Chapter 182: For a Definitive End (8)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 182: For a Definitive End (8)
Thud.
"Keep moving."
Something hard jabbed him in the back.
Hair disheveled and appearance wretched, Marquis Benedict trudged forward, missing a shoe. His soles were torn and bleeding from his frantic sprint through the underbrush. Pain flared from his feet with every step, but as he crossed the threshold into Benedict Castle, the physical agony paled in comparison to the heavy, piercing gazes locking onto him from all sides. He couldn't bring himself to lift his head.
"It's Marquis Benedict!"
"You son of a bitch!"
"Serves you right for running away on your own!"
The soldiers of the Noble Faction.
Those who had fought desperately to defend Benedict Castle to the bitter end had been reduced to prisoners of war. In truth, the battle shouldn't have ended so futilely. Even after Roman Dmitry breached the gates, they had continued to fight—until they realized something was terribly wrong.
There was no one giving orders.
Cameron, who had been screaming commands at the top of his lungs from the walls, had vanished. The leaders of the Noble Faction, including Marquis Benedict, had been missing from the start. The moment that trust shattered, the war was effectively over. One by one, the soldiers threw down their weapons. Surrender spread like a plague.
This war.
It was a civil war, a conflict between brothers of the same nation.
It had been sparked by the grand ideals championed by their leaders, but with those leaders gone, there was no longer any reason to bleed. The tense balance on the battlefield collapsed in an instant. The Royal Army bound the surrendered soldiers, securing the castle's interior until dusk to eliminate any lingering threats.
It was over.
It was a definitive victory for the Royal Army.
Now, seeing Marquis Benedict dragged before them in such a pathetic state, the prisoners spat as he passed.
"Ptoo!"
"Go to hell!"
Spit struck his cheek.
As the thick saliva dripped down his face and fell to the dirt, Marquis Benedict’s blood boiled. Given the stench of the feces he had smeared on his own body to hide, the spit didn't feel particularly disgusting. But the sheer indignity of it—the absolute insolence of mere soldiers daring to humiliate him, the greatest power in Cairo—assailed his pride.
Thud.
"Ugh."
He was forced to his knees in the center of the square.
It was a place where every eye was locked onto him.
Lifting his head, Marquis Benedict saw Roman Dmitry walking toward him.
'So, this is how I die.'
In that moment, Marquis Benedict’s mind drifted back to memories he had long since buried.
* * *
Decades ago.
A grand banquet was held in Cairo.
To celebrate the union between the Cairo royal family and the Benedict family—the most prestigious house in the kingdom—foreign nations had sent delegations to offer their sincere congratulations. Marquis Benedict had been there. Having inherited his father's title at a young age, he couldn't hide his joy at the marriage of his younger sister, whom he cherished like a daughter.
For a time, those days were truly happy.
At least, until Daniel Cairo's father, the former king, revealed his utter incompetence.
"The Kronos Empire's atrocities worsen by the day! They cross our borders whenever they please, and they meddle in our state affairs using their imperial lackeys within our own borders. Your Majesty, Cairo is weak. I know we have no choice but to endure the empire's tyranny for now, but we cannot simply take this lying down! Assert your authority. Cut off the heads of those lackeys and prove Cairo's resolve!"
The Western Front.
Countless people had died there.
With his blood boiling, Marquis Benedict had stormed into the royal palace, veins bulging in his neck as he pleaded for the kingdom's future. Perhaps, back then, Benedict truly possessed patriotism. Believing that the Benedict family and the Cairo royal family shared the same destiny, he couldn't bear to watch the Kronos Empire treat their kingdom like a joke.
But the king did nothing.
His reasoning was simple: he refused to put his people in danger.
The king judged that if they executed the empire's lackeys, Cairo would not survive the retaliation. While a heart that loved the people was a virtue for a king, it did not appear that way to Marquis Benedict. Turning a blind eye now would surely cost the lives of countless citizens in the long run. Yet, the king prioritized a superficial peace over national strength, and his hollow ideals brought nothing but stagnation.
It was then that Cairo's power began to crumble.
While the king hesitated, paralyzed by indecision, the Imperial Faction—loyal to Kronos and Valhalla—expanded its influence at a terrifying pace. To counter them, Marquis Benedict gathered his own forces. Even if the Cairo royal family acted like fools, he had absolutely no intention of handing Cairo over to the empire on a silver platter.
Around that time, tragedy struck.
The queen, who had always been frail, fell ill and eventually passed away despite the king's devoted care. It was the same chronic illness that had taken Marquis Benedict's father. The moment that fragile bond connecting him to the royal family snapped, Marquis Benedict watched his sister's funeral with cold eyes. It was then he began to question whether the Cairo Kingdom should continue down this pathetic path.
At the queen's memorial service, the Imperial Faction laughed merrily.
Their expressions, entirely devoid of grief, set Marquis Benedict's heart ablaze with fury.
"I can no longer trust the Cairo royal family," he had declared. "I will form an independent force to represent Cairo and lead it down a truly righteous path. Tell the nobles who follow me: if you intend to serve me, Benedict, instead of the royal family from now on, come to me on the designated date and swear your loyalty."
Thus, the Noble Faction was born.
Over time, they had become corrupted. But he couldn't trust a king who spoke only of ideals, and the sole heir, Daniel Cairo, was too young and took after his father far too much. There was no future for the kingdom under their rule. Even if history would later judge him as a power-mad tyrant, he firmly believed he was in the right the moment he made that decision.
And then, the former king died.
Achieving the result everyone had secretly hoped for, Marquis Benedict ascended to an invisible throne, becoming the true ruler in the shadows.
* * *
Execution.
Death stood before him.
He wanted to meet his end as calmly as possible, but the memories cluttering his mind stirred a violent surge of emotion.
He felt wronged.
What had he done wrong?
Unlike Gregory or Denver, who would have handed the kingdom over to foreign powers from the start, Marquis Benedict had done everything in his power to preserve Cairo. Though he had abandoned the royal family, he had worked for the kingdom in his own way.
Step.
Roman stopped right in front of him.
Under that cold gaze looking down at him, sword in hand, Marquis Benedict lifted his face and screamed in desperation.
"I... I did nothing wrong! How dare you try to kill me after all I've sacrificed for this country! The former King of Cairo had the chance to deal with the Imperial Faction's lackeys before they grew too powerful, but he hesitated out of fear that his people would die. A truly good king, indeed! If this world were a paradise devoid of blood and death, he would have been a king worthy of his people's love. But reality is not a fairy tale! While a weak, pathetic king ruined this country, I held the center so that Cairo would not collapse!"
The veins in his neck bulged.
It was a desperate, pathetic sight.
Regardless of how the onlookers viewed him, he poured out the emotions he had bottled up inside.
"The former king died, and Daniel Cairo ascended the throne, spouting naive nonsense about building a country where the people are happy. Roman Dmitry! Could someone like you truly serve such a king? You, who are cold and always make pragmatic decisions—you must understand how I feel! The Kronos Empire crossed our borders time and again, traitors swarmed within our walls, and recently, even the Hector Kingdom looked down on us and declared war. That is the reality of Cairo! In such a chaotic era, shouldn't the one on the throne possess the strength to protect the kingdom? Answer me! Look me in the eyes and tell me I am wrong!"
He was hysterical with rage.
Blood vessels ruptured in his eyes, streaming red down his cheeks like tears of blood.
Roman looked down at him calmly.
Watching Marquis Benedict desperately insist on his own righteousness, Roman recalled the Daniel Cairo he knew.
"I will not criticize your initial choice," Roman said. "Perhaps Cairo did have an opportunity to restore royal authority back then, just as you said."
He paused.
"However, the former king's choice cannot be called wrong either. If you had led the Noble Faction and truly built Cairo into a strong kingdom, then the former king's failure to draw his sword when he had the chance would indeed deserve to be criticized as foolishness. But look at the results. What exactly did you achieve? Even after you formed the Noble Faction, the power structure remained stagnant. When the Hector Kingdom crossed our borders, you didn't care in the slightest for the country's safety. You became nothing more than a power-mad piece of trash, and the grand cause you championed lost all meaning. And when you were truly on the verge of collapse, you chose to hold hands with Kronos."
Roman raised his sword, pointing the tip at the Marquis's throat.
Marquis Benedict did not avert his gaze.
Even facing death, acting as if he were the victim, he clung to his self-righteousness to the very end.
"It is not shameful for the weak to bow their heads," Roman continued. "If one cannot bear the responsibility of a bloody decision—especially a king carrying the lives of countless citizens on his shoulders—one cannot blame him for choosing silence. But look at yourself now. When you became the decision-maker, you became worse trash than the very entity you criticized. The Cairo royal family, despite being mocked as incompetent and having their very authority denied, never once chose to sell out their country."
In an instant, Marquis Benedict's pupils trembled.
The illusion shattered.
He finally realized his hypocrisy. He understood the absolute truth in Roman's words.
He crawled forward on his knees and desperately grabbed the hem of Roman's trousers.
"...Please, please spare me. I only said those things because I wanted my efforts to be recognized. From now on, I will do my absolute best for the Cairo royal family—no, for Dmitry! So please, just spare my life!"
He begged.
It was pathetic.
Just as he had smeared feces on his own body to survive, Marquis Benedict could not maintain a shred of dignity in the face of death.
Roman's voice was devoid of pity.
"No. From the moment I drew my sword in Kairos, I was prepared for the consequences of my decisions. If I had lost this war, Dmitry would have been burned to the ground, and my family would have been humiliated. From the very beginning, we started an irreversible fight. A fight that can only end when one side is dead. It no longer matters whose choice was right. The loser bears all the responsibility of war. Using you, Benedict, I will show the world the end that awaits those who make the wrong choice."
"Please, just this once...!"
"Cairo will remember this day."
A flash of steel.
The sword swung down.
People screamed.
Some stared wide-eyed, some averted their gaze, and others gasped in horror.
It was the price of rebellion.
Roman's sword cleanly severed Marquis Benedict's head.
Thud.
Roll.
The head rolled across the dirt, and the headless body collapsed limply to the ground.
The giant of Cairo had fallen.
This was the miserable end of Marquis Benedict, the man once known as the living embodiment of power.
* * *
Meanwhile, in the Cairo Royal Palace.
Time seemed to crawl.
Daniel Cairo could not sit calmly, knowing that the fate of the entire nation rested squarely on Roman Dmitry's shoulders.
'One of the three days has already passed,' he thought anxiously. 'If it takes even slightly longer to suppress the Noble Faction, there is a chance the Kronos Empire will break through the Western Front and invade Cairo's territory. Did I really make the right choice? If I had compromised to a reasonable degree, at least the people of Cairo could have avoided immediate danger, even if it was only a temporary peace.'
He agonized endlessly.
At times like this, he truly envied men like Roman Dmitry.
An ordinary man like himself would agonize over a single decision, yet still fail to shake the lingering doubts afterward. He opened his eyes wide. Sitting up straight on his throne, he steeled his resolve, forcing himself to stop doubting his own commands.
His father had been a good man.
But Daniel did not want to end up like him—a king who was only good.
Just then—
"Your Majesty! News of victory! Roman Dmitry has captured Benedict Castle!"
"What?!"
Daniel sprang to his feet.
Just one day.
To think he had brought down the impenetrable Benedict Castle in a single day.
While overwhelming joy sent shivers up from his toes, he also felt goosebumps at Roman Dmitry's sheer capability, turning an impossible promise into reality. It was undeniable. Roman Dmitry was a monster that Cairo could not hope to control. Daniel instinctively realized that to move forward with such a monster, he would have to abandon the traditional relationship of king and subject.
But that was fine.
He was willing to accept the life of a puppet if it meant he could guide Cairo in the right direction.
His joy was short-lived as reality set back in.
"The rewards for his military exploits will be properly bestowed later," Daniel ordered swiftly. "For now, command him to head to the Western Front immediately. The Kronos Empire's movements are highly suspicious. If we respond even a moment too late, we will face irreversible consequences."
He suppressed his lingering joy.
The civil war had been settled, but Cairo's harsh reality still offered no guarantee of peace.