Chapter 249
Scratch, scratch. Tap. Flip.
The Emperor’s study remained eerily peaceful, undisturbed by whatever bloodshed might be occurring beyond its doors. The sounds of paperwork—signing, stamping, stacking—repeated with mechanical precision, like a doll performing its duties.
At a glance, one might doubt whether he was even reading the documents. But his eyes darted rapidly up and down each page, and the way he sorted them by outcome proved he was fully engaged.
Scratch, scratch. Tap. Flip.
Stacks of paperwork grew steadily taller on both sides of his desk. The sliver of light through the curtains faded, replaced by the faint chirping of insects heralding nightfall.
Still, Kazhan worked on, posture rigid.
Scratch, scratch. Tap. Flip.
Expressionless, he neither ate nor drank. He didn’t even rise to relieve himself.
For the first few days, the head steward had tried desperately to coax him to take sustenance. But by now, the attempts had ceased, leaving Kazhan to work undisturbed.
Scratch, scratch. Tap. Flip…
Finally, the last document was stamped. Dawn was breaking.
“……”
Though he ought to rest now, Kazhan’s dry eyes swept the desk before he rang the bell without hesitation.
Ding.
“You summoned me, Your Majesty.”
“New documents should have arrived by now. Did Duke Blake delay them?”
“If you’ve finished yesterday’s work, there’s nothing urgent remaining. Perhaps today you could—”
“Bring them.”
“…Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Resume morning council meetings starting tomorrow. Inform them.”
“Understood.”
Soon, carts of paperwork came and went. As the towering stacks on his desk diminished, fresh documents took their place.
Scratch, scratch. Tap. Flip.
The cycle repeated. His face betrayed nothing. He eschewed every basic human need.
Is this how a walking corpse would behave?
The grotesque sight made rumors of the Emperor’s impending death unsurprising.
People almost wished he’d swing his sword again—rage about the missing Empress, vow vengeance on those who aided her disappearance. This version of the tyrant, unnaturally subdued, drowning himself in work, seemed far more precarious.
Scratch, scratch. Tap. Flip.
Yet contrary to concerns, Kazhan had no desire to die. What appeared to be a march toward death was, in truth, his desperate bid to stay alive.
He simply couldn’t stop working. Couldn’t afford a moment’s pause.
Because if his focus wavered even slightly—
“I regret ever loving you.”
—the memory that shattered his very foundation would consume him.
A flinch.
“……”
For a moment, his vision fractured. Dizziness washed over him despite being seated, his sense of balance tilting.
How many days has it been?
Casually, he withdrew a small magically preserved vial from his coat. Uncorking it, he downed the pungent red liquid without hesitation.
Gulp.
The bloodshot redness in his eyes receded. Color returned to his gaunt face. His dulled mind sharpened anew. The near-miraculous regenerative power of his bloodline.
Yet some senses remained dead.
He felt no hunger. No need to eat meant no need to. Even thirst had vanished—he only drank when his body screamed for moisture.
His emotions were worse. He felt no grief over Ysaris’ departure, no rage at her abandonment. The moment she delivered her final rejection, every human feeling had crumbled to dust.
If this isn’t death, what is?
Before, it was Cain’s lingering resentment that had shaped Kazhan into a specter of vengeance. Now, not even that remained. He worked by inertia, as if his body sought reasons to keep breathing.
Scratch, scratch. Tap. Flip.
The study’s lamp burned on.
For a very, very long time.
* * *
“Inefficient.”
“Pardon?”
“Bring me food.”
“Y-Yes, Your Majesty! At once!”
It took two full months for Kazhan to change his routine.
The side effects of overusing both the Blood Oath and his regenerative abilities had finally begun interfering with his work—forcing him to reduce his reliance on them.
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