Chapter 165
Chapter 165
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 165
Chapter Title: Chapter 165
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 165
Chapter Title: The Emperor We Dream Of
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"The emperor we dream of..."
Cale withdrew the hand he had extended and took his seat.
"This feels like we're the ones on trial here. How about it, brother? Care to speak first?"
"Tsk, such insolence. To dare put the empire's august princes on your own judgment stand."
No wonder the Shield Family had always been a thorn in the empire's side throughout its history. Grumbling as much, Mikhail took another sip of tea before continuing.
"But don't you think we'd try to deceive you with honeyed words? What if we spin a tale at odds with our true thoughts just to counter Ivarella—that's my point."
"That's a foolish question among foolish questions, Your Highness. I am someone who has clashed with Third Princess Ivarella time and again in arenas apart from you princes. In some ways, I know her fearsomeness better than you do."
Yes, I already knew. The fates you all met in the past when you crossed paths with Ivarella.
Thus, whether the First Prince or the Second Prince fed me sweet nothings, or poured out sincere persuasion...
In the end, nothing would change.
That said, to delay Ivarella's ascension even by a little, I needed their help. And since they had no desire to let her seize the throne, they required my talents—the very skills that had thwarted her so masterfully up to now.
"Therefore, I will join hands with you princes. That much is set in stone. However, when it comes to choosing whose hand to grasp more firmly—yours, or His Majesty's—it will certainly serve as a useful reference."
I flashed a thin smile at the princes.
"So, whether you spin pleasing lies to lower my guard, or deliver truths brimming with sincerity to move me... it all comes down to the choices you make yourselves. Though the consequences of those choices will be yours alone."
In a word: get caught lying, and it's your head.
No—in this case, it was far worse than losing a hand.
The next emperor's ascension would hinge entirely on whether one had reinforcements capable of tipping the scales.
"...Young for your age, but your tongue is sharp as a blade, Young Master Jerome."
"My thanks for the praise, Your Highness."
"Whew! Fine then. No point playing games before a promising youth who can stick it to that headache Ivarella. Very well, the emperor I dream of..."
Mikhail let out a deep sigh, gathered his thoughts for a moment, then spoke with a refreshed expression.
"I seek a sovereign who reigns supreme. Above every kingdom on the continent."
Reigns supreme. At first blush, it sounded much like Ivarella's vision, but Mikhail's idea of reigning was worlds apart from hers.
To reign as a nation above all nations, as Mikhail envisioned, required one vital prerequisite.
The existence of those other nations.
"I want the Golden Lion Church spread to every kingdom on the continent, with its central temple in the Vatican. I want the emperor of the empire exalted above every king. And for that, the empire must embody the dignity of this continent's overlord."
Indeed, that explains why Pope Francesco backs him.
Spreading the Golden Lion Church across the entire continent—what a sacred ambition from the pontiff's perspective.
No matter that the faith championed primogeniture; that sly old fox wouldn't support the First Prince over some dusty old rule alone.
"Tsk, brother, you're so stuck in the past. What is this, some back-alley turf war?"
Second Prince Cale rubbed at his ear like he'd overheard something he shouldn't.
"Young Master Jerome? I have no wish to become such a brutish ruler. I dream of mutual prosperity."
Cale spoke of halting this pointless war and forging continental peace.
"Through active exchanges between the empire and the kingdoms, we'll chase endless progress. We'll end these meaningless conflicts handed down through the ages and unite the continent in advancement."
Cale extended his hand once more.
"Truth be told, it matters little if you side with my brother or me. Either way, we seek a far more temperate path than Ivarella's."
No trace of malice lingered in his gently smiling, slitted eyes.
"What say you? Will you join us?"
"...Yes. I've heard you both out."
I clasped Cale's hand and returned his smile.
Yes.
Now I knew precisely.
The measure of your resolve.
The picture you each envision.
After back-to-back audiences with the emperor and the princes, a crushing wave of fatigue crashed over me.
Well, we'd talked straight through till dawn tinged the sky—no wonder exhaustion had set in.
Training was one thing. But the palace art of conversation, where every syllable demanded utmost care... it drained the mind utterly.
Tired. Time to rest.
"Misha, Miron. You two worked hard as well."
I turned to offer formal thanks to the pair who'd pulled an all-nighter alongside me.
They'd merely stood vigil outside, true—but staying on your feet through the night was no small feat.
"Not at all, Young Master. It's just..."
Miron shook his head as if to dismiss it, but his voice soon drooped.
"...We couldn't help at all. That stings."
Oh dear. Had I handled everything solo for too long?
"Misha, Miron. Everything in the Vatican boils down to mind games. It's only natural you two, short on experience, had no role to play."
"......"
"Even so, I brought you along because you'll have plenty to do on the way back."
"......!!"
At my words, the siblings' heads snapped up, gloom vanishing.
"Tomorrow, the merchant caravan from the Second Prince and Archbishop Luna will arrive here at the inn. Starting on the road home, your roles become critical. Stay sharp—I trust you."
A quick wink, and vitality sparked in their eyes.
"...Yes! We'll give it everything, Young Master!"
My, my. All grown in size, but still such children(?).
Watching the siblings' eager response, I headed toward the outskirts inn where Karma and the others were staying: Lord's Rest.
"Back, huh?"
"......?"
To my surprise, Saladin was leaning against the inn's entrance, eyes closed.
"What're you doing here?"
"Damn fool—you set the job and forgot already? Guard Karma and Lampang, you said."
Ah. Right, I had.
"Eh, middle of the Vatican and all. Nothing happened, yeah?"
"Nothing? Tch. You blind?"
Whoosh!
"......?"
I caught the tool Saladin tossed without thinking; the repair kit for Mima and Nene was caked in dried blood.
"Veras's side sent pursuers. Scouts, by the look of 'em—not too tough."
"...But why's it so bloody? Fiercer fight than expected?"
"Nah... I just... couldn't quite gauge my strength..."
"......?"
"...Aw, forget it! Doesn't matter! Handled 'em fine anyway."
Saladin scratched his head furiously and pivoted.
"How'd yours go? Plan work out?"
He meant if I'd successfully roped in the emperor and princes per the original scheme.
"Yeah."
"Tough break. ...Why the long face?"
Perhaps my expression wasn't as upbeat as expected.
Saladin's relieved sigh caught midway as he probed.
"Nothing much. Just solidified that we'll stick to the original plan."
"......!!"
The scheme Dwayne and I hatched before coming to the empire.
-Prod the emperor and princes into a united front against Ivarella. Exploit the chaos to resolve the kingdoms' scattered woes and bolster their collective strength.
That said, it was merely a blueprint.
Variables might demand alternatives. And that call rested solely with me.
"...Princes give you trouble?"
Once inside the inn, Saladin pressed.
I relayed the conversations with the princes, point by point.
"Hm. Seems solid enough?"
Saladin cocked his head after hearing it all.
"Ruling's the goal, sure—but way milder than Ivarella. Hell, Second Prince sounds like a straight-up pacifist. Why bother propping 'em as meat shields against her like the original plan?"
Even Saladin's buying it.
If a sharp mind like his could be swayed, most fools would tumble headlong into the princes' honeyed traps.
The princes weren't lightweights, merely overshadowed by Ivarella.
"Reigning's just window dressing. The instant the Golden Lion Church blankets the continent, every kingdom crawls with the Pope's spies. No realm would stomach that."
War would follow inevitably. Merely a shinier pretext than Ivarella's.
"Second Prince is sneakier still. Empire holds the tech edge over the kingdoms. 'Exchanges for progress'? Please. They'd be lucky not to end up vassals."
He aimed to grind the continental league into colonies, slow and steady.
Swords and spells weren't the only weapons of war. Coin was a fearsome one too.
Having led merchant groups myself, I knew its terror better than most.
"Every last one of 'em's a viper. Treat 'em lightly, and they'll snap your neck whenever."
Better to steer toward the future I knew.
Ivarella was a terrifying foe—but a known one.
Yet not long after, I would learn the truth.
That I'd sorely underestimated that woman, Ivarella.
Ikenia's capital, Edirne's Audra Palace.
"...Next order of business: foodstuffs. Fortunately, Queen Mitchell has quelled the rebellion's aftermath effectively, so Philador Kingdom's imports should suffice. Grain prices look stable for the year."
Prince Julius's clear report rang through the hall.
"Good, good. Still, stay ever vigilant. We must never see another great famine."
Perhaps haunted still by famine's gnawing hunger.
King Horn van Ikenia—now fully hale—urged caution on provisions as he heard Julius out.
"No question."
Flutter!
"...Following: word from Fran Kingdom's Wendinel ducal house. The wyvern wing scales procured by the Shield Family crossed the border today, reaching Shudart territory. Per prior arrangements with the Shield Family, they request tariff exemption..."
"Wyvern? Ah, yes—that matter Duke Darius mentioned."
"Indeed. Third Young Master Jerome secured them."
"Hoh! What a remarkable lad. Deeds like these before even reaching adulthood."
Horn gazed fondly at Julius—now fit to wear the crown anytime—then pivoted to the Shield Family upon mention, praising Jerome.
"Quite right, Father. A treasure of the realm, truly."
Julius smiled warmly at the thought of Jerome, prompting Horn's sly tease.
"Heh! Weren't you once griping about wasting time on some 'bug'? Now you're his biggest fan."
"Father, that's ancient history."
Julius flushed, called out for his famine-era grumbling with Horn before meeting Jerome.
"Heh! With you singing his praises till my ears bled, now I'm curious. Never laid eyes on him despite it all—quite the irony."
"Haha! A touch more patience. You'll meet come spring next year."
"Spring next year... Has it been so long?"
Horn lowered his voice, though none lurked nearby.
"That friend of yours—his mind unchanged?"
"...Yes. Queried him once more before departing for the empire, but he still insists on Olivia."
"Hm! Baffling. Why cling to such a forsaken pit..."
Unaware of the goal to swallow the sword isles whole, Horn could scarce comprehend it.
"Well, it's Young Master Jerome—he's thought it through. More to the point: no issue granting the territory?"
"What a question? His merits alone merit far richer lands than that dungheap Olivia, with plenty to spare. Let alone triumphs from this empire venture."
Horn and Julius turned their gaze north in unison.
Ere long, fresh winds would sweep the kingdom.
Winds stirred by that northern lad—no, soon a young man.
Ironically, those winds would rise not from the youth's north, but the south.
Horn and Julius prepared for that youth's gale with utmost zeal.
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