Hey, You're Just Pretending to Sleep, Right?
The platinum door hadn't even opened yet, but the air inside was already different. Cold, heavy, and suffused with a silence so oppressive it choked the breath from your lungs.
The knights lined up before Seongiljeon held their breaths as one. They were the empire's finest, the Holy Sun Knight Order tasked with guarding the emperor's chambers. Their armor was flawless, without a single gap, and their eyes sharp as blades. Normally, not even imperial blood would pass them lightly.
But the moment I appeared, everything changed.
Clank.
Without a word from anyone, they dropped to one knee in unison. The clash of armor and scabbards rang out briefly, then silence fell again. No one dared lift their head. Their faces were pale as ghosts, as if my mere gaze could strangle them.
And who could blame them?
A Sword Master was the dream of every knight's lifetime—a realm so miraculous it bordered on myth. The pinnacle of swordsmanship, a being who transcended humanity. Only three existed in the entire world: absolute sovereigns worthy of awe.
The problem was that the one bearing that title was Kainar.
I walked through the knights and fixed my gaze on the man at the innermost position. His armor was heavier than the rest, his pristine white mantle embroidered with the sun emblem at its hem. His lips were pressed tight, cold sweat beading on his forehead. He was the knight commander guarding Seongiljeon itself.
His name surfaced in my memory: Harten Lloyd Valken, commander of the Holy Sun Knight Order. An Aura Master.
An Aura Master was a realm apart from Sword Master. One who awakened the supernatural power of aura and wielded it through their blade. A star in the sky, unreachable without innate genius and brutal training. An ordinary knight could only gaze up at it lifelong.
But before a Sword Master? Even the mightiest Aura Master was mere dust on the palm.
I looked down at him and spoke calmly. "I must see His Majesty."
His shoulders trembled visibly at those few words. Harten kept his head bowed even lower as he replied. "Y-Your Majesty remains... in critical condition."
He was trying to block me. But his voice quivered. He knew it too. No one here could stop the crown prince.
Not even the empress could rein in this mad dog—what could a mere knight commander do?
I passed him without a word. Harten's head snapped up in desperation, caught sight of my face, and dropped his gaze again in haste.
I stopped and turned to him, keeping my expression as blank as possible. "I am well aware of your efforts. There's no need to fear."
"...Pardon?"
Harten's eyes shook unnaturally.
"I'm merely here to check on His Majesty's condition. Resume your duties without worry." I finished and lightly patted his shoulder.
In that instant, the air among the knights warped strangely. Some forgot to breathe; others froze with heads raised. Expressions of utter disbelief—they couldn't process what I'd just said.
And rightly so. The original Kainar would never have uttered such words. Contempt and venom would have spilled first.
Harten stared at me, dumbfounded, as if someone had whispered nonsense in his ear.
I ignored their stares and entered Seongiljeon, leaving them behind.
The door shut, and the air grew even colder.
The interior was eerily quiet—not empty of presence, but layered with countless functions in utter silence. My Sword Master senses pierced it immediately.
Barriers. Threads of every kind woven together: magic prohibition, aura suppression, intrusion denial, toxin neutralization, auto-healing, vital anomaly detection, mental interference defense. Each alone would demand days of labor from national-level mages. Here, they blanketed the entire chamber.
Such barriers were standard in key palace areas, especially imperial residences—to thwart rebels or assassins. But this was extreme. A veritable fortress around the emperor's bedchamber.
I advanced slowly. And at last, I faced the man lying on the bed.
Leoniel Kaiser von Solaríos. The reigning emperor of the Solaríos Empire, known as the Great Light Emperor.
My first thought: This is the guy who's been in a coma for five years?
What the hell. A glitch?
He looked ready to charge into battle that instant. Even supine, the sculpted muscles of his shoulders, chest, and arms stood out. Burly yet impossibly refined.
Kainar scowled. No way he's faking it just to slack off and hog the honey, right?
I shook my head. The Great Light Emperor Leoniel I knew had given everything for the empire. He wouldn't.
Same pure white hair, deep crimson eyes. His clean-shaven face looked no older than early thirties, not a man in his fifties. Not a Sword Master, but an Aura Master—one of the empire's historically elite.
Yet he was trapped in deep slumber. Outwardly fine—too fine. But my eyes saw the truth.
A Sword Master's naked eye pierced all phenomena, glimpsing the essence of creation. I saw the aura—the core of an Aura Master—leaking from deep within him. Slowly, imperceptibly, like a lifeline being plucked thread by thread. Decay too subtle for ordinary sight.
No wonder even 8th-circle archmages couldn't diagnose it.
Not a mere illness or curse. Too precise, too relentless.
But I knew.
Necrovan Necromancy Kingdom. This was their handiwork.
Emperor Leoniel had been a radiant, merciful sovereign. He insisted on equal diplomacy with all nations, fostering trade and exchange—even with the reviled Necrovan.
The result? This.
After he fell, the empire changed overnight. Or rather, Kainar twisted it. Expansionism replaced equality; lesser kingdoms were crushed. Wars with great powers escalated; nations fled to the Acreasia Alliance Kingdom.
In the original story, this marked the turning point.
I stood by the bed and sighed softly. "I need to wake the emperor if I'm going to survive."
The answer was clear: wake him. First priority.
I knew the original method too. Counter Necrovan's yin-dark magic with its opposite: yang or light magic. The purest source? One nation alone.
——Gaia Holy Kingdom.
Problem: relations with the Holy Kingdom were on the brink of collapse. A fragile truce held, but mutual loathing festered. The empire pushed conquest; they preached divine opposition to imperial arrogance.
No pope or saintess would aid the emperor now. Or so I'd have thought in the original plot.
I rubbed my chin, staring at Leoniel. Move the pope or saintess—one of them. But first——
Bang!
The door flew open, shattering Seongiljeon's silence. I whipped around.
No fool would mistake this place—yet someone dared burst in where crown prince and emperor lay.
It was Harten. The commander rushed in, face ashen, and dropped to one knee. His armor clashed roughly.
"Y-Your Highness."
I hardened my expression. "What is it?"
"Her Imperial Majesty the Empress... has arrived."
The empress. My brow furrowed involuntarily.
"What does she want?"
"Sh-She didn't specify precisely. Only that she wishes to see Your Highness, who has come to the sacred palace..."
I thought for a moment. The empress coming to Seongiljeon herself was no trifle. Especially given her poor relations with the crown prince in the original—reasons unexplained.
"Escort her in."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Harten rose and withdrew. Moments later, the door opened again.
And she entered: Serena Elision von Solaríos, empress of the empire.
Her pure white hair and red eyes mirrored Kainar's lineage. But unlike him or the emperor, hers evoked moonlight on snow—serene rather than cutting—her crimson like aged rubies, deep and profound.
Her beauty was otherworldly: eternally youthful, elegant, cold. Yet that chill bore faint cracks.
She looked at me with eyes unlike the others. No fear. Instead, a tangle of longing, sorrow, pity, weary maternity.
The empress hailed from an imperial collateral line—precisely, the eldest daughter of the Barkanof Grand Duchy's former lord, Irkael Leon Barkanov, the North Heaven Grand Duke.
Meeting her gaze stirred something inexplicable within me. Revulsion. No—primal, violent: hatred, rage, rejection. Not mine, but the original owner's instincts rebelling at her sight.
I clenched my jaw, suppressing it. The original never explained their rift.
The empress spoke first. "Crown Prince, why have you come here?"
I replied stiffly. "Merely to check on His Majesty's condition."
She gazed at me a moment, then lowered her eyes. "I've heard the rumors about Aurelia."
Straight to it. Clearly here to pick a fight.
"......"
"Crown Prince. Even if your heart lies elsewhere, could you not treat your fiancée with a little more kindness?"
Her voice was calm, laced with fatigue. "What has that count's daughter done to earn such humiliation of Lady Estelhart?"
I held my tongue. Nothing to say. Not my deeds, but this body's sins. Any excuse would only make me seem more pathetic in her eyes.
She sighed faintly. "House Estelhart remains loyal to the throne. Aurelia as well. Yet you push them away yourself."
"......"
"Do you intend to make enemies of all?"
I met her gaze slowly. The inexplicable loathing still gnawed, but her words rang true. Right now, I needed Aurelia, not Serennia. Politically, at least, she came first.
The empress pressed no further. Instead, in a low, exhausted whisper: "At least once, reflect on what you're losing, Crown Prince."
Silence fell briefly. I turned back to the emperor.
Still sleeping. Decaying empire. Diplomacy in ruins. Fiancée fled in tears.
Priorities were clear: wake the emperor. Mend ties with the Holy Kingdom. And first, clean up the nearest mess.
I said lowly, "Understood."
Her eyes flickered faintly. She hadn't expected compliance.
But I offered no more. I needed to see Aurelia again. Before mending foreign ties or imperial fractures—before anything—that fiancée demanded attention.
This body's first disastrous spark, I had to extinguish myself.
With that, I glanced at the emperor's bed one last time and turned away slowly.
The FFF-grade scum crown prince's shit—I had to clean it up.
Life ain't easy.