Last Gambit
When even miracles fail and death draws near, the condemned prince plays one final, vengeful hand.
Valdina's Second District. The Rose White Mansion.
While the regent Prince's rebellion had been crushed, while victory on the plains sent the royal palace into jubilant chaos, while the greatest events in Valdina's history unfolded across the kingdom—this mansion alone remained isolated, buried in desolate wilderness.
The joy of triumph and cheers for the royal family that echoed through city streets never penetrated the mansion's high walls.
Because within this structure—pristine white exterior unmarred by a single speck of dust—dwelled an darkness unprecedented in its depth.
Prince Cesare reclined on an antique bed, his face an expressionless mask. An eerie atmosphere surrounded him—oppressive as the entrance to the underworld itself.
The raw ferocity of a man who had once reigned supreme over battlefields, now facing the crushing limitations and oppression of mortality, radiated from him unrefined and terrible.
His prominent jawline gave him the appearance of a masterfully sculpted statue.
Yet everything below his neck was consumed by the black curse.
Around the bed lay traces of hastily wiped blood and clots of dried gore that no amount of cleaning could fully erase.
"...It failed."
Terence, who had been monitoring Cesare's condition from the bedside, lowered his head with a miserable expression.
"Even the Dawn's Droplet... was useless."
Their final hope, obtained with such difficulty from Valdina's palace, had proven worthless.
When they'd first secured the legendary Dawn's Droplet, they had been euphoric—convinced beyond doubt that Cesare would finally rise again, the ancient curse broken at last.
"You said it would cleanse him! You swore it could erase everything! It was all lies—nothing but empty promises!"
Gallo seized the empty vial that had rolled across the floor and hurled it against the wall. Glass shattered with a sharp, violent crack.
He turned his back, pressing both hands against the stone. Tears fell, darkening the tips of his boots.
"Why? *Why?!*"
*CRACK!*
Gallo's fist slammed into the wall.
Wouldn't it have been better if they'd never had hope at all?
The sensation of soaring to heaven's edge only to plummet and shatter into pieces was unbearable. Terence removed his glasses and wiped his dry, exhausted face. Then he clenched fists soaked with profound fatigue.
The young mage, drowning in despair, couldn't bear to meet his friend's eyes.
"I'm sorry, Cesare. This is my failure..."
If only he'd tried harder. If he'd surpassed his master, transcended even the ancient founders of magic—perhaps then he could have saved him.
"That's unnecessary arrogance speaking."
Cesare's rebuke emerged cold and indifferent, his tone maintaining its characteristic superiority.
In this place where everything had crumbled, he alone maintained perfect composure.
Even at this moment—when their final bastion, the Dawn's Droplet, had failed and death became certainty—he did not break down or descend into panic.
No... he *couldn't*. Because he wasn't prepared to accept anything yet.
But cold reality declared: *It's truly over now.*
He forced the word"death" into his consciousness, finding himself unable to move forward or retreat.
'Is this how it ends?'
Cesare gazed down at his blackened hands.
His expressionless face appeared calm as undisturbed water—or dangerous as a volcano on the verge of eruption.
His five fingers spread wide, then clenched repeatedly into fists, grasping at empty air as though trying to hold something invisible.
Cesare watched in silence as the formless things he had once called dreams slipped away soundlessly, like smoke through his fingers.
Then the sound of wings—a bird departing—cut through the pale silence.
Cesare raised his head.
He observed Gallo standing by the window with a distorted expression, hastily stuffing something into his back pocket.
"What is it?"
"Nothing, boss. Just some dust on the window—"
With tears still streaking his face and eyes bloodshot, Gallo manufactured a hurried excuse.
"Bring it here."
Cesare's long, elegant fingers snapped once—a crisp, commanding sound.
Gallo exhaled heavily, reluctantly surrendering the parchment.
"Message from the homeland. Valdina has demanded the Strait of El Amuz from the Empire in exchange for releasing the Claudio family."
The result of the Fourth Princess's negotiations to rescue Samon Claudio following their meeting.
'The Princess made it seem she'd release them easily, but she was targeting the strait from the very beginning.'
As expected, there had been something else she wanted all along.
A small figure with brilliant green eyes flashed through Cesare's mind, drawing an involuntary smile from him.
But Gallo's face remained flushed crimson.
That expression—as though struggling to contain fury—told Cesare that the intelligence delivered by their facade's courier wasn't complete.
"The Grand Duchy of Castulo has been reclaimed by the crown. Count Kensington is dead. And..."
Gallo hesitated.
"Continue."
"The Emperor has seized Romagna and Alfannon."
Silence crashed over the room like a physical weight.
Even Terence was rendered speechless. Only then did he understand why Gallo couldn't control his rage.
"How—how could this happen?! How could His Majesty do this to you?!"
Perdiccas II had begun earnestly dismantling Cesare's power base.
Romagna and Alfannon were merely the opening moves.
Cesare could read his father's true intention with perfect clarity—to systematically absorb every talented individual and loyal vassal that Cesare had cultivated over the years.
The perfectly sculpted lips on his chiseled face twisted into something bitter.
"Now that Jason and Kensington have been dealt with, naturally I'm next in line."
"The Emperor has no right to treat you like this! Does he think the Empire stands today because of *him*? It was you—*always you!* If it were my father, if he'd suppressed and denied me my entire life, at least at the end—!"
Gallo's voice cracked, spitting fury like blood. His anger was volcanic, building pressure. The years spent at Cesare's side flashed before his eyes.
It wasn't the Emperor who had cut down countless enemies, crossing repeatedly the thin line between life and death.
The infamous achievements that made every power on the continent bow before Katzen's name—none of them belonged to Perdiccas II.
They were all Cesare's doing. The fruits of flesh and blood that *his* lord had chosen and cultivated.
Even if Cesare had acted for his own benefit, the Emperor had profited most of all.
Yet now...
Cesare shrugged with elegant nonchalance.
"The Emperor has no concern for discarded game pieces. This outcome shouldn't surprise anyone."
"Who said you're a discarded piece?!"
Despite Gallo's explosive protest, Cesare remained perfectly calm.
His cruel father's betrayal was nothing novel. The bond of blood kinship had faded for him long ago.
"Don't trouble yourself, Gallo. Your anger is premature."
An elegant hand extended, tossing a small scroll to Gallo with casual precision.
"Boss, this is the roster of imperial observers."
"The Senate convenes soon."
The observers held privileges granted directly by the Emperor, entitled to attend Senate proceedings.
After seizing the throne, Perdiccas II had introduced this observer system to the Senate—a mechanism designed to attract rising regional powers by offering them access to central politics.
Thus the twenty-three current"observers" had become the empire's next generation of influential figures, carefully selected by Perdiccas II to form a powerful support base for his reign.
"Consider it a hunt, Gallo. It won't be difficult."
The soft command that emerged from lips where his tired smile had vanished carried a depth and coldness unprecedented even for him.
Gallo froze. A terrible sense of foreboding washed over him.
"You want me to eliminate... all of them?"
"Yes. Every single one."
Gallo remembered the incident when all the vassals who'd attempted to assassinate Cesare had been systematically poisoned.
That ruthless boldness had solidified the First Prince's precarious position and struck genuine fear into the hearts of the empire's power brokers for the first time.
Even now, facing death itself, that remained unchanged.
"Since the Emperor extended his hand toward me first, I must reciprocate with proper filial devotion until the very end."
When the observers were destroyed, the Emperor would finally understand.
If he attempted to take anything from his most accomplished son, the price would be steep indeed.
Cesare turned to Gallo.
"And once that's accomplished, the Facade will withdraw from the Empire. Whether you choose to remain in Valdina, relocate to the Holy Kingdom, or anywhere else—that decision is yours."
What?
Gallo looked up sharply. The seal of the Facade arced through the air toward him.
"You and the Facade are free."
Unlike Terence, who belonged to Katzen's nobility, Gallo wasn't native to the empire. He'd been bound to it solely through his unwavering loyalty to Cesare.
"Boss, are you insane? Are you seriously—"
"Terence, you as well. Return to the tower."
They thought this marked the end of their wandering.
Terence hesitated at the words delivered so casually.
Go back? That wasn't the answer he'd expected...
"Are you... giving up?"
This wasn't like Cesare at all. The man he knew would have ordered them to search for another solution, no matter how impossible.
Their eyes met—indifferent crimson meeting desperate amber.
"Well, should I rage against fate until my final breath? Or would it be less unseemly to simply wave farewell with noble grace?"
He was genuinely considering it.
Yet his voice remained as languid as ever. No one hearing it would believe its speaker stood at death's threshold.
Despite his terrible condition—body consumed by the black curse—Cesare maintained an appearance of effortless elegance.
"Cesare!"
"And Alpha, when you return to the Empire, ensure your reports make no mention of Princess Medea of Valdina."
He shifted position slightly.
"The Princess is merely a fortunate beneficiary of her illustrious bloodline. Credit for punishing the traitors and leading the victory on the plains belongs to King Peleus."
"...My lord, are you instructing us to conceal the Princess's actions as well?"
"Yes."
Even in his final hours, Cesare thought to shield her.
The Princess with brilliant green eyes who had shown him unexpected kindness.
The strategist who had negotiated with him as an equal, never once treating him as a dying man unworthy of respect.
If he could offer her nothing else, at least he could grant her the gift of obscurity— keeping her brilliance hidden from predatory eyes.
Terence and Gallo stood in stunned silence.
Their lord—their friend—was saying goodbye.
Not with tears or dramatic proclamations, but with careful instructions and quiet gifts of freedom.
This was how a prince faced death. With dignity. With strategy. With one final act of protection for someone who'd shown him unexpected grace.
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