The Rosania Empire - The Imperial Capital.The Grand Solarium Courtroom.Three Days After the Simulation Incident.
The Grand Solarium of the Imperial Palace was a marvel of architectural majesty, designed to intimidate and awe anyone who stepped within its circular, sun-drenched walls. Towering pillars of white marble, heavily veined with veins of pure gold, stretched upward to support a massive domed ceiling painted with frescoes of the Goddess Zeonhoniah handing down the divine mandate to the first Emperor. In the absolute center of this magnificent, echoing chamber sat a colossal, circular table carved from a single, ancient ironwood tree.
It was a table designed for equality in counsel, but today, it was a battleground of desperate, panicked accusations.
Gathered around the massive table were the highest echelons of the Rosania Empire's nobility—the Dukes, the Marquises, the wealthy Counts, and the influential Earls. At the head of the table sat Emperor Gherman Van Rosania, the supreme ruler of the empire, looking profoundly, devastatingly exhausted.
And currently standing at the center of the political firing squad was Headmaster William Van Mortifier.
"IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOUR ABSOLUTE, GROSS NEGLIGENCE, HEADMASTER WILLIAM, THIS ENTIRE, CATASTROPHIC INCIDENT WOULD NEVER HAVE HAPPENED!"
The screeching, furious voice belonged to Marquis Adoitus, a wealthy, heavily-powdered nobleman belonging to the Aristocratic Faction. He slammed his bejeweled fist against the ironwood table, his face flushed a violent shade of purple. He pointed an accusatory, trembling finger directly at the elderly Headmaster.
The moment Marquis Adoitus broke the seal, the rest of the panicked nobles immediately followed suit like a pack of bloodthirsty hounds smelling weakness.
"THAT IS EXACTLY RIGHT! IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOUR BLINDNESS, THAT DAMN DEMON WOULDN'T EVEN HAVE BEEN ABLE TO SET A SINGLE FOOT INSIDE THE SACRED GROUNDS OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY!" A high-ranking Count bellowed, spittle flying from his lips as he aggressively leaned over the table.
"You endangered the Crown Prince! You endangered the Princess! You endangered all of our heirs!" Another noble shouted, the chorus of blame rising into a deafening, chaotic cacophony.
William stood perfectly still amidst the verbal hurricane, leaning his weight heavily upon a newly carved wooden cane.
He let out a long, slow, incredibly weary sigh.
He knew, objectively, that it was indeed his own administrative fault that Professor Vane—or rather, his true, terrifying identity, the Greater Demon General Dratkthar—had managed to effortlessly slip inside the academy's defenses. He bore the heavy, undeniable burden of that failure.
But... that absolute fact did not magically mean that these goddamn, hypocritical nobles currently pointing their manicured fingers at him were innocent.
William possessed centuries of political experience. He knew exactly how the rotting, corrupt heart of the Aristocratic Faction operated. He would bet his own life that several of the men screaming at him right now had actively, secretly sponsored Vane's rise through the academic ranks. He bet that some of them had already known, or strongly suspected, the Professor's dark, abyssal ties, utilizing his demonic influence to further their own political agendas against the Royal Faction.
And now, since the terrifying truth had been violently dragged into the light, and Vane had been publicly revealed as a high-ranking demon who had massacred students, these corrupt nobles were desperately, frantically searching for a scapegoat. They needed a massive, undeniable target to completely cover their own treasonous tracks.
And who better to burn at the stake than the Headmaster himself?
William slowly raised his head, his piercing silver eyes flashing with a sudden, overwhelming surge of Transcendent-tier mana that caused the temperature in the massive courtroom to drop instantaneously.
"My administrative failure does not mean that I am the sole entity at fault here, gentlemen," William stated, his deep, booming voice effortlessly cutting through the screaming crowd.
He stepped forward, slamming his fist down onto the ironwood table with the force of a thunderclap.
-SLAM!
The sudden, physical display of power silenced the room.
"That's why do not dare to try and wash your own, treasonous sins away with those disgusting, corrupt fingers of yours and point them at me," William growled, his silver eyes sweeping across the pale faces of the Aristocratic Faction.
"We all know exactly who the people in this room are that actively supported Professor Vane's tenure. We know exactly whose political coffers funded his private research grants. And I would willingly wager my own soul that most of you already knew exactly what he was, long before the Night Ravens dragged his secrets into the light."
William let out another heavy sigh, the momentary flash of anger fading into profound exhaustion. He reached out with a trembling hand, picked up a crystal goblet of water from the table, and took a slow sip to wet his dry throat.
The momentary silence he had commanded did not last. The nobles, realizing they were being cornered, doubled down on their aggressive, defensive posturing.
"OUR FAULT?! HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE US!" Marquis Adoitus shrieked, his voice pitching up into an indignant squeal. "ISN'T IT YOU, THE HEADMASTER, WHO PERSONALLY INTERVIEWED AND TOOK HIM INTO THE ACADEMY AS THE HEAD PROFESSOR OF ARCANE THEORY FOR OUR VULNERABLE CHILDREN?!"
"AND AREN'T YOU ALREADY AN ENTITY THAT RESIDES WITHIN THE MYTHICAL TRANSCENDENT REALM?!" The loud Count interjected, slamming his own hands on the table. "SO THAT EXPLICITLY MEANS YOU SHOULD HAVE EASILY BEEN ABLE TO IDENTIFY HIS TRUE, DEMONIC IDENTITY THE MOMENT HE WALKED THROUGH THE GATES! YOU ARE EITHER INCOMPETENT OR COMPLICIT!"
William squeezed the bridge of his nose, feeling a massive migraine beginning to pulse behind his eyes.
"Even though I am indeed an entity within the Transcendent Realm, that absolutely does not mean I possess omniscient vision, you fools," William retorted, slamming his fist onto the table a second time. "It is not incredibly easy to magically identify someone who is actively utilizing ancient, abyssal artifacts to mask their aura. And it is infinitely worse when that specific someone is one of the Great Demon Generals of the Infernal Realm, an entity whose very existence is a masterclass in deception and agony!"
William sighed again, his shoulders sagging slightly. He was entirely, profoundly too old for these useless, circular political arguments. He had dedicated his life to teaching, not to wrestling with pigs in the mud of the Imperial Court.
"Sigh... I honestly don't even know what to do with this level of willful ignorance anymore..." William muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
As the nobles of the Aristocratic Faction opened their mouths, preparing to launch another deafening barrage of blame and accusations at the Headmaster...
Someone else slammed the table.
-SLAM!
It wasn't a loud, magical impact. It was a heavy, dull, incredibly solid sound of a gauntleted hand hitting the ancient ironwood.
"ENOUGH."
The single, quiet word echoed through the Grand Solarium. It was not shouted, yet it carried a weight of such absolute, terrifying authority that every single noble in the room instantly snapped their jaws shut, their blood running completely cold.
A man slowly, deliberately stood up from his heavy, high-backed chair located directly to the right of the Emperor.
It was none other than Raemond Blackfyre.
The Grand Duke of the North. The Supreme Commander of the Legions. The terrifying 'Shield of the North', and the absolute, undisputed right-hand man of Emperor Gherman within the Royal Faction.
He was a physically imposing, deeply terrifying man. He possessed perfectly slicked-back, ashen white hair that seemed entirely devoid of any natural color, and a pair of piercing, dead gray eyes that looked exactly like two chips of glacial ice. He possessed a jagged, brutal scar cutting diagonally across his left eyebrow—a permanent souvenir from a legendary duel against the Queen of Arendelle. He wore a meticulously groomed, gray Van Dyke style goatee that sharply defined his aristocratic jawline.
Despite his fearsome reputation as a frontline warlord, he was currently wearing a breathtakingly expensive, high-born royal duke outfit woven from dark, midnight-blue velvet and silver thread.
Resting heavily against his broad chest, suspended from a thick chain of white gold, was a massive, vibrant green amulet. The amulet was a terrifying piece of artisan jewelry: a meticulously detailed, snarling silver dragon whose claws were physically, possessively gripping a flawless, massive emerald as if it were its own, stolen treasure.
As his hands rested on the table, the nobles could clearly see two specific, heavy wedding rings adorning his left index finger. One was forged from pure, heavy gold, and the other was carved from a single, vibrant green, crystalline gemstone.
The screaming nobles of the Aristocratic Faction stared at him. Their eyes widened in profound, primal shock and absolute terror. The Grand Duke rarely spoke in these specific council meetings, preferring to let his crushing, suffocating presence do the talking. When he did speak, it usually meant someone was going to be executed.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the chaotic courtroom went completely, utterly quiet. They entirely stopped blaming William, holding their breath as they waited to see where the Monster of the North would direct his wrath.
Raemond didn't sigh. He didn't yell.
He simply, slowly sat back down in his heavy oak chair, crossing his long legs. He looked around at the terrified, silent faces of the political elite.
A dark, incredibly cynical, sarcastic smirk touched the corner of his lips.
"...Thank you for your silence, gentlemen," Raemond drawled, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated with barely concealed violence.
Raemond then slowly rolled his dead gray eyes toward the head of the table, looking directly at Emperor Gherman.
Emperor Gherman Van Rosania was not in a good state. His usually sharp, vibrant dark blue eyes were incredibly sunken, heavily shadowed with deep, purple bags of exhaustion. He had spent the last two days desperately trying to manage the catastrophic political fallout of the simulation incident, dealing with the grieving noble families, the mobilization of the Imperial Knights, and the terrifying news of his own daughter's near-death experience.
Gherman looked at his best friend, his right-hand man, and let out a long, heavy sigh of profound relief that Raemond had finally intervened.
"Thanks, Raemond," Gherman said, his voice quiet and incredibly tired.
Raemond only offered a single, sharp nod of his head in response, gesturing with his hand for the Emperor to take the floor.
"Now, since the useless, circular argument regarding the Headmaster has finally settled..." Emperor Gherman announced, his voice regaining a fraction of its usual, commanding imperial authority. He slowly stood up from his throne, planting his hands firmly on the table.
He focused his dark blue eyes directly onto the nobles of the Aristocratic Faction, who nervously shifted their gaze downward in shame, completely unable to meet the Emperor's stare while the Grand Duke was watching them.
"...Can I finally speak, nobles of the Rosania Empire?" Gherman asked, the rhetorical question dripping with heavy sarcasm.
He sighed, shaking his head, before looking respectfully toward William.
"Furthermore, what Headmaster William just explicitly stated is entirely, factually correct. Even though he resides within the Transcendent Realm, it is absolutely not an easy task to magically identify a master of espionage. And it is infinitely worse when that specific someone is a high-ranking Demon General utilizing forbidden abyssal cloaking artifacts. We will not be burning our greatest protector at the stake simply to soothe your fragile egos."
Gherman paused, letting the absolute finality of his decree sink into the room.
Then, he slowly turned his head. His dark blue eyes locked onto a specific, sweating nobleman near the far end of the table.
"And..."
Gherman's voice dropped into a register of cold, terrifying imperial wrath.
"...Do not dare to try and act innocent in my courtroom, Marquis Adoitus."
Marquis Adoitus physically flinched, his powdered face turning the color of spoiled milk.
"Isn't it a verified, documented fact that you were one of the primary, vocal nobles who financially and politically supported Professor Vane's rapid ascension into the inner circle of the faculty?" Gherman asked, slowly raising his right eyebrow in a gesture of profound, lethal suspicion.
Marquis Adoitus violently gripped the velvet lapels of his expensive coat. His entire body began to visibly tremble.
'I should stay completely, absolutely silent!' Adoitus screamed at himself internally, his political survival instincts finally kicking in. 'Deny everything! Demand an aristocratic tribunal!'
Gherman didn't wait for a response. He simply raised his hand and offered two, sharp, dismissive waves of his fingers toward the heavy double doors of the courtroom.
Immediately, the heavy doors violently swung open. A squad of heavily armored Imperial Knights, their armor polished to a mirror shine, marched into the Grand Solarium, their hands resting on the hilts of their broadswords.
"Wha-what exactly is the meaning of this, Your Highness?!" Marquis Adoitus shrieked, his eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated panic as the knights marched directly toward his chair.
The Captain of the Knights stopped directly behind the trembling Marquis. He unrolled a heavy, wax-sealed parchment scroll with a sharp, crisp snap of the paper.
"MARQUIS ADOITUS!" The Captain shouted, his voice echoing off the marble pillars, formally reading the imperial decree.
"YOU ARE HEREBY PLACED UNDER IMMEDIATE, INDEFINITE ARREST ON THE HIGH CHARGES OF TREASON AND CONSPIRACY WITH THE ENTITY KNOWN AS VANE, VERIFIED TO BE THE GREATER DEMON GENERAL DRATKTHAR."
The Captain stepped closer, his heavy gauntlet resting on the Marquis's shoulder.
"FURTHERMORE, YOUR ENTIRE NOBLE FAMILY, EXPLICITLY INCLUDING YOUR CHILDREN CURRENTLY ENROLLED IN THE ROYAL ACADEMY, WILL BE PLACED UNDER IMMEDIATE, BRUTAL INQUISITORIAL INVESTIGATION TO DETERMINE IF THEY ALSO ACTIVELY CONSPIRED WITH A DEMONIC ENTITY AGAINST THE CROWN."
"THI-THIS IS ABSOLUTE MADNESS! YOU CANNOT DO THIS!" Marquis Adoitus screamed hysterically, violently thrashing against the heavy grip of the knights who were currently hauling him up out of his chair.
"YOU ABSOLUTELY CANNOT ARREST ME WITHOUT ANY PHYSICAL EVIDENCE! I AM A HIGH NOBLE! IF YOU PROCEED WITH THIS ILLEGAL PURGE, THE ENTIRE ARISTOCRATIC FACTION WILL ABSOLUTELY NOT STAND FOR THIS TYRANNY!!" Adoitus bellowed, desperately looking around the table at his political allies, begging them to intervene.
But his allies remained completely, terrifyingly silent, their eyes glued to the table, unwilling to risk the wrath of the Emperor and the Shield of the North.
Suddenly, a heavy object flew through the air across the width of the massive ironwood table.
It was thrown by Grand Duke Raemond.
"There..."
The heavy, blood-soaked burlap sack landed with a sickening, wet, meaty thud directly onto the polished wood, right in front of the struggling Marquis Adoitus.
The sheer force of the impact caused the hastily tied knot at the top of the sack to come loose. The burlap fell away.
"....That is the exact, physical evidence that you so desperately want," Raemond stated, his dead gray eyes devoid of any emotion.
Marquis Adoitus slowly, trembling, looked down at the object that had just rolled out of the sack.
His eyes widened until they threatened to physically tear at the corners. The blood drained entirely from his face, and his jaw fell slack.
Resting on the pristine table, leaking thick, viscous black blood onto the polished ironwood, was a severed head.
It was not a human head. It was heavily mutated, possessing small, jagged obsidian horns protruding from the forehead, and skin that was a sickly, ashen grey.
But despite the horrific demonic corruption, the facial features were still entirely, perfectly recognizable.
It was the decapitated head of his own, beloved son.
It was Gavin. The trusted aide to Professor Vane, who had been secretly arrested by Amanda and the Night Ravens months prior, and who had been violently executed after his demonic transformation was revealed during the interrogation.
Marquis Adoitus stared at the dead, glassy eyes of his son. His entire world violently, catastrophically shattered into pieces.
His eyes began to tremble uncontrollably. He let out a horrifying, wet, broken gasp.
"Ahh..."
The fight completely drained out of his body. He stopped struggling against the knights. His knees buckled, only held up by the iron grip of the guards.
He then began to laugh. It was a pathetic, broken, hysterical sound of a man who realized his entire lineage was doomed to the executioner's block.
"It's completely over...." Adoitus giggled, a line of drool slipping from his lips.
"...I am entirely over."
Emperor Gherman looked at the broken man with absolute, terrifying apathy. He offered a single, sharp nod to the Captain of the Knights.
"Get this traitorous filth out of my sight," Gherman ordered coldly.
The knights forcefully dragged the weeping, laughing Marquis out of the courtroom, the heavy double doors slamming shut behind them with a resounding boom.
Headmaster William looked across the table at Grand Duke Raemond. He offered a slow, deeply respectful nod of his head, silently thanking the Duke for providing the undeniable, brutal evidence needed to crush the Aristocratic Faction's coup.
Raemond completely, utterly ignored the Headmaster's gesture of thanks, his glacial eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Emperor Gherman held his head high, adjusting his heavy golden crown. He swept his gaze across the remaining, terrified nobles.
"Now. If anyone else in this room wishes to speak up..." Gherman announced, his voice ringing with absolute dominance.
"...Then speak up right now, and tell me your honest opinions regarding this incident."
The gathered nobles of the Rosania Empire looked at the Emperor. They looked at the puddle of black blood soaking into the table. They looked at the Shield of the North sitting casually in his chair.
They remained absolutely, terrifyingly silent. Not a single soul dared to draw breath.
Gherman let out a long, heavy sigh of satisfaction.
"If absolutely no one wishes to share their concerns or their political opinions regarding this tragic incident, then—"
Gherman picked up his heavy, golden imperial gavel.
"Then this emergency meeting is..."
-SLAM!
He struck the sounding block with absolute finality.
"....Over. You are all dismissed."
Slowly, quietly, and moving with extreme caution, the terrified nobles of the Aristocratic Faction, the plotting lords of the First Empress's Faction, and the relieved loyalists of the Royal Faction stood up and began filing out of the courtroom, desperate to escape the suffocating tension.
Gherman waited until the room was nearly empty before letting out a massive, exhausted groan, rubbing his temples. He stood up from the throne and began to walk toward the private exit behind the dais.
He noticed Raemond hadn't moved. The Grand Duke was still sitting in his chair, staring blankly ahead.
"Why are you still sitting here, Raemond?" Gherman asked, his tone dropping the imperial formality, sounding just like a deeply tired, old friend.
Raemond slowly stood up, smoothing the wrinkles from his midnight-blue velvet coat.
"Follow me to your VIP secure room," Raemond replied, his voice flat, offering no room for argument.
Gherman nodded his head, knowing better than to deny the Duke a private audience.
***
The Imperial Palace.The Emperor's Private VIP Sanctuary.Fifteen Minutes Later.
Both men were currently locked inside the Royal VIP room. It was the absolute most heavily secured, magically warded, and soundproofed chamber in the entire Imperial Palace. Even the most powerful Divination magic or the stealthiest Night Raven assassin would be completely unable to hear a single whisper of what was discussed within these four walls.
Raemond walked silently across the plush carpet and unlatched the heavy glass of the massive window, letting a cool, refreshing afternoon breeze sweep into the stuffy room.
He turned around as Gherman approached, holding out a delicate porcelain teacup filled with steaming, high-grade herbal tea.
Raemond accepted the cup. "Thanks..."
"You are entirely welcome, my dear friend," Gherman replied softly, taking a sip from his own cup, enjoying the brief respite from the political madness.
For a long, agonizingly tense minute, neither of the two most powerful men in the Empire spoke a single word. The only sound was the wind rustling the heavy silk curtains.
Finally, Raemond broke the suffocating silence. He didn't look at Gherman; he kept his glacial eyes fixed on the horizon outside the window.
"Did you manage to find it already?" Raemond asked, his voice low, thrumming with a dark, terrifying anticipation.
"Find what, exactly?" Gherman questioned, momentarily confused by the abrupt shift in topic. Then, a second later, he realized exactly what his friend was asking about. He let out a soft "Ahh."
Gherman lowered his teacup, his expression turning deeply apologetic and incredibly nervous.
"If you are actively talking about the specific, ancient artifact that you are seeking..." Gherman started, taking another hesitant sip of tea to buy time.
"....I am truly sorry, Raemond, but we still do not have any actionable intelligence regarding it. My spies and scholars couldn't find any concrete information about its true nature, nor have we located its exact, current geographical location."
Gherman sighed heavily, rubbing his tired eyes.
"I am profoundly sorry, Raemond...." Gherman apologized genuinely. "....We have absolutely tried everything we can. We utilized the full extent of the royal spy network, but—"
-SLAM!
Raemond violently, aggressively slammed his delicate porcelain teacup down onto the polished mahogany side table. The sheer, sudden force of the impact shattered the fragile porcelain into a dozen pieces, sending scalding hot tea splashing across the wood and onto Raemond's silver-threaded sleeve.
He didn't flinch at the heat.
"Do absolutely not give me that pathetic, bureaucratic bullshit, Gherman!" Raemond snarled, his voice dropping into a terrifying, demonic growl. He spun around, his dead gray eyes flaring with a sudden, murderous intensity.
"You explicitly, bindingly promised me when we forged our alliance that you would find it for me, no matter what it takes!" Raemond roared, violently clenching his large hands into fists at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking ominously.
Gherman visibly recoiled, holding up his hands in a desperate, placating gesture.
"I know! I promise you, Raemond, I am still keeping my promise!" Gherman pleaded, trying to de-escalate the terrifying wrath of the Northern Warlord. "I promise you, we are still actively searching! You just need to have a little more patience, alright? It is an incredibly obscure, highly guarded relic!"
Raemond glared at Gherman for a long, terrifying moment, his chest heaving with suppressed rage. The air in the room felt thick, suffocating under his killing intent.
Finally, Raemond let out a long, hissing sigh through his teeth. He forcefully reigned in his monstrous temper.
He turned his back on the Emperor and walked slowly out onto the open veranda, taking deep, slow breaths of the fresh air to cool the burning rage in his veins.
Gherman, wiping a bead of nervous sweat from his brow, cautiously followed his friend out onto the balcony, keeping a safe distance. He desperately needed to change the subject to something less volatile.
"So... ho-how is Iverika doing?" Gherman asked hesitantly, inquiring about Raemond's current, primary wife.
Raemond, leaning his massive forearms against the stone balustrade, finally seemed to completely cool down. A strange, twisted, entirely genuine smile touched his lips.
"She is doing absolutely perfectly..." Raemond replied, his voice softening into something resembling affection, though it was laced with a dark, possessive undertone.
"....Though, exactly two days ago, she foolishly attempted to physically escape the borders of the Northern Duchy again. It was a rather amusing coincidence that she made her desperate run right after she received the official, tragic news of Rudeus' death in the simulation."
Gherman didn't look surprised. He knew exactly why the Duchess Iverika was constantly, desperately trying to escape the confines of the Blackfyre estate. He intimately, horrifically knew the true, monstrous nature of his best friend.
After all, Gherman had seen it firsthand, years ago. Gherman had been the one who had actively, covertly assisted Raemond in successfully abducting Maleficent—Raemond's first wife—during the chaotic military skirmishes when they were defending the northern borders against the invading forces of the Arendelle Kingdom. Gherman knew the depths of Raemond's depravity.
Gherman leaned against the stone railing, looking sideways at the Duke.
"It seems... you honestly do not care in the slightest about your own son's brutal death," Gherman observed, his voice tinged with a morbid curiosity.
Raemond slowly lifted his right eyebrow, a gesture of profound, aristocratic arrogance, as he heard Gherman's assessment.
"Is it really that incredibly obvious?" Raemond asked, a dark smirk returning to his face.
Gherman nodded slowly. "Yes... it is."
Raemond turned his head, locking his glacial, uncaring gray eyes onto the Emperor.
"I absolutely did not care about a single one of them from the very first moment they drew breath," Raemond confessed, his voice utterly devoid of paternal warmth. "With the sole, minor exception of Ryekard, because he possesses tactical utility. Though, truth be told, even Ryekard is rapidly starting to become a massive disappointment to me."
"Really?" Gherman questioned, genuinely surprised. "Even after that incident three days ago, when Rudeus went berserk in the arena and nearly beat Aemond to death? I thought that display of brutality might have finally earned your respect."
Raemond scoffed loudly, a harsh, dismissive sound.
"Yeah. Those pathetic children I sired with Iverika are nothing but absolute, genetic disappointments," Raemond stated coldly, staring out over the capital. "And that explicit failure entirely includes the child I sired with Maleficent, too."
Gherman frowned, deeply disturbed by the casual cruelty.
"Then why?" Gherman asked, genuinely baffled by the contradiction. "If you view them as useless disappointments, why did you continuously create so many children with Iverika over the years?"
Raemond threw his head back and actually laughed at his best friend's naive question.
"Why? Because I love Iverika, of course..." Raemond declared, his voice dripping with a twisted, sickening sincerity.
"...I love her so incredibly, overwhelmingly much that I actively, deliberately isolate her entirely from the real world. I keep her locked safely away, deep within the impenetrable walls of my duchy, entirely for myself."
Raemond reached up with his right hand. He gently, almost reverently, touched the golden diamond wedding ring resting on his left index finger—the ring that symbolized his union with Iverika.
"And you already intimately know my fundamental nature, Gherman..." Raemond murmured, his glacial eyes darkening with a terrifying, absolute obsession.
"...I am profoundly, irreparably obsessed and violently possessive when it comes to my wives. They are mine. Entirely mine."
Raemond paused, his gaze drifting back to the sky.
"But... you surely know the true, hidden reason why I am forced to isolate Iverika so heavily, don't you?"
Gherman shook his head. "I assumed it was simply your possessive nature."
"No." Raemond smiled, a chilling, humorless expression.
"It is explicitly because she is the direct, primary reason for Maleficent's death..."
Gherman's eyes widened in profound, unadulterated shock as he heard the confession. He gripped the stone railing tightly.
"Wha-what?!" Gherman gasped. "I-I honestly thought she deeply cared for Maleficent! I thought Iverika secretly tried to help her escape from your grasp back then!"
Raemond scoffed again, looking incredibly amused by the Emperor's ignorance of the tragedy that had unfolded in his own home.
"Hmm! Yes, that is technically true. They did care for each other. They bonded over their shared misery," Raemond admitted, his tone mocking. "But..."
"....She ultimately delivered the lethal poison because Maleficent got on her hands and knees and actively, desperately begged Iverika to murder her."
Gherman stared at Raemond, absolutely horrified. He intimately knew how deeply miserable and psychologically broken Raemond's wives were under his tyrannical, abusive control. After all, Iverika had eventually developed a severe, tragic case of Stockholm Syndrome, bonding with Maleficent after enduring years of relentless physical and emotional abuse from the Grand Duke.
"Wha-what could possibly be the reason?" Gherman asked, his voice trembling. "Why on earth would Maleficent desperately beg Iverika to execute her?"
Raemond stared up at the clear, azure sky, his expression entirely apathetic, completely detached from the horrific tragedy he was recounting.
"It happened shortly after she bore Rudeus..." Raemond explained casually.
"...When Maleficent finally saw the infant Rudeus's physical description... when she saw his green hair and his mismatched eyes... she instantly, instinctively knew that I would mercilessly execute the child because he completely failed to inherit my superior physical traits."
Raemond leaned against the railing, examining his manicured fingernails.
"She was absolutely, hysterically terrified about it. Even though I genuinely, truly did not care about the infant, and I explicitly told her we could simply dispose of him and keep having more heirs until she produced a suitable one..."
"I see..." Gherman whispered, piecing the horrific puzzle together. He felt a deep, twisting sickness in his stomach.
"That must be the tragic reason, then," Gherman concluded. "That must be the reason why she begged Iverika to poison her and end her life. She sacrificed herself so that you would be distracted by grief, and you wouldn't bother to execute the infant Rudeus."
Raemond threw his head back and laughed loudly, an incredibly cruel, grating sound that echoed off the palace walls.
"Hah! Yes, exactly! But even though she foolishly sacrificed her own life, it was all entirely, fundamentally useless in the end!" Raemond mocked, deeply amused by the tragic futility of it all.
"After all, my dear Iverika took up the mantle. She deliberately, publicly named Rudeus a 'bastard' and a 'defect,' actively encouraging his brothers to abuse him..."
"...Though, of course, I knew she was only doing it to make him appear utterly worthless to me, in order to save him from my direct, lethal attention. She was protecting him because that pathetic kid had the ancient, magical Faery blood running through his veins."
Raemond shook his head, a wide, sadistic smile stretching across his face.
"But do you see the supreme, hilarious irony, Gherman? All of Maleficent's desperate, tragic hard work, her ultimate sacrifice... it completely came to naught. Because eventually, despite all of their scheming to protect him, Rudeus died anyway in that simulation."
Raemond looked at Gherman, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.
"The universe always corrects itself."
Gherman stared at the absolute, irredeemable monster standing beside him. He opened his mouth to reply, to condemn the madness, but before he could speak...
A sharp, urgent knocking echoed from the heavy wooden door of the VIP room.
-KNOCK!
-KNOCK!
-KNOCK!
Gherman let out a massive, exhausted sigh, infinitely grateful for the interruption.
"Come in!" Gherman responded loudly, stepping away from the veranda.
The heavy locks clicked, and the door swung open. A figure stepped quickly and silently into the secure room.
It was none other than Amanda, the Head Maid and leader of the Night Ravens. She was not wearing her usual pristine maid uniform, but a set of dark, dust-covered traveling leathers. She looked incredibly exhausted, having clearly just returned from a massive, long-distance covert operation.
She immediately dropped to one knee, bowing her head respectfully.
"Your Highness. My Lord Duke. I have returned, and I have come to deliver an urgent report," Amanda stated, her voice crisp and professional despite her fatigue.
Gherman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He assumed he knew exactly what this was about.
"If this report is regarding Princess Veronica aggressively isolating herself in her chambers and refusing to eat, then that can absolutely wait, Amanda," Gherman said tiredly. "We are currently engaged in a highly sensitive, vital political discussion here."
Amanda snapped her head up, her slate-grey eyes burning with intense urgency.
"No, Your Highness! This report is absolutely not about Princess Veronica, nor is it about her tragic isolation following the news of Rudeus's death," Amanda clarified sharply. "This intelligence is infinitely more important than that."
Raemond, who had been leaning casually against the veranda doorframe, suddenly straightened up. His dead gray eyes locked onto the assassin with a sudden, terrifying intensity.
"Let's hear it, Gherman," Raemond commanded, his voice dropping an octave.
Gherman let out another sigh, waving his hand in a gesture for her to rise.
"Stand up. Let's hear your report, Lady Amanda."
Amanda nodded, standing up smoothly. She reached into her heavy leather travel satchel. With extreme, almost reverent care, she pulled out a heavy object wrapped securely in thick, dark velvet.
She stepped forward and offered the wrapped package directly to Emperor Gherman.
"Here, Your Highness..."
Gherman took the heavy package. He slowly, carefully peeled back the dark velvet wrappings.
When he saw the object resting in his hands, his dark blue eyes widened to their absolute limits in profound, unadulterated shock.
"Th-this is...!" Gherman gasped, his breath hitching. He immediately, frantically looked up at Raemond.
Raemond's glacial eyes widened equally, a terrifying, manic light suddenly igniting in the dead gray irises.
"That is absolutely correct, Your Highness," Amanda confirmed, her voice perfectly steady. "After five grueling, agonizing years of relentlessly searching the continent, infiltrating restricted archives, and deploying our entire spy network... we have finally, successfully located and secured the ancient, forbidden book of the Faery House. It was hidden deep within the royal vaults of the Clovius Kingdom."
Amanda gestured toward the ancient, leather-bound tome in Gherman's hands.
"It is the legendary Book of the Saint of the Damned Souls," Amanda continued, delivering the intelligence briefing. "Within those ancient pages, it meticulously, explicitly records the exact, forbidden magical rituals on how the bloodline of the Faery House granted unrestful souls the ability to return or find peace."
Amanda paused, her eyes shifting nervously toward the Grand Duke.
"And... incredibly importantly, it explicitly writes and records Lady Maleficent's true, full name within its lineage."
"The 57th Saint of the Damned Souls. And the current—"
Amanda quickly corrected herself, realizing her mistake.
"...No. The late Saintess of the souls of the damned, who possessed the divine authority to grant them rest."
Before Gherman could even process the monumental implications of the discovery, a blur of motion crossed the room.
Raemond violently, aggressively snatched the ancient, heavy book directly out of Gherman's trembling hands.
Raemond stared down at the crumbling leather cover, tracing the faded, golden runic crest of the Faery House with his thumb. His hands, which had previously crushed a teacup without trembling, were now visibly shaking with overwhelming emotion.
The Emperor and the Night Ravens had finally, successfully found the impossible artifact he had sought for years. This was the exact, agreed-upon payment for the massive political alliance between the Royal Family and the Northern Duchy. This was the price he had demanded to deploy his legions to protect Princess Veronica from the assassination attempts orchestrated by the First Empress's faction.
A low, vibrating chuckle rumbled in Raemond's chest.
"Heh..."
The chuckle escalated.
"Hahahahahaha...."
Raemond threw his head back.
"Hahahahahahahahahaha...."
The laughter completely broke the boundaries of sanity.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...."
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"
Raemond's maniacal, booming laughter echoed terrifyingly off the stone walls of the VIP room, a sound of pure, unhinged, obsessive triumph. He violently gripped the ancient book, pressing it tightly against his chest.
"Ahh~, I have finally, miraculously found you, my precious key!" Raemond moaned, his voice dripping with a sickening, fanatical devotion.
"The absolute, undeniable key to finally revive my beloved Maleficent!!!" Raemond declared, his eyes burning with the manic fire of a man about to break the fundamental laws of nature.
Gherman stared at his best friend, his blood running completely cold. He looked at the man in a profoundly terrified, deeply disgusted manner.
"Since you have finally, officially received your demanded payment..." Gherman asked, his voice trembling slightly, desperate to ensure the bargain held.
"...Will you formally, bindingly promise to protect my daughter, Veronica, from the impending civil war?"
Raemond slowly lowered the book, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. He looked directly at Gherman, his manic expression melting back into the cold, calculating mask of the Warlord.
"Yes. I promise," Raemond stated, his voice flat and absolute. "My legions will march for the Princess."
Raemond turned away, gently stroking the cover of the book.
"...And, thanks entirely to the diligent efforts of you both, I can finally, beautifully revive her."
Without another word, without a bow or a farewell, Raemond turned and swiftly exited the VIP room, his heavy boots echoing down the hallway as he rushed back to the North to begin his unholy work.
Gherman stood perfectly still for a full, agonizing five minutes after the heavy wooden door clicked shut. Finally, the suffocating, terrifying atmosphere of the Warlord completely dissipated from the room.
Gherman let out a massive, trembling sigh, collapsing heavily into one of the plush armchairs, burying his face in his hands.
Amanda remained standing in the center of the room, looking at the broken Emperor.
"Was it honestly, truly not the right thing to do, Your Highness?" Amanda asked softly, voicing her deep, lingering concern.
"You know the truth as well as I do. Since we have finally translated and uncovered the true, forbidden abilities of the Faery Family, including all of its terrifying, biological details... what Lord Raemond is about to attempt to do with that book will absolutely, undeniably be categorized by the Church as high-tier necromancy." Amanda stated, her assassin's conscience troubled by the cosmic implications of their trade.
Gherman slowly lowered his hands, looking up at the ceiling with dead, exhausted eyes.
"I know, Amanda. I intimately know the heresy of what we have just unleashed..." Gherman whispered, his voice thick with guilt.
"...But it is a desperately necessary sacrifice. It is the only way to ensure we possess the military might to protect Veronica."
Gherman sat forward, clasping his hands together tightly.
"Yes. To protect Veronica from the insidious, murderous grasps of the First Empress and her vile son, the Crown Prince. If we must permit a madman to break the laws of death to keep my daughter alive... then so be it."
Amanda stared at the Emperor, absorbing the brutal, uncompromising pragmatism of the imperial throne.
She offered a slow, heavy nod of her head.
She turned and walked over to the open veranda, leaning against the stone balustrade. She looked out at the clear, azure skies over the capital, her slate-grey eyes troubled and incredibly tired.
'I desperately, profoundly hope...' Amanda thought inwardly, a heavy weight settling over her soul as she watched a flock of birds fly past the sun.
'I truly hope that what I did today was the right thing to do...'