The Exalt [Cultivation Fantasy]

'My head…' Oscar woke up the next morning, his forehead strained by wrinkles and veins. Cracking his back several times, he found no comfort, only a deepening sore in his spine. The bed he slept in was not the best. Qualitywise, the bed shone at the top of other beds, having silky sheets and fluffy pillows, the best meant for the higher class. However, nothing but stress came to him in his sleep, partly because the one who should have been beside him was not there, mostly due to this bed's foreign nature. Perhaps such luxury would be second nature to him.

Rising to his feet, Oscar stretched his long limbs and cracked his neck several times, groaning in relief at each satisfying pop and crack. Parched, he moved to the circular table by the nightstand and gulped the jug of water left behind by the servants. He poured the remaining water over his head, trickling down to his shirt and floor. The servants surely would not enjoy the mess. Oscar wiped it away quickly with a towel and spread it out to dry on the chair.

"Bad night?" Erden yawned, whispering in the dark. The two suns had just begun their trek, peeking their colorful bodies slightly over the horizon, leaving Oscar's room in the dark.

"I never thought about obtaining the great riches or status. I had no choice in the Burning Valley, but here, I just wanted to get back to my farm." Oscar sat on the bed, leaning forward. The room was ten times as large as his old house, twice as big as the one in the Burning Valley. The windows stretched from ceiling to floor, covered by light blue curtains that let some fading moonlight seep through, and some led out to a balcony outside. According to the Pavilion Master, this estate once belonged to a Dragnar Family member, long since dead, and was abandoned for a long time.

"I was hoping to rest in the fields of grain you showed me so many times in your memories. I'm getting sore from staying in caves and rooms." Erden trotted to his side and sat down, allowing Oscar to pat and shake his head. They stayed like this for several hours until the doors swung open, and several maids, along with a butler, strode inside. A cart squeaked, pushed by one of the maids, carrying trays of baked cakes and a steaming teapot.

The butler gasped, paling and sweating, but quickly recovered his composure and bowed deeply. The three maids bowed behind the butler, placing their hands together over their stomachs and not daring to meet his eyes. The butler's name was Declerd. His smooth gray hair was slicked back with oil, his pair of glasses gave him a refined aura, and his mustache swayed about as he spoke. "Forgive us, Master Terr, for not arriving before your waking hour."

"Don't mind it. I wake up really early anyway." Oscar held back the groan he almost exhaled, afraid these servants may misinterpret it as dissatisfaction.

"No. As servants, we must be up before our master. It is only the proper duty we must follow." Declerd's straight, right-angled bow never ceased until Oscar ordered him to stop and forgave him. As he got up, the maids went to work, tidying up his bed, removing the wet towel from the chair, and attempting to help him put on new robes.

"Sorry, I refuse to budge on this. I'll put on my own clothes." Oscar felt another headache coming on and drank some of the fresh tea prepared by one of the maids.

"Is that alright, my Lord?" One of the maids, Sirsi, clenched her hands on her long skirt. Her braided brown hair swayed on her left side as her brown eyes, enlarged behind the large round glasses, trembled. Her petite shoulders quaked as if she was a frightened squirrel.

The second maid, Eris, lowered her head and stated in a monotone voice, "It's customary for servants to help their masters into their coats and robes. Rules are meant to be followed." She had light streaks of blond flowing through her black hair. Her narrow glasses highlighted her sharp gaze, and her expressionless face could only be matched by her pale skin.

"Sirsi, Eris, if our master doesn't want it, then we can't force it, right?" The third maid, Arlen, stammered. Her curly, light-green hair ruffled around as her head swayed back and forth. She seemed to have given up and bowed her head quietly.

Oscar sighed and swiped the robes away from Arlen's hands, a frightful yelp coming from the nervous maid who quickly clamped her mouth shut. He apologized for the rudeness, but Arlen shook her head and begged him not to be sorry for his actions. Putting on the robe, he said, "I don't care for, nor will I be used to this way of life, but I understand it is the norm for you all. However, I must set some boundaries. Firstly, you don't need to wake up earlier than me. It will be detrimental to your health since you're all not Exalts. Secondly, no one but my wife is allowed closer. Understood?"

Sirsi, Eris, and Arlen stared at each other, uncertainty laced in their gazes as if asking each other what to do. Declerd coughed and gave them a stern look, and they all jolted before bowing together in unison. Declerd said, "If that is what Master wishes for, then as servants, we must abide. May I report to you today's schedule?"

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"Go ahead." Oscar whistled for Erden to follow, keeping up a facade that Erden was a mere beast and incapable of speech. Declerd and the maids followed from an adequate distance, within earshot but not invading his personal space.

"Today, you must attend a private meeting in the Imperial Palace. Therefore, Mrs. Bertin from Bertin's Threads, a popular place to fashion suits and dresses, is arriving soon. They're backed up with orders and appointments for the upcoming Summer Gala, but they've made a special exception for my Master. They'll be handling the suit and brushing up your appearance." Declerd adjusted his glasses with his gloved hands while walking in tight and equal steps, not a single inch out of place.

Oscar winced, resisting the urge to smack his face in distress. First, a mansion, then servants, and finally, a finely tailored suit from some luxurious and private store? When would it end? Oscar heard Erden's mocking laughter in his mind and tightened his grip on his friend's head. No matter. He only had to get through the Summer Gala and return to the Pavilion.

But the day was truly grueling and long. Mrs. Bertin, a middle-aged lively woman, arrived and immediately went to work, measuring every angle of his body. She focused on his face and mumbled about how to increase the appeal, complimenting the black shine of his hair and the deep color of his pupils. Oscar forced a smile and complied, sitting still for hours, surrounded by mirrors, as she worked to tidy his hair, snipping off bits here and there. She forced him to lie down as she placed a facemask, a refreshing touch to the skin, on him. Afterward, Mrs. Bertin took a light brush and touched up his face with some powder and slight makeup. Eventually, the morning turned into night before she finished with a bright smile and wiped her brow full of sweat with a handkerchief.

"It is my honor to be of service to the hero, Oscar Terr. The suit will be ready in time for the Summer Gala. I will return on the day to deliver the suit and apply the same changes." Mrs. Bertin held a mirror and showed Oscar his improved appearance. His hair was slicked back like Declerd's, the fine use of Mrs. Bertin's oil between each strand to give it a shining glow. Thanks to the touch-up, his eyes seemed to deepen in its obsidian color. The rest of his face appeared brighter and hid his rustic look. "There is a temporary suit I have brought today that suits your needs for your visit."

Oscar put on the blue ceremonial suit, two golden buttons on the wrists, a pair of long pants stretching just above his fine brown shoes, a golden sash wrapping from his shoulder to his waist, ornamental golden shoulder pads fitted well with strings of gold thread extending shortly from their edges, and the collar fitted to the top button, holding two insignias on both sides, one of a dragon, and the other of a trident.

"It's sort of uncomfortable." Oscar tested the movements of his shoulders and elbows, with barely any freedom due to how tight it was. "May I request the suit be more flexible so I can fight in it if needed?"

"A fight seems unlikely during the Summer Gala, but as expected of the hero, to be always ready for the possibilities. I will work hard and ensure it is up to your standards." Mrs. Bertin bowed and made a playful smile. "By the way, my daughter is of marriage age, and I–"

"Rejected. I have no intention of entertaining any matchmaking." Oscar flatly refused and gestured to Declerd. "Please see Mrs. Bertin out." After the long session, he had no time to rest as the Pavilion Master arrived and hurried him to the carriage. The roads, well-paved, provided no discomfort to the luxurious carriage, a smooth ride until they halted by the gates to the Imperial Palace, flanked by two guards, exuding the power of a Knight Exalt.

To Oscar's surprise, the gates swung open, and the guards retreated away with deep bows without even asking a question. Then again, they were in the presence of a King Exalt. The carriage stopped, the wheels creaking slightly from the break, and he exited, towering over the guards who stared, some sizing him up and others gazing in what appeared to be disbelief from their gawking. He had grown slightly more in the few months, reaching a height of four inches over six feet.

Following Remulus, he stood before a tall man, nearly as tall as him, clad in armor from head to toe, dragon wings curling from the sides of his helmet. The Pavilion Master told him earlier that the Head of the Imperial Guard, the Drakiri, and a powerful Marshal Exalt, Vostolf Rudinberg, would greet them. Volstolf bowed and greeted them, keeping his helmet on, "Welcome, Pavilion Master and Lord Terr. The ancestor awaits inside."

"Well done, Rudinberg. I didn't see you during my last visit. How have you been?" Remulus made small talk as they walked through the glorious halls of the Imperial Palace. Each stone shone as if each brick was crafted specifically by an artisan, fine engravings all paintings a vivid picture of dragons and men coexisting as one. The fine gold carpets resembled more of a river of gold. The ceiling was so high that a flock of birds could pass through the arches without issue.

"I had to lead half the Drakiri to the close eastern borders. The enemy never rests in attempting to break apart our defenses. However, with the Summer Gala taking place, I am returned to defend the palace." Volstolf's words echoed out of his helmet and through the halls, a refined tongue that soothed one's ears, giving them security and comfort. Turning a corner, Volstolf paused and stepped to the side, gesturing toward the fenced gates. "He is waiting for you in the gardens."

Oscar walked solemnly down the halls to the fenced gate. Remulus waved his hand in a leisurely manner and opened the gates. Was this not a rude action? Perhaps the two were so close these little things didn't matter. Nevertheless, Oscar followed him into the garden. Wide hedges outlined the square garden, a pond rested in the center where a pavilion stood, and beds of flowers spread abundantly, where bees buzzed and collected nectar. Inside the pavilion, an old man waited for them, wearing imperial silver robes with golden tapestry woven outside and inside the fabric.

The old man smoked from a long pipe and said, "Finally, you've arrived. First, would you be willing to marry into my Dragnar Family?"

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