Chapter 74
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 74
Chapter Title: Ah, I'm Drunk
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The Prime Minister cried out in horror, but Cheonwi didn't even pretend to hear. Propping his chin on his hand, he lounged back slantwise, gazing down at the banquet hall.
"His Majesty is indisposed. He has a slight fever and is resting, so I will be presiding over tonight's banquet."
It was a brazen lie if there ever was one. But Cheonwi's gaze was so chilling that no one dared object. He tapped the table with his fingers. Tap, tap.
There, the stage is set.
He flicked his eyes toward the back of the stage. There waited the heroines, their faces set with grim determination.
A few days earlier, he had declared an "indefinite sex strike."
To rescind it, they had resolved to cast aside all pride and dignity tonight.
Cheonwi gave them a look.
Satisfy me.
At his signal, majestic drumbeats resounded through the banquet hall.
Thoom—thoom—thoom—!
The first up to bat was Tira, queen of the southern barbarians.
"Behold the wild dance!"
Tira roughly shrugged off the thick lion pelt draped over her.
"Gasp!"
The ministers sucked in their breaths. Beneath the hide, her body was nearly nude. Only the vital areas were barely covered by leather straps, her bronze muscles gleaming as if oiled.
Thud! Thud!
Barefoot, Tira stamped the floor and launched into a fierce tribal dance. Each shake of her hips sent ripples through her taut thigh muscles, sexy sweat droplets flying everywhere.
"Raaawr!"
The refined nobles' eyes bulged. This was no elegant court dance. It was a primal courtship gesture to stir male instincts. Throughout, Tira's gaze locked on Cheonwi. Staring straight into his eyes, she licked her lips with her tongue.
How's this? You haven't had any for days—gonna pass this up?
Cheonwi's lips quirked up in amusement. Passing grade. But not quite enough.
Then, a sharp ripping sound sliced through the music.
Shing—!
The second contender, Iron Blood.
She ascended the stage clad in red armor that encased her entire body, a gleaming longsword in hand.
"This isn't swordsmanship... it's art."
Iron Blood swung her blade. It was less a dance and more a killing frenzy of speed.
Whoosh! Snap.
The sword tip grazed her shoulder guard strap, and the heavy pauldron clattered to the floor.
Whoosh! Snap.
This time, the breastplate's linkage severed.
Iron Blood was dismantling her own armor piece by piece with her sword. The so-called "strip sword dance."
With each layer of cold steel peeled away, the pale flesh hidden beneath and the lewd thin lingerie were revealed. The disarming of a fierce warrior maiden. It stirred a strange urge to conquer.
Iron Blood struck off the last leg guard with her sword, shooting Cheonwi a provocative glare. Her face burned beet red, but her eyes held the bold resolve of a general charging into the bedroom tonight.
The mood heated up. The ministers drooled, entranced.
But the real highlight was just beginning.
The lights dimmed, and the soft strains of the gayageum flowed out.
From behind an ornate screen at the stage center, a woman stepped forth.
The empire's mother: Empress Yeonhwa.
"Heavens...!"
Gasp after gasp erupted from the crowd.
The haughty, stern empress wore sheer hanbok that revealed her inner curves. Through the thin silk, her voluptuous lines shone starkly.
Yeonhwa half-hid her face with a fan, flashing a seductive smile.
"Tonight... I dance not as empress, but as one woman."
Yeonhwa slowly approached the dais where Cheonwi sat. With each step, her thin skirt fluttered, baring dizzying leg beauty.
Above all, what captivated eyes was her belly.
Slightly swollen.
It proved the life she carried, and that the noble empress had accepted one man's seed.
Despite the pregnancy, only her belly had rounded out—her sensual figure seemed even more striking.
The sheer dance of a pregnant empress.
This transcended mere sexiness; it was the epitome of wicked depravity.
Yeonhwa circled Cheonwi's chair, displaying sensual moves. Her hand brushed his shoulder, her soft fragrance teasing his nose.
Cheonwi feigned surprise.
"Oh... Your Majesty, not bad at all? You've practiced a lot."
Yeonhwa leaned to whisper in his ear.
"Say you forgive me already. My back's killing me."
"Just a bit more. The angle's perfect."
"You bastard..."
Yeonhwa glared at him but didn't forget a little hip shake fan service.
The atmosphere surged to a peak. Now for the grand finale.
"Everyone, gather round!"
Snowflower called out. With a wave, ice crystals scattered in the air, creating dazzling light effects. It felt like an idol concert venue.
Sword Consort and Sohee joined from backstage.
The five heroines encircled Cheonwi in the center.
A six-member girl group. No, the empire's strongest harem troupe.
Sword Consort, a ribbon around her neck, crawled on all fours and clung to Cheonwi's leg. Sohee shyly yet boldly stroked up his thigh. Snowflower hugged him tight from behind, acting cute.
"Master~ Forgive me~"
"Hubby, you'll let me stay tonight, right?"
"Oppa, I love you!"
Omnidirectional beauty bombardment and cuteness overload.
"Guhhh!"
One frail old minister in the seats spewed a nosebleed and toppled backward. Everywhere, cries of "My heart..." and "Blood pressure..." rang out as people were carried off. This wasn't a banquet—it was a mass casualty site.
Surrounded by his heroines, Cheonwi smiled in satisfaction.
Tira's wildness, Iron Blood's gap moe, Yeonhwa's depravity, Sword Consort's submission, Snowflower's and Sohee's cuteness.
A perfect buffet for every taste.
Cheonwi nodded.
"Good. Very good."
He rose, taking in each heroine.
"With this much sincerity... I suppose I can call off the strike."
"Yaaay!"
The heroines cheered. Tira leaped to hug his neck. Yeonhwa sighed in relief, fanning herself. Iron Blood scrambled into her armor, muttering, "So who's on duty tonight?"
Cheonwi raised a golden goblet high.
"Tonight, revel! Drink, get drunk, dance! All costs on me!"
Of course, those costs came from the imperial treasury—taxes. But no one cared now.
"Long live Cheonwi! Long live the empire!"
The music swelled louder. The court musicians had switched to splitting beats in an EDM style. The refined banquet hall turned into a frenzied club in an instant.
Cheonwi leaned against the throne, downing his drink. At his feet, the empire's beauties attended him adoringly, while power brokers lined up to fawn.
This was true power. The ultimate male fantasy.
A victor's smile spread across Cheonwi's face.
The imperial banquet hall, swept by the storm of madness, was a total wreck.
Noblemen of high status panted shamelessly, forgetting decorum. The floor was littered with half-eaten food and overturned bottles. The air reeked of thick alcohol, women's scents, and sticky remnants of desire.
Cheonwi inhaled the turbid air deeply. The fragrance of corruption filling his lungs—it was the perfume of victory.
"Hoo..."
He staggered to his feet, feigning drunkenness.
The five heroines, breathless from their intense performance, clustered around him. Their heated gazes bored into his back.
Cheonwi headed for the front of the hall, the highest dais.
Each step up the red-carpeted stairs echoed heavily through the noise. Thud. Thud.
At the top: a massive golden dragon throne.
The absolute symbol of power, reserved solely for the empire's lord, the emperor.
Cheonwi stood before it, gazing down. The gold-plated armrests gleamed smooth; the dragon's eyes on the backrest shimmered like life.
"Ah, I'm drunk."
Cheonwi muttered, dramatically clutching his forehead.
"The seat's too cramped. Gotta find something roomier."
At his words, the eunuchs waiting below the dais blanched.
"Ch-Cheonwi Regent! That place is...!"
Jo Eunuch reached out in panic, but too late.
Thump.
Without hesitation, Cheonwi plopped onto the throne. Not properly seated—he slung one leg over the armrest, slouching like a delinquent.
"Nngh, as expected of fine furniture. Feels like my back's straightening right out."
Cheonwi patted the armrests, chuckling.
Instantly, silence blanketed the hall like poured ice water.
Music, laughter, clinking glasses—all cut dead. Hundreds of eyes locked on Cheonwi atop the throne.
It was blatant treason.
For a subject to usurp the dragon seat while the emperor lived. A crime warranting ten heads.
Jo Eunuch gaped, frozen.
That mad bastard's finally...
His eyes shook like in an earthquake. He knew Cheonwi's madness knew no bounds, but this? This wasn't wielding power—it was a declaration to crush imperial authority underfoot.
All held their breath, watching Cheonwi's mouth.
This silence was a test.
Who would dare bark? Who would risk death for counsel?
Cheonwi savored the heavy quiet, slowly raising his goblet.
"Why so quiet?"
His low voice pierced every corner clearly.
"Does my sitting here bother you? Or do you think this seat doesn't suit me?"
A chill smile curved his lips. His gaze swept the ministers one by one. Those it met bowed hastily, like prey before a predator.
Cold sweat trickled down Prime Minister O's spine.
He gauged the room. Shout "You can't!" now, and who knew where that madman's blade would point? Cheonwi wasn't just a power broker anymore. He commanded the military and made even the empress dance—a monster.
O's mind raced. Survival instinct kicked in.
"N-No, sire!"
O lunged forward with exaggerated volume.
"As His Majesty's proxy, it's only right you sit there! With His Majesty absent, who else to steady the empire but you, milord?"
Sophistry. But the sweetest answer now.
His lead unleashed the watching ministers in a chorus.
"Quite right! Prime Minister O speaks truth a hundredfold!"
"Lord Cheonwi is the empire's pillar!"
"That seat fits you like it was made for its true master!"
Grovelling flattery filled the hall.
Cheonwi sank deeper into the throne, savoring the sight.
Power tasted sweeter than liquor, more potent than drugs.
Even lofty scholars and arrogant nobles wagged tails before strength.
"Good. Music to my ears."
Cheonwi nodded, pleased.
"Then, let me make a proposal."