The prince turned his head slightly and murmured under his breath.

“Say… do you think we can go without a carriage all the way to the capital? I imagine watching this spectacle play out for days might wear on you.”

He glanced at the commander of the Hongik Knights, whose face instantly paled.

“Bring the carriage! Now! Fetch the Border Count’s carriage at once!”

The man nearly shrieked with urgency, as if the fate of the empire depended on the presence of that single black-lacquered coach.

It didn’t take long for the scene to blossom into rumor.

From merchant caravans to passing travelers, the story scattered across nearby cities and baronies like seeds on the wind.

And as with all rumors, the tale began to grow fat with fiction.

“At first, I didn’t believe it, but I swear,Sir Lucar had a sword at the prince’s throat! But get this,His Highness just leaned into it. No fear. And that big-shot Swordmaster? He backed away!”

At first, the retellings had some truth. But with each village it passed through, the core warped.

Now, the story claimed that the prince had threatened Lucar instead,had used his own neck as leverage. Others swore they were allies all along, putting on a show. Some whispered that the North was holding the prince hostage to demand independence.

By the time the tale had circled the region, one version reigned supreme:

The prince and the count were working together. Their “hostage act” was a calculated farce. They were marching toward the capital, playing everyone for fools.

And why such an elaborate deception?

“Didn’t you hear? The North’s about to fall. They had to do something insane just to survive. No one in the palace listens otherwise!”

Thus, the phrase caught on: The North was on the brink of destruction.

The merchants who spread this tale hitched their wagons and moved on toward their next destination,a factory owned by the Viscount of Royce.

The same kinds of conversations were happening all across the empire.

Naturally, word of the prince’s bizarre hostage stunt reached Steel Fortress by the following morning.

A royal council was called in haste.

“Are you telling us His Highness is in danger, and not a single knight in attendance did anything?!”

“Watch your mouth! Are you suggesting the knights let this happen on purpose?!”

“That’s not the point! What matters is how we retrieve the prince!”

“There are… rumors. Some say the prince and Lucar are conspiring. That they orchestrated the entire hostage scenario together.”

“Silence! Are you accusing the prince of treason?!”

“You’re the one who brought up treason! I said we need a proper investigation!”

“We need to consider the North’s movements as well. This may be a decoy,something to draw our eyes away from their real plan.”

“A decoy? A trick? And you’d let His Highness suffer in the process? Are you no different from the traitors you claim to oppose?!”

The shouting rose and fell like waves crashing against stone. Not a single solution emerged,only accusations and suspicion.

Then, a voice dared to speak what others would not.

“We must ensure the prince’s safety. But perhaps this is also a chance,to hear the North’s grievances.”

The moment the suggestion left the speaker’s mouth,

“How dare you?! Hear what? You’d listen to the words of rebels? Are you mad?!”

“You’ve been to the North before, haven’t you? A ‘personal trip’ you said? Is that when you conspired with them?!”

The conversation devolved into chaos. Fingers pointed. Voices shouted. Men lunged.

Yet, despite their disarray, all their howling gradually coalesced into a single shared conclusion:

Whether the prince was truly a hostage or secretly in league with the North, one thing was clear,

The North had committed treason.

And so the voices began to agree:

“If the Eskimos and monsters are moving south, then let them fight the North. Let them tear each other apart.”

“Exactly!”

“We must cut all support to the North! Starve them of aid before they reach the capital!”

They would abandon the North.

At last, their shouts were unified.

A grotesque consensus.

Despite the lack of proof, without official orders, they had already deployed troops and knights from the gates to the capital.

Now they would sever all support. Abandon their own territory. Imperial soil.

They turned as one to the throne, and roared:

“Cut off the North!”

Their voices surged in a wave. A chorus of cruelty.

At the apex of the throne, seated upon his lofty dais, the Emperor closed his eyes.

Silence. For a moment, he said nothing.

“Cut off the North!”

Again, the voices echoed.

The Emperor gripped the arms of his throne, his hands clenching so tight the wood creaked beneath his fingers.

He knew these men would not listen.

They were like a wall,no, not even that. Like a solid wall of flesh. Impenetrable.

His chest burned with frustration, but he hadn’t given up.

He still remembered Lucar’s loyalty,his old fencing master, once full of fire and unyielding purpose.

He still recalled his son’s words, how the boy vowed to burn away the rot of the Empire and purify it with flame.

Aziel was a difficult child. But in recent days, he had changed.

He had grown.

The Emperor wanted to believe in him.

In his previous life, he had died because of such belief,killed by the very son he had trusted.

But this life would not follow the same path.

“How many citizens reside in the North? How many soldiers? If it falls to monsters, who will bear that burden? They are not even marching south, and yet you cry treason!”

“Your Majesty! You must act! Treason must be rooted out before it begins!”

“We let the traitors and monsters destroy each other! That is the best outcome!”

“Your Majesty, you must choose!”

“Your Majesty, hear our plea!”

The room devolved once more into cries of “Hear our plea!”

As though repetition would make them right.

But he knew,if he gave them what they wanted, all blame would fall on him.

Why did no one offer a better path?

Why did no one in this vast hall speak the truth?

His chest ached with fury.

He was angry at them,for their cowardice.

Angry at the prince,for putting him in this position.

Angry at the North,for dragging the Empire to the edge.

He wanted to give up.

As he had once before.

But then, just before his resolve could break,

A sound.

A shift.

He heard movement beyond the chamber doors.

“Let them in,” he said quietly.

His gaze turned beyond his ministers, to the enormous doors of the imperial audience chamber.

Even if the men before him refused to listen,Steel Fortress still obeyed its Emperor.

The great fortress groaned, the very architecture shifting.

Walls withdrew. Hallways aligned.

The road from the throne to the main gate of the fortress connected in a single, straight line.

And then,steel locks groaned.

The doors of the audience chamber. The palace. The inner courtyard. And finally, the main gate.

All opened as one.

Through the perfect alignment of nested gates, a sound echoed:

Clop. Clop. Clop.

Hooves. Steady. Measured. Proud.

The Count’s carriage rolled down the main road, flanked by knights.

The figures within drew every eye.

The commander of the Hongik Knights, running beside the carriage, caught sight of the Emperor and let out a ragged breath.

“Your Majesty…”

Tears welled in his eyes as the weight of their journey hit him.

At last, the carriage arrived.

The door opened.

And the prince descended.

Platinum hair cascading like a lion’s mane. Crimson eyes glinting with battle and brilliance. A hideous greatsword slung across his back.

He was regal. Arrogant. Fearsome.

A living contradiction.

The blade of Lucar’s sword hovered at his throat, yet it could not touch his pride.

“Gasp!”

“T-Traitor!”

“Protect His Majesty!”

The ministers shrieked, stumbled, panicked.

But the prince and the Emperor?

Unmoved.

The knights drew close, shielding both Lucar and Aziel from any sudden threat.

And then,

Thud.

The prince slammed the sword Breaker into the marble floor.

“I, Aziel, Eleventh Prince of the Empire, stand before His Majesty! I beg forgiveness for my rudeness in approaching so directly!”

“…”

“All actions taken,from gathering the Northern troops, to placing a blade at my own neck,were by my command! I stand here with a general’s sword, for a general is permitted to bear arms in wartime before the throne!”

“…”

“I bring proof! And I swear, nothing was done in malice! But before I present it,please, grant me one request!”

The Emperor gave a slow nod.

“Speak.”

The prince inhaled.

Turned to the ministers.

And roared.

“You worthless, traitorous shitbags! The ones who dared to suggest abandoning the North,stick your heads in the ground and die! You are the real enemies of this Empire!”

Shitbags! Shitbags! Shitbags!

Die! Die! Die!

Enemies! Enemies! Enemies!

His curses echoed like thunder. Reverberating off stone. Drenching the chamber in fire.

No one could speak. They stood frozen.

Except the Emperor.

“Ahem.”

A soft cough. Half-choked. Half-laughing.

It was not the explanation he’d expected.

Not remotely.

But as the prince’s voice rang out, as his curses tore through the audience like music through a symphony…

The Emperor’s chest eased.

That tight pain, the stabbing frustration,it finally sank.

And he found himself smiling.

The prince’s crudeness was foul,but also righteous.

And it was, strangely, beautiful.

More beautiful than any song.

And so, without even realizing it,

“Say more,” the Emperor murmured.

A royal request.

The Emperor had found a new joy that day.

A delight in his son’s fire.