Chapter 119

―Thud… thud.

Straight fingers tapped the table in an irregular rhythm.

If one followed the heavy sound, as weighted as someone’s impatience…

“……”

Duke Benerix sat there, his cold eyes fixed on the window.

It had been quite a while since he’d sent an assassin to the North Tower, yet there was still no word.

Had something gone wrong? Was there a variable he hadn’t accounted for?

The mask of composure he struggled to wear was beginning to crack.

A moment later—

―!

From the North Tower he had been staring at, the awaited signal flared.

At last!

Duke Benerix stiffened.

A signal visible only to him, who had taken the potion.

Scarlet and golden flames blossomed magnificently across the sky.

It was the sign of success—the emperor’s life had been taken.

And soon after—

“My lord, there’s been an explosion at the North Tower!”

The awaited news arrived by messenger as well.

Though he already knew…

“What did you say?”

Feigning shock, he sprang to his feet.

“His Majesty—is His Majesty safe?”

“That is…”

“Send men to the North Tower at once—no, I’ll go myself!”

Duke Benerix stormed out of the chamber.

The duke’s plan had three parts:

To stage a hostage crisis at Port of Pomers and ultimately drown Rodella Syveric.

To have the Red Knights sent to the Chancellor’s manor suppress or eliminate Ameris.

And finally, to seize the imperial palace himself.

Even if only two of the three succeeded, it would be a victory.

But unease had begun to gnaw at him.

By now, there should have been reports of success—but no word had come from Port of Pomers or the Chancellor’s manor.

Just as his doubts were growing, the emperor’s assassination had gone as planned, and he believed that good news would open the floodgates for more.

Of course, he couldn’t let his delight show.

“Your Grace!”

He hurried toward the North Tower, checking the state of the troops as he went.

Under the pretext of guarding against assassins, he had quietly thinned their numbers, stationing most in the outer fortress.

But many of those men were loyal to the emperor, and they would soon sense something was amiss.

He needed to act quickly.

Only when the emperor’s death was confirmed would all authority pass to him.

Blood ties worked that way.

“What has happened to His Majesty?”

“No… it can’t be…”

As servants and attendants whispered in fear, Duke Benerix arrived at the tower.

“The stairs…!”

The Red Knights at his side suddenly remembered—they had destroyed the stairs leading to the third floor to block the emperor’s escape.

But Benerix showed no panic.

“Ladders! Bring ladders!”

“It’s dangerous to climb up with a ladder here!” they protested in alarm.

The palace towers had high ceilings; a fall from the stairs above would be like falling two full stories—onto stairs at that.

But the duke thundered,

“His Majesty is up there!”

None could match such loyal devotion.

Thus, with a ladder brought from somewhere, Duke Benerix ascended to the third floor.

And then—

“Your Majesty!!”

A wail burst from the room where the emperor had been.

By now, he was surely looking upon a mangled corpse crushed beneath collapsed walls, the body rendered unrecognizable by the blast artifact.

The accessories and garments unique to the imperial family had been put on it—how could he doubt?

And the true emperor?

“……”

He sat hidden in a secret passage, listening alongside Aivert and Rodella.

He did not look surprised at all, as if he had expected this.

Aivert smirked faintly.

That man could make a living as an actor on the streets, his expression seemed to say.

Rodella’s thoughts were much the same.

The duke’s grief-stricken howls were almost too convincing.

His cries grew so loud that soon other nobles had gathered. One shouted, “This is no time for mourning! We must find the one who dared harm His Majesty and annihilate their family!”

Another paragon of loyalty.

As Rodella looked on in disbelief, Duke Benerix spoke in a trembling voice,

“Y-yes… you are right. Whoever dared spill my nephew’s blood… will never be forgiven.”

Even the tremor in his tone was art.

Then he proclaimed solemnly,

“His Majesty has passed. I shall inherit his will and stabilize the empire. But before that—!”

He raised his voice.

“Disband the palace guard tainted by betrayal! Summon the leading nobles and heads of houses from the outer fortress into the palace!”

The pretext was that there might be traitors among them.

In truth, it was a ploy to seize the palace and keep the empire’s major nobles under his watch.

Having heard enough, Aivert began to move.

Sweet honey was always earned through trial.

Malik Bran’s fall from the post of Chief of Protocol had been but a small trial, thought Marquis Shuan, one of Benerix’s confidants.

As head of the diplomatic office, he had long served the noble faction.

But since the empire had dominated the continent for so long, diplomacy had lost much of its importance.

Neighboring kingdoms groveled without prompting.

Thus, Shuan had worried about how to prove his loyalty to Duke Benerix.

Until—

“His Majesty will be confined in the North Tower. I’d like you to oversee that place.”

Was that not an order to ensure the emperor could be ‘naturally’ assassinated?

“…Understood.”

With a grave face befitting the occasion, he locked the emperor in on the third floor and even blasted the stairs between the second and third floors.

It stripped the emperor of any escape route.

And then—

―KABOOM!

A massive explosion shook the tower.

Chaos erupted, and Shuan, alongside Benerix, beheld the emperor’s “corpse.”

The body wore the regalia and artifacts permitted only to the imperial bloodline.

“Your Majesty—!”

He cried out in sorrow, though the true plan was only beginning.

First, disarm the emperor’s soldiers in the palace.

Then, fill the palace with Duke Benerix’s men—no, Emperor Benerix’s men…

―Whack!

His thoughts ended with a sharp blow to the back of his head.

―Splash!

He awoke with cold water poured over him.

And before him—

“Shh.”

—stood Aivert Royden, who had no business being here.

And beside him—

“……”

Rodella Syveric, who was supposed to have drowned near Port of Pomers, pressed a finger to her lips.

That was shocking enough, but what truly made Marquis Shuan believe this must be a dream was—

“Been a while, Marquis Shuan.”

The emperor himself, clad like an assassin.

“?”

Marquis Shuan’s jaw dropped.

The emperor—why was he here? How could he be here alive and well?