Louis returned his attention to the throne.
Sensing the shift in the hall, the Emperor cast a brief glance toward the counselor standing at his side.
That was all it took.
The counselor stepped forward, the faint amusement from earlier gone, replaced by a composed, professional demeanor. His voice carried clearly across the chamber.
"Now then," he said, "we will proceed with introductions."
His gaze swept over the assembled heroes.
"Step forward one at a time. State your name, your age, your class, and any other details you deem appropriate to share with the Empire."
A slight pause.
"Only what you are willing to disclose."
For a moment, no one moved.
Then a young man stepped forward.
"My name is Kirian Hale," he said clearly. "I'm twenty years old."
His posture was straight, his voice steady.
"I'm a university student. My class is Magic Swordsman."
He continued.
Kirian spoke of his background, his studies, and even mentioned that he had received a grace. He gave more than was required—more than most would have dared.
A subtle stir passed through the hall.
Some nobles leaned forward in interest. A few of the heroes exchanged looks, clearly wondering why he was offering so much when restraint had been advised.
Louis watched quietly.
I expected as much.
Kirian wasn't careless—just sincere. Whether that sincerity would protect him here was another question entirely.
After Kirian stepped back, a girl moved forward.
"My name is Hina Megumi," she said calmly. "I'm nineteen."
Her introduction was concise. Controlled. She stated her class, acknowledged the presence of a grace without elaborating, and stepped back.
The contrast was immediate.
"Next."
A woman in her mid-twenties stepped forward.
"Elena Weiss," she introduced herself. "Twenty-six. Medical doctor."
Her tone was professional, her information minimal.
After her came a young man.
"John Carter," he said. "Twenty-three."
His expression was tense, his words brief.
Then another stepped forward.
"Marcus Reynolds," he said. "Twenty-nine. University lecturer."
Experience, even in this situation, carried weight.
The roll call continued.
Names blended together. Ages. Classes. Fragments of lives left behind.
Louis stopped paying close attention somewhere in the middle.
When his turn came, he stepped forward.
"My name is Louis," he said evenly. "I'm nineteen."
A short pause.
"My class is Druid."
Nothing more.
No mention of a grace.
No explanation.
He inclined his head slightly and stepped back.
The counselor offered no reaction and continued.
When the final introduction ended, a hesitant voice broke the silence.
"Um… excuse me."
A teenage boy in a school uniform stepped forward nervously.
"Didn't… didn't Louis forget something?"
The hall grew quiet.
"He didn't say whether he received a grace."
A few heads turned.
Louis felt no panic—only mild curiosity.
I was wondering when that would come up.
He didn't have an answer himself.
He had noticed the absence, of course. He'd simply assumed there would be an explanation later. If this world followed the logic he was familiar with, a class like Druid should have some kind of natural patron—some goddess, some spirit of the land.
He had been about to ask the same question.
Before he could, the counselor raised a hand.
"There is no mistake," he said smoothly.
He turned slightly, addressing both the boy and the gathered heroes.
"Druids are natural casters. Their power originates from their own resonance with the world, not from divine reinforcement."
A pause.
"As such, they are not always granted external graces in the same way other classes are."
The explanation was simple. Clean. Final.
And only then did it dawn on Louis.
Right…
He'd seen something like this before.
In games—classes that didn't rely on blessings or buffs, but instead grew through interaction with their environment, through exposure and adaptation.
The murmurs faded.
Louis remained silent.
So that's how this world works too, Louis thought.
The silence that followed didn't last long.
A familiar voice cut through it.
"But then…"
The same teenager—John—stepped forward again, hesitation clear in his posture. "What about Graces?"
The hall stirred.
Several of the summoned glanced at one another, some checking their status screens again as if they had missed something obvious. Others frowned, confusion slowly turning into unease.
John swallowed. "You said heroes granted recognition by the gods receive Graces. Then… what exactly are they?"
For a brief moment, the counselor looked genuinely taken aback.
"…I see," he said slowly, eyes narrowing in thought. He glanced toward the Emperor, who gave a slight nod.
"It seems," the counselor continued, "that the Goddess did not explain this part in detail."
He stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back.
"Graces are divine acknowledgements," he said. "They are not skills in the conventional sense. Nor are they blessings that activate freely."
Murmurs spread through the group.
"Some Graces enhance growth. Some stabilize fate. Others strengthen affinity, resistance, or perception. Many never manifest directly." His gaze swept across the summoned. "You may possess one without ever realizing when it aided you."
Several people visibly relaxed.
"As for why some of you received them and others did not," he added evenly, "that is not a judgment of worth. Gods grant Graces based on alignment, interest, and long-term observation. Not all paths require them."
Louis listened carefully.
So it really is like that, he thought. Not favoritism. Not punishment. Just… categorization.
The counselor stepped back, signaling the end of the explanation.
From there, the conversation drifted onward.
Questions about accommodations. About training schedules. About whether they would be monitored. Answers were given—measured, controlled, and deliberately incomplete.
Louis stopped paying attention.
Soon enough, knights entered once more and gestured for them to follow.
As they began walking through the halls, Louis fell silent, moving with the group.
That's when he noticed it.
A few glances sent his way.
Some carried faint sympathy. Others were indifferent, dismissive. A handful didn't bother hiding their lack of interest at all before turning away and continuing forward.
Louis exhaled quietly.
"…So I didn't get one," he muttered under his breath.
He thought about it for a moment longer than he wanted to.
"I guess I can't change that."
His gaze dropped, unfocused, as the stone floor passed beneath his steps.
"But with a nature-aligned job…" he continued quietly, more to himself than anyone else, "it shouldn't be nothing. Just… less obvious."
He clicked his tongue softly.
"No point overthinking it."
His shoulders relaxed, just a little.
"At least," he said, almost dryly, "I'm a Druid."