Side Story 1.18
“It’s already time to call the stylist again,” he muttered gravely, fingers brushing through hair that had slightly strayed from its optimal length.
From the moment the expedition began, the Emperor was in a foul mood. Knowing the future, he was certain he would inevitably face an unwelcome adversary. Had it not been absolutely necessary to crush Alpenheim at this time, he would never have come. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had to stop by this insignificant country on his way back from conquering Alpenheim.
“Though hastily prepared and lacking in many ways, we humbly beseech Your Imperial Majesty’s grace and generosity in overlooking the shortcomings of this victory banquet.”
The Emperor gazed down dryly from his seat of honor at the middle-aged king bowing respectfully.
That man will act like he’s bending over backwards now, only to send assassins to my chambers tonight. According to the specter’s memories, that’s exactly what had happened.
Naturally, the specter had made sure the king paid a fitting price for daring to target him. He annihilated the entire country, slaughtered the royal family, and took the king’s most beloved son as a slave, dragging him back to the Empire.
The Emperor rolled his eyes slightly to glance at the line of attendants standing to his right. Among them was a face he could never forget.
Prince Cedric.
When their eyes met, the prince’s nervousness was palpable—he swallowed hard before hurriedly bowing his head.
The Emperor stared at the crown of the prince’s head, tapping the armrest of his chair with a gloved hand. Tap. Tap. Until this moment, he’d thought, Surely not… But seeing him in the flesh made murderous rage boil up.
Should I just kill him now?
His father is plotting my assassination—this isn’t personal retribution. Anyone who dares attempt regicide must be prepared for their entire bloodline to be erased.
No need to keep him alive as a slave. Just kill him here, cleanly. So not even a single strand of Jaha’s hair gets tangled in this.
Just as the Emperor steeled his resolve and stopped tapping the armrest, Jaha’s face flashed across his mind like someone had lit a match to his thoughts.
The expression Jaha made when she fell to her knees, begging him not to kill Cedric—that desperate plea. And yet, when he killed Cedric anyway, how her body slumped like a puppet with its strings cut.
His chest turned icy.
Can I really kill him?
Will killing him cause problems later?
The specter had turned back time, making it all undone—Jaha wouldn’t remember anything. Not the things he, the specter, had done. But what if, by some infinitesimal chance, she did? The probability was close to zero, but nothing in this world was truly impossible.
If Jaha—who retained memories from the erased timeline—were to learn of Cedric’s death, would she ever forgive him for killing Cedric again?
He wasn’t confident. Not in his ability to endure her hatred, nor in his capacity to bear her resentment. And even if the odds of her discovering the truth were negligible—a one percent chance, no, even if countless zeros followed the decimal point—he was terrified. He couldn’t gamble with Jaha’s heart on the line.
His fingers clenched the armrest, tendons rising on the back of his gloved hand. But the leather concealed it; outwardly, nothing showed.
That night, as expected, assassins stormed the bedchamber. The Emperor subdued them effortlessly and went straight to the king. The middle-aged king turned ashen, as if he’d seen a ghost.
“H-How…?”
“I’m abstaining from alcohol for the sake of my skin.”
Did he think the Emperor would be unable to use magic after drinking the paralytic-laced bedtime wine?
The specter had developed resistance to most poisons, so it wouldn’t have mattered. He shared that resistance, but he had no interest in consuming toxins unnecessarily. Even if he hadn’t known, he would’ve avoided alcohol anyway—maintaining healthy skin demanded it.
The imperial knights easily overpowered the royal guards and dragged the foolish traitor before their master. The Emperor looked down at the kneeling king and asked:
“Why did you do this?”
A question the specter had never bothered with—he’d simply slit the king’s throat.
“The court seer… foretold that Your Majesty would destroy this kingdom and slaughter all my children.”
The king answered readily, his voice resigned. He’d already glimpsed his fate.
“You’ve made me destroy this kingdom and slaughter your children with this idiocy.”
At the Emperor’s indifferent reply, the king’s eyes bulged.
It wasn’t a bluff. Neither the specter nor he had originally planned to touch this insignificant kingdom—it held no strategic value or desirable resources. Had the king not acted, the Emperor would’ve let his troops rest here a few days before leaving peacefully.
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