Chapter 184
Chapter 184
Several days earlier, in the Grandia Royal Palace.
"Truly wise, Your Majesty."
As Chancellor Roberts Floyd bowed his head with those words, all the ministers attending the State Council followed suit, paying their respects.
A familiar scene.
It would have been fine if it had ended there.
But the same phrase always followed.
"Then I shall discuss this matter with Count Logan and present it again at the next council meeting."
Twitch.
King Rogers found it unusually grating today.
Normally, he would have laughed it off, but today, his eyebrows furrowed involuntarily.
He closed his eyes briefly, trying to steady his emotions, when—
"Your Majesty, are you unwell?"
The fool who couldn't even read his monarch's mood only further irritated him.
No—perhaps he knew and was doing it on purpose?
......No, that couldn't be.
Surely not to that extent.
Suppressing his increasingly agitated thoughts, the king sighed and opened his eyes.
"No, no. I'm just a bit fatigued, Chancellor. Let us adjourn today's meeting here."
"...Understood, Your Majesty."
As the chancellor bowed and stepped back—
Unnecessary voices chimed in, seizing the moment.
"We must find a queen consort soon, Chancellor."
"Indeed. Spending long nights alone must be exhausting for His Majesty."
"Hahaha. Truly, we must."
If the ministers were close to their monarch, perhaps such jokes would be permissible.
But were they ever that close?
......Since when?
Grit.
SLAM!
Unable to contain his rising emotions, Rogers slammed his hand on the table, instantly silencing the grand hall.
But as the ministers' bewildered gazes gathered on him, he immediately regretted his outburst.
Damn it...
What kind of foolishness was this?
A monarch losing his composure—and over something so trivial.
"Ahem. When the time is right for marriage, I will bring it up myself. There is no need to rush state affairs while I am still young."
He forced calm into his voice, but then—
Someone spoke out of turn.
"Count Palmen's words are not entirely incorrect, Your Majesty."
Roberts Floyd.
What was he scheming now?
The king struggled to suppress his increasingly cynical thoughts, maintaining the most composed expression he could muster.
"What do you mean?"
"If Your Majesty were to wed and produce an heir swiftly, the kingdom's future would be all the more secure."
It wasn't wrong.
But why did those words, spoken with a smile, grate on him so?
Before he knew it, another cynical remark slipped out.
"Are you suggesting I might die before then?"
"Your Majesty! That was not my intent—"
The chancellor—no, Logan MacLaine's father-in-law—looked flustered, and a petty sense of satisfaction flickered in the king's chest.
Yet he despised himself for it.
Perhaps that was why—
The words he truly wanted to keep hidden tumbled out.
"Even if I die, it hardly matters. The next king is already decided, is he not?"
The one who had turned a prince with nothing into a king.
"Your Majesty, how could you say such a thing—?!"
That shocked expression made him seem like a loyal subject.
Pathetic. Me...
If he stayed seated any longer, he feared he'd make an even greater fool of himself. The king rose abruptly.
Thud.
Leaving the ministers' gazes behind, he exited the grand hall, where a familiar face greeted him.
"Your Majesty. Allow me to attend you."
Nod.
Though he gave no verbal reply, the ever-loyal royal chamberlain, Cleo, seemed to read his discomfort and immediately took action.
After walking for a while, his stifled emotions eased slightly—
"Your Majesty, did something unpleasant occur during the council?"
Cleo chose the perfect moment to speak.
Ah, this was why he kept such a man by his side.
The king looked at him with faint pride—the first official he had personally promoted.
Of course, that didn't mean they were close enough to share his insecurities openly.
"It's nothing."
"My apologies, Your Majesty. I merely noticed your expression seemed troubled—"
"No, no need for that. Discussing state affairs is bound to be stressful. It's nothing unusual. Nothing unusual..."
He was the king—yet he didn't feel like a true king.
A filthy feeling.
Yes. Lately, it had become all too familiar.
"Shall I bring your usual wine, then?"
The familiar attendant expertly soothed his frustration.
"Do so."
Yes, without even these small comforts, how could he endure this suffocating existence?
Glug, glug.
Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the study, and the small moon reflected in his cup quietly eased his mind—
Yet today's blunder in the grand hall refused to leave his thoughts.
I still have a long way to go...
Gulp.
The fiery sensation sliding down his throat soon washed over his chest like cool relief.
The stifling weight in his chest lifted.
"Cleo."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The loyal attendant, standing by the door, bowed immediately.
"What was this wine called again? It tastes especially fine today."
"Flamma, Your Majesty. One of the Empire's renowned spirits."
"Flamma?"
"Yes. It means 'flame' in the ancient tongue."
Pause.
"...I see. Fitting. Did you recommend this?"
"My humble apologies, Your Majesty."
"Apologies? I'm complimenting you. Haha."
"I am undeserving."
"Nonsense. I am grateful. Few things comfort me as much as this wine."
"..."
Glug, glug.
As he refilled his cup, the moon floating within it once again pleased his eyes.
But—
Flame...
That name inevitably reminded him of someone.
Perhaps that was why—
Words he normally wouldn't have spoken spilled out.
"What do you think of Logan MacLaine?"
Too abrupt a question?
Cleo's expression stiffened slightly—but soon—
"The first contributor who ended the civil war and enthroned Your Majesty."
A textbook answer anyone in the kingdom might give.
Add a bit more, and they'd call him the hero who saved the nation.
"Yes. That's right..."
A man who, despite being barely older than him, had overturned the kingdom.
The one who had made a king out of a man with nothing.
He should be grateful—he ought to be grateful—
"Why do I..."
Find him so irritating?
A self-deprecating mutter.
Too dangerous if overheard, so he swallowed the rest.
Then he grew angry at himself for worrying about being overheard—and at his own pathetic state, a bitter laugh escaped him.
The moonlight and starlight, once beautiful, now seemed unbearably lonely.
And not long after that day—
The incident occurred.
"Kill him!!"
Nearly twenty masked assassins surged from the depths of the royal garden.
The king, lost in thought, had been strolling with minimal escort.
The only saving grace was that Louis Hyon—the Sword Duke's right hand and a high-tier knight—was among the three escort knights.
"Protect His Majesty!"
Three high-tier, fifteen mid-tier.
In an instant, Louis assessed the enemy and charged forward, leaving the other two high-tier knights to guard the king.
Eliminating the threat swiftly was his priority.
And his choice proved correct.
"Gah—!"
"M-Monster!"
"Don't retreat! Kill the king!"
However they had infiltrated the palace's heart, none among the masked assailants could stop Louis.
Seven fell in moments.
Louis then pressed the attack against three presumed high-tier assassins.
Meanwhile, the two Esperanza knights guarding the king held their ground perfectly.
Until finally—
Slice.
"Agh—!"
As Louis's sword blazed crimson once more—
The presumed leader's right arm flew off, and he staggered back, shouting:
"Fall back!"
"Where do you think—?!"
Louis lunged after him—
"Eat this!"
Flash!
Two other assassins tore scrolls from their robes—one hurled at Louis, the other at the king.
"Block it!!"
Louis paled at the surge of ominous mana—
BOOM!
Deafening thunder erupted, followed by a spell that swallowed his vision and senses in pitch-black darkness.
Instinctively halting his pursuit, he shifted to defense—
...No attack?
As tension and confusion mounted, the spell dissipated—revealing a half-ruined garden.
Louis whirled around—
"Your Majesty!"
A gasp of relief escaped him.
Though one knight was charred black and swaying unsteadily, the king was unharmed.
Then his gaze swept the battlefield—the garden, torn apart in that brief clash.
Yes. A garden reduced to ruins.
Where are the bodies?!
Only faint bloodstains remained.
Had the assassins retrieved even their fallen comrades before fleeing?
And why hadn't they used such powerful scrolls from the start? Were there restrictions?
Questions swirled in Louis's mind.
But the king's safety came first.
Pushing his doubts aside, Louis hurried to the king's side.
"Your Majesty, are you unharmed?"
The king stared blankly at him—
Dazed, shaken.
But soon, he seemed to collect himself and nodded.
"Ah—yes. I'm fine. Well done. Summon a priest—Sir Tenin must be saved first."
Assured the king was unharmed, Louis nodded sharply.
"At once! You there—is anyone here?!"
His shouts went unanswered until the other knight, Peron, rushed out to summon help.
Only then did people begin flooding in.
Later, it was discovered the palace guards' shifts had been deliberately scrambled.
The attempted assassination deep within the royal palace sent the inner court into chaos.
BAM!
"You mean to tell me there's no trace of them?!"
The king's trembling hands betrayed his fury.
At the time, he had been too stunned to react—but as the reality of his near-death sank in, his patience shattered.
Before his wrath, Cheyson Riverfield, Lord of the Royal Magic Tower, bowed his white-haired head and spoke calmly.
"The traces were erased with magic. Beyond the blood spilled by the slain, not a single drop remains. Life-tracking and trace-detection spells yielded nothing. None among them were Transcendents, so they must have prepared meticulously in advance."
"So you cannot find them?"
"My deepest apologies, Your Majesty."
Under the king's fiery gaze, Cheyson could only bow lower—until the Sword Duke interjected.
"This is no time to blame Lord Cheyson, Your Majesty. We must contain the rumors first. The kingdom cannot afford instability so soon after your coronation. I will personally handle disciplinary measures and enforce silence."
"Do you have any suspicions about the perpetrators?"
"...Perhaps remnants loyal to the vanished First Prince's faction."
The Sword Duke referred to Clavis—the only prince who had disappeared before Logan seized the palace.
"Clavis? That child?"
"Several knights from the First Prince's faction vanished with him. If forced to speculate, they are the most likely culprits."
"Tch. Whatever. Duke, focus on rooting them out. Whether it's Clavis or not, eradicate them completely."
"It shall be done, Your Majesty."
How could they catch those who left no magical traces?
But such concerns came later—for now, the Sword Duke bowed.
The king's fury had to be appeased first.
"I will double my personal guard henceforth. You are dismissed."
"Understood, Your Majesty."
The king's expression remained grim as he left the study.
Though he had entrusted the matter to the kingdom's strongest, his mood hadn't improved in the slightest.
If even the Royal Tower Lord cannot find them...
The odds of identifying a target for his rage were slim.
"Your Majesty. Allow me to escort you."
From the study to the bedchambers, knights now guarded him instead of palace attendants.
Seeing Louis—who had saved his life—eased the king's mind slightly.
"His Grace the Duke will surely exterminate them. Please do not trouble yourself overmuch."
Even if it was just empty reassurance from a man who trusted no one.
"Yes. I understand."
A faint sense of calm.
As he nodded and turned to leave—a sudden thought struck him.
"Even if Clavis—the First Prince's son—survived, would nobles still rally to him?"
"...Pardon?"
"No, never mind."
Startled by his own thoughts, the king shook his head hastily.
But the idea lingered.
If they wanted to make Clavis king, killing me alone wouldn't suffice. Logan and the Sword Duke would never accept it. They'd need to crush MacLaine and the Grand Duchy of Esperanza first. Are there fools who'd join such a cause?
The more he thought, the more absurd it seemed.
Then—the deep-seated inferiority he had harbored lately surged anew.
The image of that confident red-haired, red-eyed man looking down on him resurfaced.
"Louis."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"If I died now—who would become king?"
Louis couldn't bring himself to answer.
And the king's expression grew stonier by the second.
Several days later—
Logan MacLaine arrived in the capital.