The Monster on the Throne
Raphael, the King of Monsters. The Karis Empire. In the deepest, most sacred depths of the imperial palace, she sat upon her throne and crushed the nameplate in her hand.
"You have done exceedingly well," she said, her voice dripping with ice.
As if on cue, the ministers lined up on either side bowed their heads in unison.
"Your Highness..."
"Your Highness..."
In that moment, a memory from long ago suddenly drifted into her mind. A time before she sat upon this throne, when she was nothing more than one of the Emperor's countless children.
Even then, she had resolved to become king.
At first, she had merely been following her mother's wishes. Seizing the imperial throne was no easy task, and the path was far from smooth for a young girl to endure. No, it was a living hell.
At a tender age, she overcame countless trials and finally claimed the throne. Innumerable people had tried to deceive and seduce her. They approached with outstretched hands, wearing smiles, whispering sweet words.
The jester. She had once believed him to be a friend. The only person she had shared laughter with in her childhood. Yet, he carried poison deep within. When that poison finally bared its fangs, it left a permanent scar on her body. The very fingers that had once held her hand—she had personally severed every single one of them.
Her aunt. She had believed her to be her only family. After her mother's death, she was the sole source of warmth left to her. But a dagger was hidden in that warm embrace. And so, Raphael gifted her a blade in return. She personally severed her aunt's neck with the family's treasured sword—the very heirloom her aunt had coveted so desperately.
Her mentor. The one who had taught her about life. The one who showed her what was right and how she ought to live. Yet even he stood in her way, blocking her path. To the very, very end.
Only after severing every single connection could she truly become king.
She held her hands up to the light. A pair of pale hands, and a pair of blood-stained hands. The two images seemed to overlap, blurring together. Sticky and clinging.
Yes. This was not a test to choose a king of men. It was a trial to select the King of Monsters. Therefore...
"Your Highness Raphael, please take your seat upon the throne."
A minister's voice broke her reverie. At his words, the handmaidens lined up on either side adjusted her robes.
The heavy iron doors swung open.
The central hall of the palace. Hundreds of nobles, lords, ambassadors, and priests stood in long rows to her left and right. And at the end of that path stood the throne, adorned with gold, flowers, and precious gems.
With every step she took, her subjects prostrated themselves.
At the end of the path, she turned around and sat down with a firm, deliberate motion.
"Long live Your Highness!"
"Long live Your Highness!"
A thunderous roar. A shout that shook the very earth. Hundreds, thousands of voices—a chaotic blend of greed, desire, and raw emotion—merged into a single vibration that washed over her.
Yes. Now, she finally understood, if only a little.
She opened her mouth. Each word fell like a blade, slicing through the palace air.
"First." Seated upon the throne, she raised a hand. A handmaiden immediately stepped forward, unfurling a gold-trimmed scroll. "I officially announce the deaths of all individuals holding succession rights to the throne."
At those words, the shoulders of several ministers trembled slightly. They were already dead, of course. But an official announcement was different. It was a declaration that no other imperial bloodline would ever exist. It meant that Raphael, and Raphael alone, was the sole center of this empire.
"Henceforth, the succession to the throne will be decided by my hand alone. The titles of princess and prince shall no longer be used. Those seats are vacant, and they shall remain vacant for eternity."
Only the rustling of the turning parchment echoed through the silent hall.
"Second. I decree the creation of an agency directly under the Emperor's authority: the Yulgeomwon."
The hall stirred with uneasy murmurs once more. Yulgeom—the Law-Cutting Court. It literally meant to cut the law.
"The law is what I decree, and what I abolish. Should anyone dare cite the law before my words, cut out their tongue."
She rose from her seat. Looking down from her high dais, she added, "Be they noble or priest, if they violate the laws decreed by the Emperor... cut them down. The sword is the shadow of the law. It shall watch over even the places my hands cannot reach."
"Third. I shall re-evaluate the peerage status of every noble house."
This was a pre-announced purge.
"Those who lack loyalty, those who lack competence, or those who lack both—I shall strip them of their titles. In the name of the Emperor, no title shall exist without absolute obedience."
A suffocating silence. The palace froze. The ministers kept their eyes glued to the floor. This was not a political maneuver; it was the opening salvo of a bloodbath.
Yet, not a single soul dared to offer counsel or protest. They all knew too well that she was a monster who had slaughtered her own flesh and blood just to claim the crown.
Some would die. Others would find opportunity. But one thing was certain: every decision would originate solely from her mouth. She was no longer a puppet emperor. Everyone in the hall had no choice but to accept this reality.
Raphael Astrea Luxion de Karis. The 13th Princess who had usurped the imperial throne. The King of Monsters.
She opened her closed eyes. The ministers who had prostrated themselves earlier were still flat on the floor. The sight was quite amusing.
"Hmph. You all look as if you are being punished. Rise."
She brushed away the nostalgia of the past. The Empress raised her hand.
The agency she had established upon her ascension—the direct imperial inspection and execution agency that choked the life out of the empire and castrated the power of the nobility. Five officers of the Yulgeomwon, clad in crimson armor, emerged silently from the shadows of the palace floor. They were now Empress Raphael's eyes, ears, blade, and heart.
Her eyes gleamed with a quiet intensity.
"Lately... I have been hearing some rather interesting news from the south."
That was all she said. Like shadows slipping back into the dark, the Yulgeomwon officers vanished from the hall.
The ministers understood. That was not a simple order to gather information; it was a command to eliminate. Whenever the Yulgeomwon moved, a head was guaranteed to roll.
Drek, the 3rd Chief of Staff of the Tirand Empire, smiled as he looked down at the battlefield. At this point, it was highly unlikely this defensive line would ever breach.
He had felt the sheer power of the Karis Empire firsthand. He knew exactly what kind of results could be achieved when a single, absolute ruler made the right decisions with ruthless speed.
One could not judge them by the imperial army of ten years ago. The devastating power of the Karis Empire's new artillery shells had forced everyone to realize that the era of warfare had fundamentally changed.
Back in the capital, they only received reports of a "stalemate" and seemed to believe there was still hope on the front lines. He sighed at the fools who still thought of the Karis Empire of old.
The only reason the front lines had stalled was not because the Tirand army was strong, but simply because they were on the defensive. As the old military adage went, an attacker must possess a tenfold advantage to breach a wall. Drek had engraved that maxim into his very soul.
Utilizing the advantage of the high ground, they had transformed the hills into a fortress. Although the consumption of manpower and resources was staggering, it was acceptable. Holding them back was the only path available to him.
His best option was to drag this out into a war of attrition, making the enemy feel the crushing burden of prolonged conflict until they were forced to negotiate a peace treaty. That was the optimal strategy.
"What was the response from the Allied Kingdoms?"
"They replied that they will increase their border defense forces to help disperse the pressure on the front. However..."
"What is it?"
A young officer spoke up hesitantly. "Is it... really necessary for us to hide like this? It is true that the Karis Empire's army is formidable, but our initial defeat was merely the result of a surprise attack. Since then, we have quickly secured the high ground and gained the upper hand along the front, have we not?"
Drek let out a hollow laugh. What did I just hear? Is this really the kind of nonsense they teach at the imperial military academy?
The real problem, however, was that this young officer was not the only one who harbored such delusions.
"Maintaining a defensive front like this is a waste of resources."
"We should take this opportunity to launch a counteroffensive."
Complaints were bubbling up from all sides. They wanted to abandon their geographical advantage and their highly favorable defensive position to go on the attack.
Coincidentally, just as these grievances were mounting, the Karis Empire's army scaled back the offensive they had maintained for days. Furthermore, the Tirand forces began scoring minor victories—victories that Drek believed should have been impossible under normal circumstances.
Winning battles was not a bad thing in itself. The issue was that these minor "successes" had intoxicated certain individuals, clouding their judgment. Some were even whispering that Drek, their commander, had simply lost his nerve.
"As I have said, my stance remains unchanged. Making a move now is nothing short of suicide."
Returning to his barracks, Drek muttered quietly to himself. While the Karis Empire had been advancing, Tirand... had been slowly rotting from the inside out.
If he had not been here, if he had not used his authority as commander to suppress them, the hardliners would have launched a reckless counteroffensive long ago. The consequences would have been painfully obvious: an overwhelming defeat, the collapse of the southern front, and the loss of their primary agricultural lands.
Inside his quarters, Drek sighed as he took off his hat. But someone was already waiting for him inside.
The guards stationed outside the door had not made a sound. That meant there was a traitor in their midst.
He let out a weary breath. "May the empire endure."
The next morning, breaking news swept through the nation.