They Hated Me in My First Life, But Now I Have the Love System

Chapter 381: Path Carved in Steel and Shadow

@VibeOracle: Elira’s smile is scary tho. That woman doesn’t gift unless she sees triple ROI.

@BlushAndBlades: Forget love triangles, | want a corporate political thriller with Somto in the middle.

Meanwhile, the three CEOs bowed once more before stepping aside, looking visibly pleased with themselves.

They had done more than just pay tribute, they had placed their stakes in a rising empire, and judging by the

awe on every face in the hall, it was a bet already paying off in influence.

Who did not know King Somto. He was the most powerful crown prince in the continent. Him being King now was

just another title added to his already famous name.

Somto did not need to say a word.

Power moved around him like a tide, and everyone, nobles, commoners, rivals, could feel it.

The next guest waited to step forward, heart thudding. How were they supposed to follow that?

A soft stir of anticipation swept through the grand hall as the next figure stepped forward, a tall, silver haired

man dressed in flowing white robes edged with crystal embroidery that shimmered under the lights.

Gasps erupted from all corners of the ballroom.

“It’s him, it’s White Night!”

“No way... THE White Night cin person?”

“Go have your ears cleaned! He was announced when he arrived.”

Even Somto’s gaze sharpened slightly. White Night was more than a global icon, he was a musical legend. A

ghost in the industry. A nthat commanded billions and bowed to no one.

White Night's serene eyes swept across the silent room before he finally spoke in a smooth, melodic voice that

felt like velvet laced with stars.

“Your Majesty,” he began, voice carrying easily, “I have never sung for war, nor bowed for any crown. But today,

| offer a gift not as an artist... but as a believer in you.”

He held up a scroll. Thick, heavy parchment. Bound with a dark red ribbon and sealed with his personal crest in

gold.

“A handwritten original composition,” he said, “crafted under the eclipse, titled ‘Solstice of Kings’. There are no

duplicates. No recordings. The rights belong to no label. Only to you.”

He stepped forward and carefully placed the scroll into the velvet lined hands of the king's highest ranking

chamberlain. The scroll alone looked like a relic glowing faintly, as though the lyrics themselves hummed with

life.

Somto gave him a single nod, deep, slow, respectful.

White Night simply smiled. “May the melody find your heart in times of silence.”

Then he turned and walked back into the crowd as if he had just dropped a whisper on the wind.

The ballroom broke into quiet chaos.

“Did he say no label owns it?”

“That's a billion dollar piece. Easy.”

“People would kill to just see his signature and King Somto got a full song written for him?”

“Do you know what it means for White Night to dedicate something like that? It's not just art, it's prophecy!”

Livestream comments exploded

@InkAndEclipse: I'm gonna cry. A song like that will outlive us all.

@MoonNotez: OMGGGGG white night!! this coronation keeps leveling up!!

@RoyalReceipts: Somto just got gifted a SONG worth more than a warship and he hasn't blinked once.

@FanaticFever: Somto’s reign is literally turning into a legend before it's even started.

White Night slipped into the shadows of the hall, his gift now resting safely beside the others, though to many, it

wasn't just another tribute.

It was history written in music.

And Somto?

He remained unmoved but was appreciative.

The ballroom dimmed.

A hush spread like wildfire as a figure walked forward, Director Naledi, Lionara’s most renowned filmmaker.

With a tailored suit stitched in silver thread and a pair of minimalist glasses perched on his nose, his aura was

unmistakable. He was not just famous, he was revered.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice crisp, the kind that demanded attention even in whispers, “Today, |

present not a gift of gold or property, but memory, captured, preserved, and eternal.”

He turned to Somto and bowed with deep respect. “Your Majesty. You have walked a path carved in steel and

shadow. | have taken the liberty to tell your story, your triumphs, your battles, your soul, through my lens. May

this remind future generations of the fire in their king.”

He signaled to the crew at the back.

A large screen unfurled with a soft whir. The lights dimmed further. Silence.

Then the first image appeared, the actor acting the role of Somto stood as a young cadet, drenched in mud and

blood, eyes sharp even then. Gasps rippled through the hall.

Then cthe battle scenes, flashes of chaos, ‘Somto’ pulling comrades from the rubble, standing tall where

others fell, taking wounds without faltering.

His speech to refugees in the northern provinces. The moment he carried the body of a fallen child himself to the

medics. The rare, raw moments where the man beneath the armor cracked for just a second, then steadied

again.

“He’s more than a warrior,” someone whispered in awe. “He's... human.”

By the tthe montage ended with a slow, sweeping shot of ‘Somto’ walking through fire and emerging into

sunlight, even the air in the room felt different, thicker, heavier.

The screen faded to black.

A soft chrang. Lights returned.

No applause yet. Just stunned reverence.

Director Naledi gave a short nod. “It is titled The FlThat Chose to Stay.”

He handed over the crystal drive containing the short film to the high ranking servant, who received it with both

hands and placed it gently beside the other gifts.

Somto gave the smallest of nods, acknowledgment. But his eyes lingered for a second longer than usual on the

gift. That was all it took for speople to notice.

And in the crowd, emotions surged.

“That was... That was art.”

“I'm still shaking. I've seen war films, but this? This moved me.”

“They captured his spirit. No narration. Just raw power.”