Predestined Ruin (6)
When a person suffers a tremendous shock, they lose all capacity for rational judgment. The man who had recently thrown the imperial palace into chaos was in exactly that state.
He had set out on a journey with a light heart, only to suddenly lose his son and daughter-in-law. Worse, he had been forced to watch them crushed flat like mere mosquitoes right before his eyes. To the man standing there in stunned silence, everything in the world seemed incomprehensible. Why could the empire not catch the culprit? His son and daughter-in-law had died in this tragedy, yet why was no one held accountable?
Count Robert Fischer of the Barhart Empire could guess the underlying reasons, but a father who had lost his only son had no desire to understand any of it.
As doubt and suspicion filled his ears, someone’s whisper reached him.
That was why he had abandoned even his own domain, rushed to the capital, and now stood shouting at the top of his lungs.
Perhaps he had simply lost his mind to grief. Maybe he needed to release the frustration that no clear resolution could ease. Or perhaps he required a justifiable banner to wrap the deep-seated resentment in his heart—Why did they save the others but not us?
There was room for sympathy toward him.
But.
"Count Robert Fischer, I presume."
"Y-yes, but who are—"
This was the empire, and he had forgotten his station, swept away by emotion. That alone was reason enough to die.
Schlick!
Sympathy, ridicule, support. For those watching Count Fischer from afar with varying emotions, it took less than a second for pure shock to overwrite every other feeling in their minds.
In the very heart of the imperial palace courtyard, in the middle of a square watched by countless officials, the count’s head suddenly flew into the air as a fountain of blood erupted. It would have been strange if they were not horrified.
Some tried to scream. Some tried to call the guards. Some reached for their swords.
But before they could move—
Thud.
Footsteps are naturally occurring. The sound changes with the material of the shoes, the walker’s gait, and the surface underfoot, yet the fact that walking produces sound is not strange in itself.
Thud.
Yes, footsteps adapt to their environment. After rain they squelch. On hard stone they clack. A poor gait produces a dragging scrape. Volume and rhythm shift with weight and pace.
Thud.
Thud thud.
Thud thud thud.
Thud thud thud thud.
Thud thud thud thud thud.
Thud thud thud thud thud thud.
That was why the perfectly uniform volume, interval, and tone felt both utterly ordinary and profoundly unnatural.
As though something that was not human was imitating the sound of humans.
At some point, dozens of shadows had fallen across the square.
They wore the same uniforms as the one who had just severed Count Fischer’s head. The instant everyone saw that vivid red—like flowing blood—every breath in the square was stolen.
The young felt a vague, nameless terror. The experienced recognized exactly who they were.
The crimson that had symbolized the Barhart family since the distant days of the kingdom. The sole military force permitted to bear that color as their emblem.
Though their numbers fell short of even a hundred—too few to be named among the empire’s five blades—they were the Red Ghosts who had led the purge of the kingdom nobles who once defied the boy king.
Levenstein.
Their representative, known as the Great Emperor’s Dagger, spoke.
"By the command of His Late Majesty the Emperor, we have executed Count Robert Fischer. Until an order is issued by His Late Majesty or His Current Majesty, no one is permitted to touch this corpse."
The moment the people in the square understood, the Red Ghosts vanished as one.
Like phantoms in broad daylight.
Those left staring at the empty space, as though entranced, eventually lowered their eyes to the ground. In the middle of the palace lay the thing that had once been called a count, staining the floor with blood. Even after hours passed and the blood had dried black, no one dared approach.
At the same time, a large crowd had gathered in the palace’s central corridor, buzzing with agitation.
Franz Diller. Earned merit in the suppression of rebels in the Spero Kingdom; however, roughly half of those reported as subjugated were back-alley criminals, slash-and-burn farmers, or mercenaries personally hired by him… (abridged)
Balti Levski. When territorial residents showed signs of revolt due to his merciless exploitation, he disguised part of his domain troops as bandits to stage a fake extermination, during which he murdered two representatives… (abridged)
Amon Remagen. Accepted private bribes to interfere in military personnel decisions and attempted to forcibly discharge the knight who tried to report it… (abridged)
The empire was a meritocratic state where the incompetent found it difficult to act arrogantly from high positions. Yet outstanding ability did not guarantee moral character or humanity. After all, the empire was still a place where people lived.
The higher the official, the rarer it was to find one with no hidden dirt. Most of the “exalted personages” who associated with the belligerent and militarily gifted Second Prince were connected to the military.
Those who had first read the notice with half interest and half curiosity gradually realized the contents were far from ordinary. Faces hardened, tongues clicked, and some caught the metallic scent of blood as they discerned the hand behind the incident.
"What is this?! Who dares insult so many with these blatant lies?!"
"What are you all staring at so intently! Step back at once!"
"Enough! Tear it down immediately!"
The nobles of the Second Prince’s faction, realizing the situation too late, rushed to rip the notice away, but sharp blades blocked their path.
"This is the will of His Late Majesty the Emperor. Until an order is issued by His Late Majesty or His Current Majesty, no one may remove this notice, nor obstruct others from reading it."
"H-His Late Majesty…?"
The high officials who had been ready to explode at the drawn blades fell into despair at the name spoken by one of the Red Ghosts. They realized this was not a matter they could resolve.
"How dare you threaten imperial nobles by brandishing swords inside the palace!"
A thunderous voice suddenly shook the corridor.
Short-cropped red hair. A solid, powerful frame. The genius said to possess unparalleled talent for martial prowess among the current emperor’s children—Second Prince Lucas Schupen Barhart.
Lucas glared with fierce eyes at the Red Ghost soldiers.
"I will still show mercy if you stop now. Sheathe your swords immediately!"
If one spoke only of raw martial power, the terrifying aura radiating from his body lived up to the public’s assessment that he resembled the Great Emperor in his youth. Yet the red soldier did not flinch.
"That cannot be done."
Lucas’s eyebrows twitched.
"You dare defy an order from a member of the imperial family?"
Even faced with a tone thick with killing intent, the soldier remained utterly indifferent.
"We are merely executing the command of His Late Majesty."
"I am none other than his blood! A legitimate member of the imperial house!"
To the prince who shouted as if in a frenzy, the soldier replied in a voice devoid of emotion.
"That is not a matter for us to consider."
Second Prince Lucas Schupen Barhart was undoubtedly of imperial blood and one of the clear frontrunners for succession.
But that was all.
The Great Emperor’s Dagger cared only for the Great Emperor’s commands and those of the emperor the Great Emperor had acknowledged. The wishes of a mere successor candidate held no significance whatsoever.
And that attitude finally snapped the thin thread of reason still barely holding inside Lucas.
"You baaaaastard!!"
Red mana surged. Lethal sword energy roiled.
A ferocious, destructive light that seemed ready to cleave everything before it.
However—
Swishswishswishswish!
The instant Lucas’s blade reached the neck of the soldier blocking him, ten times as many swords encircled his entire body.
Together with a dozen new ghosts who had not been visible a moment earlier.
He could cut the soldier’s throat, but the price would be turning himself into a human porcupine.
The moment Lucas realized this and his face twisted grotesquely—
"That will be enough, Your Highness the Second Prince. No matter the circumstances, you have gone too far. Levenstein, the same applies to all of you."
Ordo von Devien.
At the chancellor’s intervention, the Red Ghosts silently lowered their blades. Yet they maintained combat readiness, prepared to act the moment the Second Prince tried to remove the notice again.
Seeing Lucas still unable to release his sword, the chancellor spoke once more.
"Please stop here, Your Highness Prince Lucas."
Trembling with humiliation, Lucas violently sheathed his blade, turned on his heel without a word, and stormed away.
The nobles of the Second Prince’s faction stood anxiously reading the room, while other nobles watched with a mixture of interest and wariness. Gazing at the second prince’s furious retreating back, the chancellor let out a quiet inner sigh.
The real storm had not even begun, yet the future already looked pitch black.