The Emperor's Sudden Passing
I was a mercenary. Unable to endure my parents' abuse any longer, I ran away from home and wandered the world. In my line of work, I met all sorts of people. Whenever I shared my story with them, most looked at me with pity.
My parents—no, those monsters—beat me as a daily routine. My father was a butcher. He slaughtered animals and handled meat, wielding knives with expert skill. The problem was that he was a psychopath. That bastard often tested how well his blades cut into my flesh. His excuse was "checking the edge," but really, he just wanted to dissect a human body. Thanks to him, my entire body is covered in scars.
He'd ramble on about himself whenever he got drunk, bragging about what a great knife fighter he was—claiming he could slice a knight in half with one swing. But to me, he was just a murderer. I doubt he even had all ten fingers back then. Now, having lost a few and with his skills gone to shit, he scraped by at the slaughterhouse doing the bare minimum.
Fortunately or unfortunately, he never touched my face—maybe because he knew it was a crime. Ironically, I owe my swordsmanship to that man. Every time a blade cut into me, the human anatomy etched itself into my mind. Those hellish days turned me into the finest swordsman.
My mother was a whore. Word was, she was pretty famous in the city. Father got her pregnant and had no choice but to marry her. I was a child no one wanted.
Mother was beautiful. Gentle eyes, delicate features—the prettiest woman I'd ever seen. I inherited a bit of that face. But that was all I got. Love, affection... I never knew those.
Birds of a feather flock together, and those two were both scum. Mother indulged in luxuries beyond her means, bankrupting the household as a hobby while dressing up to earn money from men. One day, she even tried to force me to work in a brothel. I screamed that she was insane and ran. From around age ten, I vowed to leave that house. I prepared in secret and finally made my escape.
"Runaway" was too kind a word. It was flight—for survival.
A kid like me didn't have many options. I started with odd jobs for a mercenary band.
"You have profound talent for magic."
One day at eighteen, during a mage escort mission, he spoke to me. He became a benefactor in my life.
"Such a shame. Talent like yours, wasted because the timing slipped away."
"Old man, if you're selling something, peddle it elsewhere."
I chuckled it off. Magic talent? Me? Even a stray dog would laugh. The art of nobles and lofty souls, wielded by trash like me?
"It's not too late. Enter the path of magic now, and you'll achieve great things."
"What, you want me to enroll in an academy at my age?"
"Age means nothing in learning. I study twelve hours a day myself."
"That's you. I'm different. Who's paying tuition? Rent? Does money rain from the sky?"
"Young man, people need vision. Think about it. You're spry now, no worries. But when you're old? Waving a sword till you're broke enough to shit on walls?"
"...No, not that."
"A mage is different. That's vision. Muscles age, but the mind doesn't. Knowledge and insight only mature and grow."
He had a point. I listened seriously.
"In this era, knowledge is money. Sit and talk, rake in hundreds."
"Even so, I've got nothing. And didn't you say it was too late?"
Before I knew it, I was calling the old coot "sir."
"Become my disciple."
"Disciple?"
"Sorry for the late intro. I'm Schvalier Debure, honorary professor at the Imperial Academy. Be my disciple, and I'll take responsibility for your guidance."
"A professor like you, out here why?"
"Enlightenment doesn't come knocking in your study. Want something? Chase it on foot. So, shall we try magic?"
"Oh... yeah. Let's give it a shot."
And so, under Schvalier, I learned magic and liberal arts. As he said, I had talent. Starting late, I progressed by leaps and bounds. Talent's real, huh? Nothing was hard. I grasped his teachings effortlessly.
Thinking back, I was always smart. Read and wrote young, understood newspapers.
"6th Circle. Congratulations."
Age twenty-five. Seven years to reach what they call "high mage." My master Schvalier celebrated sincerely.
"How does it feel?"
"What?"
"6th Circle! You've grasped a fragment of the grand universe. Any insights?"
"Dunno. No clue."
I chuckled and lit a cigarette. Schvalier pulled one out too. We smoked together.
"Forget cosmic fragments—money's king. 6th Circle means good pay, right?"
Schvalier laughed. "You're the same as when we met. Don't worry—6th Circle means money follows you whether you want it or not."
"Right?"
"...So, really no to professor? Imperial Academy. You'd shovel money."
He'd offered the post before. Honorary with no power, but he could recommend.
"Nah. What's the point of more cash?"
"Weren't you all about money earlier?"
"Kidding. I've got plenty. Think I just holed up with magic books?"
On off days, I hustled: stocks, sword tournaments for prizes. An old investment boomed into a mega-corp. Dividends alone kept me fed.
"Then what? You look done with magic."
"Civil service."
"Good gig. Where? Magic research? Combat corps?"
"Imperial Guard."
Humans crave respect. With money, I wanted something grand.
"Imperial Guard?"
"Yeah."
"Heh, of all places. One slip, you're dead."
"Ride the right lines."
"Tch, you'll manage. If big trouble hits me, you'll help, right?"
"..."
"What's that face? You won't ghost me later!"
"Joking. Of course I'll help."
The emperor's sword, the Imperial Guard. Peak power, above the law. Schvalier's rec got me the interview; skill sealed it.
"You're the new guardsman. May the gods bless our meeting."
I met the emperor. Lowly me, facing nobility's pinnacle. Life worth living.
"Gert, right? Be my conversation partner?"
A month in, he summoned me. Not big tasks—just chat.
"How's Guard life? Tough?"
"Guarding the imperial family? Never."
Scum like me still reads the room. Fawned appropriately.
"Oh? Schvalier's disciple? Fine mage then."
"You know him?"
"Of course. Ex-commander of the 2nd Magic Legion. How? I appointed him."
"I see."
"What before discipleship?"
"Mercenary."
"Mercenaries get no respect—no creed, no honor. I disagree. They're essential."
The emperor talked a lot. Just his personality.
Three months in. Weirdly, he favored me. Constant summons for chit-chat. Precious time, they said. Annoying to me.
"My youngest, Yulia. Cute, no?"
One day, he showed off his daughter. Ten-ish, doll-like blonde with blue eyes. Starlit blues stared blankly up at me.
"You have a daughter."
First time showing her. Did I earn trust? Odd feeling.
"My baby. Late blessing, extra attached. Wouldn't hurt putting her in my eye."
"You'd hurt your eye."
Princess Yulia deadpanned. Emperor burst laughing.
"Haha! Hear that? So clever!"
"Indeed. Smart and stunning. She'll shake the empire someday."
Not lip service. Yulia was doll-pretty. Prettier than Mom. But as adult? Maybe.
Emperor sobered. "Just the empire?"
"Pardon?"
"Too small. For Yulia? World—no, universe."
Ultimate doting. Understandable.
Two months later. Half-year as guardsman, still newbie.
"Newbie. Know where your loyalty lies?"
Guard captain abrupt.
"Yes, His Majesty."
"Wrong."
"Then?"
"The empire. Remember."
He turned away.
Emperor summoned as usual. Yulia on his lap, fiddling a bear doll. Captain's words echoed. Loyalty to empire, not emperor... loaded.
"Troubled?"
"...Yeah."
"Girl issues? Prime age. Need advice?"
"Wish it was. Heard something odd."
"What?"
After thought: "...Captain said loyalty to empire, not Majesty."
"Did he?"
Emperor chuckled. "Tired head messes work. Take leave?"
"Leave?"
Sudden. Captain weird, emperor too. Chain of oddities.
Captain's loaded words. Emperor's leave offer. He wasn't casual with vacations.
"Aihenbalt—art country ringed by sea. Hate to admit, capital Lenz is chicest city."
"Leave sounds good, but... sudden?"
"Ahem, Yulia's cooped up, antsy."
"Huh? Daddy not going?"
"Father stays. Go with Gert."
"Pardon?"
I gaped; he spoke kindly.
"Take Yulia too. Less vacation, more assignment. Week in Lenz."
Didn't click. Trust scum like me with precious daughter?
Reading my face, emperor smiled. "Wanted to go myself, but can't. You're reliable. That's why you."
"Understood. We'll go."
"Refreshing."
"Wanted to travel abroad anyway."
"Ample funds. Enjoy."
Thus, I took the emperor's daughter on the train. Solo escort. Regular seats.
"Wow! Look! Huge mountain!"
Yulia bounced. Blue eyes drank in the range—Allans Mountains, dividing empire and Aihenbalt.
"That happy?"
"Yeah! You not?"
"I am."
One rule: pretend normal father-daughter. Can't broadcast princess.
So casual speech, even to princess. Easier anyway.
Yulia brimmed kid energy. First world beyond palace. Curios everywhere: drumming seat, fiddling outfit, staring at passengers.
"Cute daughter."
Noble lady passed smiling. I magicked eyes blue.
Train: two days, dawn arrival Lenz.
"Yulia. Here."
"Mmm... sleepy."
"Sleep at inn. Okay?"
"Mmm..."
Yulia nodded off the train.
Station guy asked in Aihenbalt tongue—ID check. Can't speak it, stuck to imperial. He eyed sourly.
I flashed ID boldly. Imperial civil servant—high rank. Front: roaring golden double eagle. Back: Guard seal.
Station guy gasped. Trembling eyes up at me. Hesitant step aside.
Ah, power's sweet.
Nodded, left with Yulia.
Nearby inn. Yulia crashed immediately. I lounged sofa, unfolded station paper—imperial script.
No biggie. Two days, what happens?
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