In the court of tyrants, mercy wears the mask of cruelty— and loyalty becomes the sharpest blade of all.
The Emperor's hand settled on Jason's shoulder with deceptive warmth, as though he hadn't just stripped his nephew of everything he valued.
"Don't worry. I would never abandon my own blood. Surely you didn't think I'd let my nephew wander homeless and destitute?"
Silence hung heavy between them.
"I'm granting you Armandi in the North. Fortunately, the Northern Prince has generously agreed to the arrangement."
Perdiccas II presented himself as a magnanimous patriarch, deeply concerned for his nephew's welfare and showering him with imperial favor.
But what he'd actually given Jason was refuse dressed in silk.
Armandi was indeed one of the empire's largest fiefdoms, occupying nearly half of Katzen's northern territories. But it was also cursed land—abandoned, desolate, barely habitable.
Monster waves swept through the region with terrifying regularity. The territory wasn't merely unprofitable—it could barely function as a proper domain at all.
'And the Northern Prince is my uncle's most trusted confidant. This isn't a gift—it's a gilded cage. He wants me under constant surveillance.'
Jason's eyes flickered toward the Emperor.
Rage boiled in his chest—sudden, consuming fury directed at Perdiccas II.
That throne. This palace. All of it should have been mine by right.
Jason despised his uncle—the man who had stolen everything from him and now, instead of offering even the pretense of apology, sought to reclaim what little Jason had managed to preserve through cunning and sacrifice.
"Why so silent? Do you still harbor attachment to Castulo?"
But Perdiccas II was no fool.
The eyes that studied Jason gleamed with madness, yes—but also with the razor-sharp perception of a predator.
"Perhaps you've hidden some treasure there? Some... asset... you're reluctant to abandon?"
It was the piercing gaze of a ruler who had defended his stolen throne for decades against countless challengers, and who had wrested it from his own nephew in the first place.
'My uncle suspects me. Truly suspects me.'
Jason held his breath as he read the Emperor's intentions with crystalline clarity.
Perdiccas II was seizing this opportunity to sever Jason's connections completely—cutting off his hands and feet, eliminating any faction that secretly supported him from the shadows.
When Jason recognized that unmistakable murderous intent, he bent forward as though preparing to offer his own arm for amputation.
"No, Uncle. Nothing of the sort. Please, proceed as you see fit. I will follow your commands absolutely."
Raise your head and it will be severed. Straighten your spine and you'll die. Hold on. Endure. You cannot be caught here.
"I apologize once more for any damage my actions may have caused to Your Majesty's reputation or to the empire's standing."
Jason's voice emerged calm and mild, as though nothing catastrophic had just occurred. Though he wanted to scream until his throat bled, he possessed enough remaining wit not to reveal his anguish so transparently.
The Emperor's eyes remained cold as he watched his nephew suppress his emotions with practiced discipline.
'Sly, serpentine bastard.'
Perdiccas II understood perfectly well that Jason had attempted something through his Valdinian expedition—some scheme that had ultimately failed.
"Then I, your nephew, will take my leave. Uncle, please attend to matters of state in peace."
Jason departed the office, teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached.
In an instant, he had lost fertile, prosperous lands and gained barren wasteland in exchange.
As Jason walked through the palace corridors, his fists trembled beneath his sleeves—hidden, but shaking with suppressed rage.
"Your Highness, Grand Duke of Castulo, welcome."
"Your Highness."
Courtiers bowed as he passed. Jason nodded with his customary gracious smile.
He continued down the hallway, past ornate windows that caught the fading afternoon light.
And when he finally turned a corner into solitude, the pleasant expression vanished as though it had never existed.
*CRASH!*
Jason's fist shattered the decorative mirror.
Blood seeped through splintered glass. He raised his head without registering the pain.
The young man reflected in the broken shards stared back with eyes blazing with fury.
"I will rise again. I will *not* fall like this."
It felt as though God Himself opposed him, plucking away everything Jason possessed, one treasure at a time.
"Even if God blocks my path, I will not stop. Jason... Jason..."
He repeated his own name like an incantation.
"I am not merely Castulo. I walk my own path as the rightful master of this empire—of all Katzen."
It was a declaration that bordered on sacred oath.
Simply daring to speak the words aloud steadied Jason's heart, preventing his spirit from shattering completely.
One day, he would sit upon that throne. One day, he would look back on these hardships as mere stepping stones to glory. He repeated this mantra until it became truth.
But Jason failed to realize something crucial.
The force systematically stripping away his advantages, one by one, might not be divine at all.
Because no one could fathom the possibility that someone might hate him enough to wage war against fate itself.
✦A frigid silence settled over the Emperor's office in Jason's wake.
Only three figures remained: the Emperor, the Chief Chamberlain, and Count Kensington.
"Tsk. If it weren't for public opinion, I could simply have him killed and be done with the nuisance. He's so tenacious—no matter how many assassins I send, he always manages to survive."
Perdiccas II clicked his tongue as he gazed at the spot where Jason had stood moments before. His crimson tongue darted out briefly, as though tasting the air.
"At least those Valdinian barbarians made one useful demand."
He smiled—a predatory expression. His dark eyes, pupils seeming larger than the whites, glowed with barely contained madness.
Using Valdina's compensation demands as justification, he'd finally seized the Castulo territories he'd coveted for years.
Viewed from that perspective, surrendering the Strait of El Amuz to Valdina wasn't such a terrible bargain after all.
"Indeed, Your Majesty. This arrangement also allows us to bury our secret dealings with the Regent beneath the confiscation of Castulo. A clear advantage."
The Chamberlain interjected smoothly.
"Once the Castulo estates are returned to imperial control, fresh winds will blow through the palace. Imperial authority will be substantially strengthened."
The reclamation would serve as a pointed warning to neutral factions and conservative nobles who still harbored nostalgia for the previous Emperor.
At the Chamberlain's observation, Perdiccas II studied the map spread before him as though contemplating some new stratagem.
"Precisely. Which is why I believe we should also reclaim Romagna and Alfannon while we're repositioning our pieces."
The Chamberlain froze mid-breath.
Kensington, still standing rigidly on the crimson carpet, doubted his own ears.
"Your Majesty... are you referring to His Highness the First Prince's territories?"
The Chamberlain asked carefully. He certainly knew who owned those lands—Prince Cesare, who had been the imperial family's greatest asset and greatest threat his entire life.
Romagna had been gifted to young Cesare by the Empress Dowager's faction as protection for the vulnerable prince. Alfannon had been awarded for his brilliant victories in the continental wars.
Together, they formed the foundation of the First Prince's formidable power—combining traditional aristocratic support with newer factions drawn to Cesare's personal charisma and military genius.
Even after receiving his death sentence, Cesare's political influence had endured within the imperial court, weathering pressure from all sides.
But if the Emperor reclaimed both territories now, the First Prince's faction would finally collapse.
It would shatter as spectacularly as Jason's power just had.
"Yes. After Cesare dies, vultures will descend on his power base. The palace will erupt in chaos. Rather than watching it torn to pieces with nothing remaining, better that I claim everything in advance and put it to proper use. Yes, that's the logical course."
Perdiccas II couldn't possibly be unaware of what he was doing—stripping his dying son of his final dignity.
Kensington, who had been listening in strained silence, could no longer contain himself.
If the First Prince, lying on what might be his deathbed, learned of this development, the shock alone could kill him.
"Your Majesty, the First Prince's health is extremely fragile. He cannot endure such grief. Romagna and Alfannon are matters Your Majesty will inevitably address after His Highness's passing. I humbly beg you to proceed slowly, with deliberation—"
"The boy has no hope of recovery anyway. What difference does the timing make?"
Silence.
Both the Chamberlain and Kensington stood speechless.
Just moments ago, they'd witnessed the Emperor's calculated cruelty toward Jason. But at least Jason was a political adversary—a nephew by blood only, who had never truly served the Emperor's interests.
But the First Prince, Cesare...
"Is this truly for personal gain? No—it's all for the empire's sake. When I am strong, Katzen is strong. If I fall, this nation falls with me."
"..."
"Cesare would understand. I care only for the empire's survival—that is my sole concern and hope!"
Recognizing the weakness of his own justification, the Emperor abandoned rationalization entirely and erupted in rage.
"It belonged to my son, therefore it belongs to me! What's wrong with that? The First Prince's flesh and blood—all of it came from me!"
Kensington felt suddenly dizzy. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to steady his racing heart.
My lord feels like a stranger.
Behind the veil of ceremony and protocol, Kensington felt he was finally witnessing the true nature of the man he'd served with unwavering loyalty.
'Even with his ambition, he was never this ruthless. Has the isolation of absolute power transformed His Majesty into this... creature?'
"Your Majesty, the scrutiny His Highness the First Prince has attracted far exceeds anything directed at Grand Duke Castulo. The eyes of the world are upon this situation. I implore you to show imperial magnanimity."
Yet even as Kensington's conscience screamed, he could only offer advice—nothing more.
"Kensington. Are you opposing me for the empire's sake... or for the First Prince's?"
The Emperor's paranoid gaze fixed on his longtime advisor. The question carried dangerous implications.
Kensington bowed sharply, alarm flashing across his features.
"How could that be! My master is Your Majesty the Emperor alone. There is no other."
The Emperor's fingers drummed impatiently against his sleeve. It seemed he'd already stopped listening.
"Tsk, tsk. Let's dispense with excessive words and speak honestly, Kensington. You've disappointed me more than once during this Valdinian affair. Am I mistaken?"
"..."
"Your performance was thoroughly unlike you. How could you handle matters so carelessly?"
"I am deeply ashamed, Your Majesty. If punishment is warranted, I will accept it gladly."
Kensington's response remained perfectly courteous.
"I instructed you to remove Valdina's pillars so their kingdom would collapse. Instead, you gave them wings to soar."
The Emperor's rebuke was harsh and unrelenting.
He made no effort to hide his displeasure as he glared at Kensington.
Even though he knew perfectly well that the incident—particularly the Princess's duel—had been entirely beyond Kensington's control.
"Furthermore, you defied my explicit imperial command by remaining in Valdina's castle. Did you perhaps catch the eye of another master? You lingered there even while Valdina suppressed their rebellion, didn't you?"
At the Emperor's mounting accusations, Kensington dropped to his knees, pressing his face against the floor. Cold tea from the overturned cup spread across the marble.
In truth, from the moment he'd entered the office, Kensington had sensed that his standing had fundamentally changed.
'His Majesty always granted me private audiences before. Always.'
There had been no reason to conduct this meeting with Jason present, or even the Chamberlain.
The Emperor already doubts me.
"No, Your Majesty. How could I possibly serve two masters? You are my only—"
"I am profoundly disappointed in you."
"I was negligent. Forgive me, Your Majesty. Trust in my sincerity. From beginning to end, I have never entertained any disloyal thoughts—"
Kensington's words died mid-sentence.
Red drops fell onto the marble before his eyes.
He looked up slowly, disbelief flooding his features.
His gaze met the ruthless eyes of the Emperor staring down at him without mercy.
"Your Majesty... Your Majesty..."
The words emerged as barely more than a whisper— shock, betrayal, and dawning horror wrapped in two trembling syllables.
Crimson continued to drip steadily onto the pristine floor.
Not from Kensington's body.
From the hand of the Emperor himself—where he'd struck the table's edge in his fury, opening a gash across his knuckles that he seemed not to notice.
Or perhaps from something else entirely.
In the golden office of absolute power, loyalty had become the most dangerous quality one could possess.
And the Emperor's mercy was the cruelest blade of all.
---