Chapter 39
Chapter 39
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: The Female Knight of the Imperial Mausoleum
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Splash.
The woman gripped a cloth so fine it could pass for clothing in an instant, her face expressionless as she soaked the pristine white fabric in water. The water was crystal clear, without a speck of dust—and it was no ordinary water.
It was holy water procured from the Grantera branch grand cathedral of the Triune Church. But the one she was wiping down with it wasn’t someone groaning from illness or tormented by a curse.
She was carefully cleaning a spirit tablet for the honored dead. The slightest mistake here, and countless people would seize the chance to tear into her.
‘Haa.’
Lady Knight Carnell swallowed a sigh deep inside. Letting it escape her lips? Absolutely not.
If word got out that she’d sighed while cleaning the tablets, it could unleash a political disaster no one could contain.
This was the imperial mausoleum of the empire, and what she was cleaning now were the spirit tablets of past emperors.
And here she was, a mere knight of some skill, sighing? As if the countless achievements and merits of those emperors looked so pathetic to her that they warranted a sigh? With no backing or connections, such an attack would send her tumbling from the position she’d barely secured.
‘I became a knight to fight on the battlefield, not to do this.’
It was undoubtedly an honorable duty. But that was all a mausoleum guardian knight got.
Honor and glory. Honor that no one even acknowledged. That was it. The salary wasn’t much either.
A path to promotion? Forget it. Far from advancing, this job meant constantly worrying about your neck. It was a post distant from those guaranteed success.
No matter how diligently she worked, it was meaningless.
The late emperors weren’t going to be moved by her devotion and appear in the emperor’s dreams to say, “That knight seemed truly devoted in my eyes,” leaving some kind words behind.
Truth be told, what merit could she possibly earn here?
At best, she prevented problems from arising. If enemies assaulted the mausoleum in the heart of the capital, the empire was already done for—so who cared about merits when you’d be running for your life like your heels were on fire?
The empire was tilting here and there, but it wasn’t time to fall yet.
No major incidents loomed in the near future. Her real enemies weren’t the demonkin far at the borders or foreign armies, but terrorists and lunatics.
She’d once felt a chill down her spine capturing an arsonist bent on torching the mausoleum. A little later, and her life would’ve gone up in flames too.
That’s what this place was. One slip, and you were finished.
It was the final posting for those whose paths to advancement were blocked. That’s why all her predecessors had resigned and fled the capital. No real power whatsoever.
‘If only that heavenly punishment hadn’t struck Prince Ardein...’
She had no one to blame but herself for backing the wrong horse. She’d missed her one chance and fallen from the path to success.
A second chance had come, but she’d kicked it away with her own foot—and had no regrets.
Just yesterday, people serving the same lord had switched faces and urged her to betray him. She might be a coward who fled while her lord was in danger, but she couldn’t stick a knife in his back. She’d refused as a matter of knightly honor, and they hadn’t pressed her.
Obvious story. Some who switched sides advanced,
while others didn’t. Traitors weren’t always welcomed, after all?
Even the turncoats struggled, so how could Carnell—who hadn’t turned—succeed? Her next assignment was the mausoleum, and there’d be no assignment after that.
The job already made it hard to voice a single complaint, but lately she was even more cautious.
A secret the empire had desperately hidden had leaked out. The intelligence bureau was investigating how this top-secret info escaped, but it wouldn’t be easy.
One thing was certain:
An order had come from deep within the palace to prepare a new spirit tablet.
Carnell had seen the name to be inscribed on it and clamped her mouth shut forever. One careless word from her lips, and the price would be beyond what she could bear.
The current emperor—His Majesty hadn’t passed yet, but he soon would.
“Your Majesty, you must recover your health...”
Inside the palace, in the most secretive and hidden chamber.
The white-haired old man groaned, and the empress dowager burst into tears. The high archbishop serving the Goddess of Healing, Hilai, shook her head.
“Your Majesty is already too frail to withstand divine power. He has received the goddess’s summons. It’s far too late for mortals like us to intervene.”
This old man was Prince Ardein’s father, the emperor of the Illumina Empire, but
time had reduced even him to a man wracked with pain. Governing the realm was truly agonizing, like vomiting blood. The work never ended no matter how much you did; it only piled up.
State affairs had no limit if tended properly.
That alone was exhausting, but now his vassals were colluding with the church to erode imperial authority. Provincial generals had become open warlords. Border counts were no longer as loyal as before.
Over the past half-century, the empire had endured hard times, and the emperor had never known a moment’s peace. He was just past sixty, yet his face could pass for eighty.
The emperor didn’t have a young wife. The empress and emperor were near in age.
Yet this empress dowager still retained traces of her youth, while the emperor had none. He was simply a weary, lonely old man, a withered tree that could topple anytime.
Now that day had arrived. It was all predetermined.
“Your Majesty, you must rise... Truly, please, you must...”
Prime Minister Duke Albert Brandon stood beside her, sobbing. Tears streamed from his aged eyes. If this man fell, the empire would truly lose its center.
Crown Prince Arsene and First Princess Ardein had vied for succession, but both were out.
None of the remaining princes or princesses had notable achievements, let alone anyone worthy of the throne. Only a few schemers remained, adept at plotting from their chambers.
Fine for advisors or strategists.
But not for a single general.
How much less for an emperor? Would the world accept such a ruler?
The newly elevated Third Prince, Edmund von Illumina, lacked the stature to convince his siblings. If he ascended, backlash would spread, and imperial authority would plummet further.
The empire’s fracture was already in its final countdown.
“That ungrateful daughter—what was so great about her that you collapsed upon hearing she’d run away? You fretted over that troublemaker’s antics, and now...”
“Calm yourself, Your Majesty. His Majesty has reached his limit.”
Old Nanny Sophien, who had also been Ardein’s nursemaid, patted the hunched empress dowager’s back and held her tongue.
Upon hearing his beloved daughter—his aching finger—had fled the palace, the emperor had spat blood and collapsed that very day, never to rise again.
In truth, he’d already hit his limits in many ways.
The daughter’s flight was merely the final blow. A fatally lethal one.
“It’s because he sheltered the one who received divine punishment.”
High Archbishop Armata, dubbed ungrateful by some, paused in retreat, adjusted her glasses, and muttered.
“The goddess grew angry because Your Majesty cherished such a princess.”
This wasn’t opportunistic biting at the imperial family.
She genuinely believed it. Among the Triune Church’s upper echelons, the faithless were rare. Could a god not know one who feigned piety inwardly?
The gods would revoke divinity and mete out punishment.
No evidence or testimony needed—just relay the pope’s will. The goddess’s word was proof, the ultimate verdict.
In church and faith, the devout alone rose high.
Reaching high archbishop meant unassailable piety, politics aside. They’d sacrifice their lives for the goddess’s will.
“Archbishop, that is insolent.”
“But Duke, it is the truth. The princess received divine punishment, and sheltering her incurred the goddess’s wrath.”
Even if the duke held a blade to her throat, the high archbishop would answer the same.
Even severed, her head would speak unchanged. That’s why the church terrified, why no one dared ignore the temple’s power.
They feared not worldly authority, only the divine will.
Local magnates might ally with temples now, but it was mere temporary alignment.
If they sensed defiance to the goddess, temples could sabotage anytime. Temples valued the gods’ will over men’s.
“What use is speaking of it now?”
The emperor’s loyalists raged, but the empress dowager quelled them.
“Archbishop, we’re simply grateful for your best efforts on His Majesty’s behalf.”
“I merely fulfilled my duty as the goddess’s servant.”
The archbishop bowed and departed.
Triune priests knelt only to the goddesses, offering mere courtesy before the emperor.
“Ardein, Ardein, you utterly unfilial wretch!”
With the bishop and priests gone, the empress dowager finally sighed and lamented.
“Where are you now? Are you even alive? You heartless thing. Did you leave so your parents wouldn’t see their child die first? Didn’t anyone teach you that torments them more? Because of you, your father will go before...”
“Your Majesty!”
“Your Majesty, you mustn’t rush to conclusions. Please, calm down.”
Many rushed to stop the ominous prophecy from her lips.
But that wouldn’t improve the emperor’s health. It was old age, pent-up rage, chronic poison from youth resurfacing, an untreatable wound of the heart, and the fatigue of life itself.
“Empress, why do you weep so?”
Even if he rose once like a tumbler doll, no matter the hardship,
how many good events marked his reign? How many ills?
The disparity crushed him utterly. Efforts yielded no progress, only despair.
Yet the emperor never lost his kindly smile. Even now, freshly conscious.
“Your Majesty! H-hey! His Majesty is awake! Hurry, prepare a bowl of porridge! Bring elixir too! Quickly!”
“No need, no need. I know my body best. It’s all my failings. Would that precious stuff work any better in me? Extend this old husk’s days by a few? Give it to those who need it. In me, it’d just come out as piss.”
As death nears, one instinctively knows.
Sensing death creep right beside you.
That’s fine too. That’s good.
How grueling life was! He’d often thought—what if he’d holed up with concubines, spending gold like water, empire be damned?
The nation lacked funds because state affairs demanded astronomical sums, but for one emperor’s luxury, it overflowed. Taxes seemed ever scarce, yet for an individual, an endless spring.
The emperor could’ve reveled in extravagance.
But he hadn’t.
That’s why the empire endured, why countless vassals remained loyal to the throne. Patriots and loving subjects still filled the realm.
Their center was His Majesty. Only the crown prince qualified to inherit that, but he’d departed too young, before unfolding his ambitions.
If the emperor truly died, it wouldn’t be one man’s end.
His death would herald the empire’s doom.
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