Chapter 164
The Emperor stroked his chin, visibly puzzled by his wife’s unexpectedly docile demeanor. For her part, Sylvea only smiled sweetly, as if she couldn’t even be bothered to find him repulsive.
“There’s something important I need to discuss with you.”
“Hm, is that so?”
“It’s been a long time since we, as husband and wife, have sat down to talk alone like this.”
“Yes, yes, you’re right. Now that your son’s in such a state, I suppose it’s time for us to talk.”
Sylvea simply gave him a faint, knowing smile as the Emperor tried to puff himself up. She then discreetly signaled to a servant to approach.
“Shall we discuss this over a glass of Corbenic wine?”
“Oh… Such a rare treat! You truly have a way of collecting all the finest things, Empress.”
Even the Emperor, who had all the treasures of the world at his disposal, brightened at the sight of the Corbenic luxury vintage. Reports of persistent skin ailments from that region had recently made him wary of indulging, but tonight, he couldn’t resist.
Sylvea watched with a face full of venom as the Emperor eagerly drank his wine. She had been in despair over Tristan’s lack of improvement, but after passing through the worst of it, her mind grew clear.
‘I need to figure out exactly how things became so tangled.’
Why had Eugenie Norton suddenly developed such powerful magical abilities?
Why were all those men—men even the Empress dared not provoke—gathering around her?
The old Sylvea would have attacked Eugenie Norton directly, even at a loss, but she now retraced every step that had led to her current restraints.
The answer came quickly:
‘The wish token given to Duke Troys!’
That damned scrap of paper the Emperor had presented in front of all the nobles at Apollin Norton’s wedding.
“I hereby request compensation for 1,875 campaigns.“
Because he used it so publicly, even Sylvea, mindful of the Emperor’s reputation, hadn’t been able to strike back immediately. But in retrospect, didn’t that seem suspicious?
‘He’s the Emperor, after all, even if he’s a drunken, womanizing fool.’
The imperial line is obsessed with preserving their dignity.
‘Where would Duke Troys use the wish token…?’
Exaggerating it, what if he used his wish to claim exile in Ravenic? What if he used it for something completely beyond the Emperor’s control?’
‘There’s no way that empty-headed old goat could have thought through all the consequences.’
That meant someone must have whispered this plan into the Emperor’s ear.
But who?
Meanwhile, Corbenic wine, though beloved as a luxury, was notorious for its extremely high alcohol content. Even a few glasses could be enough to knock someone out—or, for example, to disguise the taste of a truth serum.
After only a few sips, the Emperor’s face was bright red.
“So it was the temple who advised you to create that wish token…?”
“Ah… mmph…”
“Count Richard Livingston came up with quite the clever suggestion, didn’t he?”
As Sylvea spoke, the Emperor bobbed his head, barely able to think straight.
“My, I didn’t realize you were so close to the Livingstons.”
“That fellow… very… resourceful… doesn’t care for riches…”
“And that’s why you hid your bastard in the Livingston family?”
With a sharp snap, the wine-soaked air fell deadly silent.
“Sylvea, how did—argh!”
How could she have known? But before he could blurt out any more, a searing pain clutched his heart.
“Uuugh!”
The Emperor collapsed to the floor, squealing like a pig. But with everyone else already dismissed from the room, no one heard him fall.
Sylvea walked over and kicked her husband’s disgusting crotch with the point of her high heel.
“Scum—screwing any woman in a dress you can find, and you think you can have secret children elsewhere?”
All the while, he referred to Tristan as ‘your son’. As if he hasn’t created another, more desirable child with another woman.
“The one who will take the throne is Tristan! That’s right—my son!”
Sylvea looked ready to completely shatter his t*******s, and would have kept kicking until dawn if not for the silver-haired man who entered behind her.
“How long do you plan to take out your anger, Sylvea?”
“Ha… well.”
But Sylvea straightened, gathering her thoughts.
“To think the temple had such different motives. Thanks to you, Alokes, I finally have a lead.”
“What do you mean?”
He recalled what he’d glimpsed from Carter Livingston’s memories at the Academy, using a drop of his blood.
“You are a special existence. You possess the blood of the imperial family and the sacred power of the temple. You are the chosen one.“
Moments from Carter’s childhood—when Richard Livingston had been drilling those very words into him.
“So you must not covet the throne of this world. You are to become our god, Arturian, Carter.“
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