, able to accommodate a hundred or so people.

Horn’s position was at the back of the mountain of steps, the highest peak.

Step by step, Horn ascended to the highest peak, turned around, and faced the still cheering crowd, gesturing with both hands to calm them.

The crowd that had been cheering immediately began to quiet down within seconds.

Only then could the shrill cries of the ceremonial officer be heard.

"Silence, silence!"

Seated in the stands, looking at the wave-like audience settling down, Alexei’s eyes burned with excitement, his throat dry.

A single gesture could invoke such enthusiastic cheers, a single motion could calm so many people.

"A true man should be like this." With fiery eyes fixed on Horn, Alexei muttered softly.

"You too can be like him." Gloev pressed down on his shoulder, speaking with absolute conviction.

Sitting in a heavily guarded secret pavilion, Ginijis watched, enthralled, as the crowd suddenly cheered and then quieted down.

"What a display of control; no wonder the Holy Alliance could triumph... If only I could, if only I—"

The three dukes witnessing the scene had mixed feelings, merely gulping down large sips of the coffee on the table.

This coffee, why does it make me feel more intoxicated the more I drink it?

Duke Rabon put down the binoculars, took another big gulp of coffee, yet still couldn’t calm his racing heart.

Damn, what’s happening? Isn’t it just a celebration for a few thousand people?

Putting down the cup, Duke Rabon wanted to continue using the binoculars to find traces of Ginijis.

But inexplicably, he turned the binoculars towards the center of the Half Moon Theater.

Aside from the representatives’ seats on both sides, the wooden platform, made of solid wood, had three layers of steps.

The first layer consisted of two rows with more than twenty seats for the cardinals, military pastoral leaders, and heads of county monasteries.

The second layer, with a single horizontal row of four seats, was naturally for the four Saintesses.

The third and highest layer held a black wood and gold lacquer chair with a backrest two people tall, carved with angels, the Saint Master, and the sun, reserved for Horn.

But Horn did not like this chair.

Firstly, it was too ostentatious and wasteful; secondly, the backrest and seat were too high.

When he sat on it, his feet dangled above the ground, and the backrest rose a long way above his head, making him look just three feet tall.

At the time, when Horn had sat down, he hadn’t even come off before asking Catherine, "Did you do this on purpose?"

Catherine had her reasons, too, saying that the Falan furniture makers they ordered from simply wouldn’t make anything else.

As for custom-made, high-end furniture within the Holy Alliance, there was no workshop capable, and hiring a specialized high-end furniture maker would be more costly.

But seeing the corner of Catherine’s mouth curling almost to her ears, Horn was sure she had done it on purpose.

Having quietly taken a small loss, Horn stepped onto a small stool, sat on the tall papal throne, and lightly coughed: "Let’s start with the alliance anthem."