Chapter 826
Chapter 826
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 826
Chapter Title: The Tyrant for You
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“When the gods descended upon the Second Imperial Consort’s chambers, she unleashed her magic and fled into the skies. It was undoubtedly a grave error on my part... Please punish this servant accordingly. I shall gladly accept any penalty.”
“Enough.”
I said.
It’d be a lie to say I wasn’t angry. But executing the Grand General right here would be a waste. To steadily rack up Tyrant Points, I needed a few competent underlings. And Luteon was one of them.
“L-Liar! Mother would never...! She’d never abandon me!”
Ophelia squirmed under my foot. I pressed down harder. Her ample breasts flattened against my sole, on the verge of bursting. They were so firm and warm, like stepping on a heated water balloon.
“That witch could do it.”
The Second Imperial Consort, Morgana, wasn’t human—she was of the witch clan.
Witches looked human on the outside but were born with a special organ called the mana cycle core. That’s why they could wield magic from birth.
Ophelia, the half-witch offspring, had the misfortune of not inheriting that core. She did have a knack for magic, but as an imperial princess raised depending solely on her mother, she’d never properly learned it.
Morgana fled right after the protagonist became emperor in the original story too. Back then, she took Ophelia with her... but now she’s ditched even her own kids and bolted.
In the original tale, Morgana reappeared in the late game and died.
And in this world, I’d eventually claim her too.
“But that’s that. I can’t stomach this outrage. Grand General, throw the Eighth Prince in the dungeons. Send torturers and break him. We’ll execute him in a week.”
“...As you command, Your Majesty.”
Luteon bowed respectfully.
The Eighth Prince, Morgana’s son, went pale and lunged forward, dropping to his knees. His hair was the same pale purple as Ophelia’s.
“Your Majesty! Spare me! I swear my loyalty! I’ll do anything you ask! Please, mercy!”
“Shut up. Drag him away.”
Soldiers seized his arms and hauled him off. The air grew frigid once more.
I surveyed the imperial kin. None dared speak. Survival first—that was their mindset.
“Listen well. Here and now, I strip you all of your titles and privileges. You are mere beasts. Strip naked and crawl on all fours. No upright walking allowed.”
“......!!”
A silent shock rippled through them.
Even the cool-headed Prime Minister panicked and approached me.
“Y-Your Majesty! These are all imperial blood, same as you! And behind them...!”
I silenced him with a raised hand.
“I know your concerns. But there’s no issue.”
The Prime Minister fretted over the Empress and Consorts’ families. They were no ordinary houses: foreign princesses, direct descendants of Witch Island, great nobles of the elven kingdom, and so on. The late Emperor’s unions were political, not romantic.
“Strip.”
I repeated the order to the imperial kin. They hesitated, glancing at one another.
I summoned Stormbreaker and impaled the Fifth Prince. The massive spear pierced his chest.
“Strip.”
I said again. The spear returned to my hand. As I readied another throw, they scrambled to obey in terror. Even the Empress and Consorts were no exception.
“Let me say it once more. You are beasts. No upright walking.”
They collapsed, faces twisted in fear and humiliation.
The Prime Minister clutched his forehead. The High Priest clasped his hands in prayer. The Grand General merely stayed silent.
I grabbed Ophelia by the hair and yanked her up. Her haughty expression was gone, replaced by a vacant stare. Her tear-streaked face held no hope.
I gripped tighter.
“Nngh...”
Ophelia let out a faint moan. Her full breasts jiggled enticingly.
Can’t hold back.
With the Second Consort Morgana fled, there was no need to delay. I unzipped my pants and freed my massive cock—befitting an emperor’s dignity.
I seized Ophelia’s legs, forcing them apart and hoisting them up. Her upper body slumped limply to the floor. My cock pressed against her pussy. A tight, pink slit clenched shut like a straight line. Her clit poked out prominently. A cute little thing, at odds with her filthy personality.
“S-Stop!”
No words would halt me.
Her pussy was dry, but it didn’t matter.
I thrust my cock inside.
“Aaaaaaaaaaagh!”
Virgin blood sprayed. Her tight walls gripped me superbly. On squeeze alone, it was a pussy I quite liked.
I grabbed her waist and lost myself in the fuck. Eyes bored into me, but I ignored them. Soon, I pumped my load deep into her womb.
Ophelia slumped to the floor. From the throne, I stomped on her sobbing head. No intent to kill—such a rare beauty would serve as my personal fucktoy.
“Prime Minister.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Kill every cook in the palace.”
“...Pardon? I must have misheard...”
The Prime Minister’s face went slack—not from misunderstanding, but disbelief.
“The bread I often ate here was blackish-brown and rock-hard. Had to soak it fifteen minutes to chew. Hard enough to kill a man as a weapon. That’s the caliber of palace cooks. Kill those grain-wielding hacks.”
“...But Your Majesty, if all cooks die, we can’t even prepare tonight’s dinner. Spare a few, or execute later...”
“We’ll starve a day. Kill them all. Or would you, Prime Minister, take their place?”
“...I shall kill all the cooks.”
The late Emperor’s severed head caught my eye below the throne.
“Prime Minister, hang the late Emperor’s head and those dead princes’ in the capital square. So the people know I’m the new Emperor.”
“The masses may recoil in horror and resent you. Mercy, at least... Bury the late Emperor’s body properly.”
“Do as I say.”
“...Yes, Your Majesty. It shall be done.”
I rose from the throne and approached the imperial women.
Empress, Consorts, princesses. I’d fuck them all today.
???
Late that night.
I slipped out of my bedroom alone and descended underground. Knights on guard in the palace tensed at my sight. I ignored them.
Beneath the Emperor’s palace lay a warehouse. Accessible only to the Emperor. Rumors called it the treasure vault, but reality differed.
I descended the stairs. Deep down. The air grew ominously chill.
Stormbreaker.
I summoned it. The spear disassembled and armored my body.
At the bottom stood a massive steel door. I inserted the gem-encrusted ornate key I’d brought. The gem glowed; the door opened.
A vast, pitch-black space, lightless. At its center, a jet-black longsword impaled the floor.
Arondite.
The original protagonist’s blade. The founding sword, rejected by later Emperors, sealed here.
I stepped forward.
Grrrrrr...
From unseen shadows emerged a massive bluish-gray wolf, growling protectively around Arondite. Its eyes gleamed ruby-red like jewels.
Leidos, the divine beast bound to Arondite.
To claim the sword, I needed its recognition.
“I wield the Holy Grail’s power. Divine beast of Arondite, submit to me.”
Grrrrrrrr...
It bared fangs. My gaze hardened.
“You want death, then.”
I summoned my clone sword. The beast lunged like lightning. I swung, aura blade and thunder cloaking it. It wounded the beast but not deeply. It rammed my gut; I flew back into the wall.
“Kuh...”
I coughed, standing. No real injury—just a twinge in my abs, gone in moments.
“Stronger than I thought. Better than most sword masters.”
The beast’s maw gathered mana into a glowing orb. Laser incoming.
I advanced calmly. No rush.
It fired. I slashed at the perfect moment—thunder-wreathed aura cleaved the beam and severed its neck.
The head rewound mid-fall, reattaching.
Possible because its true form was the sword, not wolf. It charged again, aiming to devour since lasers failed.
Thud.
I caught its jaws with one hand.
“I’ll play until you yield.”
I stabbed my sword into its forehead with the other.
I slew it twenty-three times total before claiming Arondite.
???
In Bellakaros Archipelago’s vastest, most historic plaza—Solviras Grand Plaza, named for the first Empress—crowds gathered.
Not just nobles, knights, soldiers—commoners too.
I sat on an ornate chair at the highest vantage, overlooking it all.
The imperial family used Solviras for major events; today’s executions were no exception.
“Begin.”
I commanded boredly. Nobles relayed; knights and soldiers bustled, piling straw and branches at the center, dousing with oil.
A soldier dragged out the prisoner. Covered in bruises, half his scalp torn, right arm severed, back raw from whips. The Second Consort’s son, Eighth Prince Benok Bellakaros.
The Grand Judge appeared, booming to all witnesses:
“Prisoner Benok Bellakaros, hear your sentence! You are son to the witch Morgana, who deceived and insulted His Majesty the Emperor! Your sins are so profound even the hell gods lament—thus, burning at the stake! May sacred flames purify your flesh and soul!”
Commoners murmured. I caught mutters of bullshit. Nobles watched anxiously silent; the Judge eyed me.
I smirked.
“Execute.”
“Execute the sentence!!”
Soldiers bound Benok to the pyre. He didn’t resist—torture had broken him to resignation. They lit it. Acrid black smoke billowed; flames roared.
His screams pierced the pyre. Horrific. All—nobles, soldiers, commoners—fell silent.
I propped my chin, watching. The screams cut off eventually.
Then.
Clear blue skies darkened with thunderheads. Winds howled, flattening commoners in terror.
A black-clad figure appeared in the heavens.
“She’s here.”
I shot up. Stormbreaker armored me. Arondite in my right hand.
But seeing her, my face crumpled like trash.
Not Second Consort Morgana. A wrinkled, hook-nosed crone.
“Your Majesty! Beware! It’s Mertalian, the Great Witch of Witch Island!”
“...Indeed. Morgana sends her mother instead. Sly bitch.”
I glared up. The Great Witch’s face twisted in rage. She’d timed it to watch Benok burn—not coincidence, perhaps Morgana’s ploy.
“Arrogant Emperor, hear me! For raping my granddaughter and burning my grandson, pay! Blindness, epilepsy, melting-regenerating flesh—endless agony until death in three years! Then I’ll shred your soul and scatter it, proclaiming witch’s vengeance!”
“Old hag. Nice pipes on you.”
“Insolent cur!”
The Great Witch pointed a gnarled finger. Black curse erupted from its tip, plummeting toward me.