If You Leave Without a Word - Chapter 249

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

This time, not even Karon, Rubens, or Lehman could hold Cain back.

The birth of his child—his very first—was a joy that rightfully belonged first and foremost to the child’s father. Everyone else, stifling their own curiosity, stepped back and gave Cain space to be the first to hear his newborn’s cry and to see him.

“Congratulations, Commander!”

Lehman was the first to offer his heartfelt congratulations amid the excitement. To have a child of his own flesh and blood—a swirl of emotions, joy and anticipation, overwhelmed Cain so completely that he found himself at a loss for words.

“Congratulations, Marquis Vernat!”

Karon quickly followed and gave his congratulations, clapping Cain warmly on the shoulder with a broad, proud grin, declaring that becoming a father was the mark of a true man.

Cain still couldn’t find words to answer.

“Congratulations!”

At Lehman’s lead, the knights of the Vernat Order chorused their congratulations in loud voices. The sound was so loud, it carried all the way into the nursery from outside the orphanage, where they stood.

It wasn’t until the tightly shut bedroom door finally opened that Cain, still in a daze, managed to gather his wits.

⚜ ⚜ ⚜

Three months later, capital city Leden.

Tension hung heavy in the air.

The rumors of succession struggles had set the city on edge.

It all started when the throne—once expected to pass easily to Crown Prince Mernich—began to waver due to the rapidly declining health of Emperor Vlahova. The Emperor, once famed for his iron will and the unrivaled power he wielded, hadn’t appeared in public for over two months.

As always, rumors spread fast and grew even faster. The capital buzzed with gossip.

Was the Emperor’s condition really so grave that he couldn’t leave his quarters? Was he able to walk? Now that both the crown prince and his own heir had been produced, was he planning to abdicate? Or worse, had he already passed away, his death being concealed from the public?

The endless postponement of any public appearances only fueled the rumors further.

People gossiped with abandon, never guessing that someone behind the scenes was intentionally fanning the flames. But all it took was for idle tongues to repeat the stories, swelling the rumors into something almost unstoppable.

Rumors move faster than wildfire, they say, and so it was with these—the whispers from the palace rapidly spreading out to the entire capital, then to the great cities beyond.

Soon, it was taken as fact: the Emperor was incapacitated. After all, if the rumors were untrue, wouldn’t His Majesty have come out to quash them long ago? His continued silence made people certain the gossip must be true.

Watching the chaos from the shadows with a satisfied smile was the very person who stood to gain the most from these swirling rumors:

Grand Duke Norfolk.

No one benefited more from the talk of Emperor Vlahova’s failing health than the Grand Duke, even with Crown Prince Mernich still officially the heir.

Why did Grand Duke Norfolk stand to gain so much, when he’d long ago fallen out of political favor? The answer was simple.

People had always whispered that Crown Prince Mernich was too gentle and timid to be a true Emperor. But so long as the Emperor’s only son had the full, unwavering support of his father—the greatest monarch in living memory—no one dared question the succession.

In short, the crown prince’s sole source of strength was his father’s protection.

When it comes to the throne, nothing matters more than the Emperor’s endorsement. As long as Vlahova was strong, no one questioned Mernich’s suitability, not even the most powerful nobles.

But if the only pillar holding up the succession faltered, as it seemed to be doing now, things quickly became dangerous. This was the current crisis.

Though Mernich had the support as the Emperor’s only son, he had never truly won the hearts of the capital’s great lords. They whispered that he was too softhearted, unable even to kill a bug.

To rule a nation sometimes meant embracing ruthlessness, just as Emperor Vlahova had done—purging his own blood relatives to seize the throne, and spilling rivers of blood to strengthen his empire.

To protect the country and its people, a ruler must, at times, become a monster.

But Mernich had declared that as long as he lived, there would be no more wars, for even an enemy’s soldiers were someone’s beloved child or parent.

The common folk, who would be sent to fight and die, cheered him for it. But the nobility was unconvinced. They knew that an empire, built on the blood of others, could not survive unless it kept on shedding it.