The Death of a Certain Hostage (1)
“By the way. We got sidetracked earlier by that scream, but anyway—what exactly were you planning to give that Ian Sterling prince from Sterling as a gift? Were you thinking of begging to open the imperial treasury for him?”
“Ah, about that, Your Majesty. If Your Majesty would permit it, I was considering gifting him one of the Empire’s finest horses… But a horse isn’t just some simple animal—it’s the foundation of the nation and a vital military asset, is it not? I believed it proper to first seek Your Majesty’s permission as the ruler and follow the procedures.”
The Emperor let out a hollow chuckle, feigning disbelief.
“You, who once commanded the Empire’s entire cavalry and now serves as the head of the imperial stables—surely you’re not being so nitpicky over giving a mere hostage one horse? With your authority, you could march half the horses out of these stables, and no one would bat an eye.”
“Whether one horse or a hundred, when it comes to using the nation’s property for personal matters, a vassal’s duty—and the Empire’s strict law—is to follow procedure rigorously, Your Majesty.”
At the count’s firm response, the Emperor stroked his goatee with a deeply satisfied expression and nodded.
“That’s why I keep you by my side and favor you so. Your rigid nature can be stifling at times, but it’s the pillar that upholds this Empire’s order. Very well—if you wish, give him any horse from these stables. I grant special permission.”
“Your benevolence is immeasurable, Your Majesty.”
“Though, now that I think about it, I wonder if that scrawny brat even knows how to ride properly. From what I recall, his homeland, the Sterling Kingdom, has hardly any cavalry to speak of. They’re not even worth analyzing militarily, but if memory serves, they relied on infantry tactics, didn’t they? Sure, as royalty he’s probably sat on a horse a few times, but I doubt he knows how to ride for real.”
Count Gros crossed his arms in agreement with the Emperor’s point.
“You’re right, Your Majesty. He likely just knows the basics—nothing by the book.”
“Then pick out an old, gentle horse that’s been broken in well and won’t give him trouble. The kid already looks like he’d snap if you poked him—imagine if we gave him some spirited, wild beast and he fell off, breaking his neck. That’d be a mess. My children seem awfully fond of him; if he got hurt, they’d throw a fit.”
But Count Gros immediately shook his head at the Emperor’s suggestion, his face clouding over.
“That might be problematic, Your Majesty. Horses born and bred on Empire soil all carry a pride in their bloodline that pierces the heavens. Even an aged nag would look down on a novice rider who isn’t an imperial knight and snort, trying to throw them right off. Force it, and it’ll buck wildly to shake the rider loose.”
“Oh ho, a fitting pride for Empire steeds.”
“Indeed. So, once the social gala concludes, it might be better to summon Ian Sterling here to the imperial stables directly. Let him face the horses, then have him pick one suited to his level.”
“Excellent idea. After the gala wraps up, bring him here for a tour—show him the majesty of the Empire’s famed horses. I’m curious myself which one will deign to accept that impudent brat as its master.”
The Emperor issued the cheerful order and turned to leave—
Thud-thud-thud-!
Urgent, chaotic footsteps echoed from the vast stable entrance. An imperial aide from the direct staff came sprinting in, gasping for breath, and flung himself flat at the Emperor’s feet.
“Y-Your Majesty! I have an urgent report!”
The warm, jovial air in the stables froze into a blade-sharp chill in an instant.
The Emperor, interrupted, furrowed his brow coldly and demanded in a voice thick with intimidation.
“What is it? To disturb my respite with such commotion—it had better be important.”
“F-Forgive me, Your Majesty! It’s… the princess from the Goti Kingdom, who was here as a hostage—she’s just taken her own life in her quarters.”
“……Suicide? How insolent.”
The Emperor’s eyes sharpened like a predator’s.
Count Gros’s face hardened as well.
The Empire controlled its hostages’ suicides with extreme rigor.
The right over a hostage’s life and death belonged solely to the imperial family—no self-termination was permitted, not even that.
That was the Empire’s law.
Unreasonable? Who would dare rebel? Might made right.
“What the hell were the surveillance team from the Imperial Intelligence Bureau and the mages assigned to her residence doing to let that wench slip through and kill herself?”
The aide trembled violently at the Emperor’s low, menacing tone, smashing his forehead against the floor.
“Th-They… the mages on surveillance duty… with the social gala festival underway, they let their guard down. During the shift change, they were drinking and gambling, missing the mana flow and vital signs.”
Sweating profusely, the aide pressed on with the report.
“They claim they never dreamed a hostage would dare attempt suicide in broad daylight during this lavish festival. Shouldn’t we haul those insolent mages before a disciplinary committee for defying Your Majesty’s orders and neglecting their duties?”
The Emperor didn’t answer, merely stroking his chin and staring into space.
“The princess of Goti Kingdom, hm……”
“Goti—that’s one of the southern kingdoms, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Above Sterling lies Tour Kingdom, and above that, a puny state with 500,000 souls. Laughable they call themselves a kingdom with that.”
He mentally scanned the list of hostages dragged from conquered nations.
But no matter how he searched his memory, not a single recollection surfaced—not her face, name, or any special talents.
A merciless smirk curled the Emperor’s lips.
“If even I can’t remember her, she must’ve been the textbook definition of a worthless hostage—no striking beauty, no useful skills, nothing.”
Had there been even a speck of value to squeeze from that princess, the Emperor would have remembered her.
Stunning looks? She’d be a plaything in the Emperor’s or crown prince’s bedchambers. Exceptional talent? She’d be put to work somewhere in the Empire, clinging to life.
Absence from his memory meant she lacked even that—utterly valueless and incompetent in the Empire’s eyes.
“Probably lived like a frog in a well back home, strutting as some noble princess. Came to this vast Empire, couldn’t grasp her place, clung to vain pride, couldn’t stomach crawling in the dirt—and fled into death. Just another nobody.”
“……”
“If she’d had even a shred of talent, the Empire would’ve looked after her to some degree. That southern prince—what was it? The one running a diner like some merchant. We let him live commendably, even allowed him a family, and ordered palace servants to buy a bowl now and then. Ah, yes…”
Interest fully extinguished, the Emperor flicked his hand dismissively, as if brushing off dust.
“Forget punishment. Disciplinary committee? No need to sour the Empire’s grand feast over one stupid, useless hostage.”
“……Pardon?”
“Tell those mages to write a proper apology detailing their drunken negligence. And dispose of that worthless wench’s corpse quietly—no rumors. No funeral. Bury her in some communal grave outside the city, or if that’s too much hassle, dump her in the wasteland.”
“As you command, Your Majesty.”
The aide bowed and scurried away.
Watching him go, the Emperor spat coldly.
“If all hostages were like that Ian Sterling—how convenient! Throw him anywhere, and he’d thrive on his own.”
“If they were, the Empire wouldn’t have conquered the continent, Your Majesty. That many talents would be terrifying.”
“True enough. One like him is a boon; multiples… not so much.”
Ian Sterling, having proven his worth and talent, drew the imperial family’s attention, built ties with nobles, and earned a gift of the Empire’s finest steed.
But the frail hostage who failed to adapt to reality and demonstrate utility met a pathetic end, dismissed as a mere apology letter not even worth the Emperor’s recollection.
That was the Empire’s true face—infinitely magnanimous to victors, horrifically cruel to the weak.