Please Die, Your Highness - Chapter 89

The King wept without ceasing. For Mariaks, who did not just admire but worshipped him, the mere sight of it brought a heartache that was unbearable. At the same time, the servant felt a subtle envy and even jealousy toward that mage, whose skin had hardened as stiffly as white bone.

‘If only I had been a mage too. I would have gladly given everything to him. He would have wept in sorrow and been grateful for my death, just like that.’

The thoughts of the servant, which bordered on madness, could proceed no further. Like the others working in the castle, he knew his place well, and he knew the line he must not cross even better.

The servant poured a suitable amount of wash water—prepared generously enough for two people—into a snow-white basin, placed the ceramic jar containing the remaining water to the side, and retreated toward the door.

He offered a very polite bow, as if performing a final act of etiquette, and opened the door to leave.

The King of Sorten, the great Great Mage Fergus, was still unable to pull himself out of his grief. By now, there was no longer any shock. This was exactly the tenth time he had killed a disciple in this manner.

“Ronan.”

With his face still buried in his palms, the King called out a name as if murmuring. At that moment, the door on the far side glowed brightly. It was the door located in the exact opposite direction of the one the servant had entered. It was a door through which only Ronan, Fergus’s most faithful prize disciple and prime minister, could enter and exit.

The door made a humming sound as if it were boiling, and then it fell silent. Finally, with a clack, the door opened and a white-haired mage entered the King’s bedroom.

The old man was not particularly surprised to see the man sitting on the corner of the bed shedding tears. As if it were a familiar occurrence, the old man passed him and looked at his colleague who lay dead, hardened like a plaster statue.

“I will retrieve the body shortly.”

“It is already the tenth one. I have devoured ten people just to preserve my own life.”

The King’s beautiful face was once again stained with tears from uncontrollable grief. The old man with thick white hair looked at his master with an unsurprised face, as if this too were familiar.

“It cannot be helped, Lord Fergus. It is an unavoidable sacrifice for the greater good. Above all, they volunteered for your sake.”

“What help is it to prolong my life in such a way?”

“Do you truly ask because you do not know? The preservation of your life signifies the preservation of this country.”

It was the third time he was saying this, but his master always acted as if it were the first time he had heard it.

Thus, Ronan also went to the window as if for the first time, opened it, and showed him exactly what he had shown before. The beautiful country of mages, Sorten.

A newborn nation that had achieved a high level of advancement incomparable to the uncivilized small countries out there.

“I hope you do not feel guilt, Lord Fergus. We are just as sad as you are. That is why we are repeatedly researching for a vast supply of mana. Results will come out soon. Until then, is there not no other way?”

“…….”

Fergus staggered toward the window where Ronan stood. Sweeping back his platinum blonde hair that reached his shoulders, he looked at the scenery outside the window with a hollow face.

Just as Ronan said, he saw his precious country, which had undergone much development. No trace of anxiety or worry could be found in the eyes of the people passing through the streets, and not a single person went hungry; everyone lived fairly in a house with a roof. It was the ideal nation everyone dreamed of. It was a lovely sight that even the Empire could not dare to imagine.

“We are putting forth every effort for research, and for you. There are also dispatch teams across the entire continent working hard for your sake. They will soon bring back legendary treasures filled with mana.”

“…….”

On the white path, the figure of a young child, who looked to be perhaps seven years old, could be seen waddling and running behind a mother.

The child tripped over their own feet while running and burst into tears, but soon smiled brightly while held in the mother’s arms.

It was a peaceful, lovely, and somehow nostalgic scene.

“……Yes. Even for your sakes, I must endure further. I know. I must…….”

The King wiped the tears that had already dried on his cheeks with the back of his hand. His eyes were still filled with sorrow, but just like last time, he composed his emotions as if he had finally heard the words he wanted to hear, as if he had been waiting.

His thoughts naturally flowed toward the young child he had locked in a cage, wanting to cherish her as dearly as she was important. Toward that child, who used to glare at him with amber eyes upturned beneath her red curly hair.

“……I miss Eve.”