Chapter 99. He's a Total Psycho Bastard, Alright.
“Director, we should arrive in about five minutes. We can't land directly inside the palace, so we'll touch down outside and proceed from there.”
“It's huge.”
A full day had passed since we'd set off in the sky carriage, and before Walter even finished speaking, I was already squinting at the brilliant sunlight piercing the pastel sky. As the sky turtles descended, the majestic palace grew closer—but once they began landing with gusts of wind blasting from their shells, the view from above was blocked by towering walls.
The Emperor, huh... Strangely, I'm less tense than when I first met the duke.
It might be because it didn't feel real. There were only two emperors across this vast continent, and I was moments away from facing the sole ruler of the West Continent, where I belonged. If the highest nobles, the dukes, were like presidents of individual nations, then the emperor was probably on par with the U.S. President.
Kyuuuung—
Kugugugu—
“Director, they say sky crocs are way quieter for takeoff and landing.”
“Not buying one.”
“Tch.”
Stella tried to hawk another beast at just the right moment, but no dice. I had zero plans to bring any more animals into the Beauty Tower.
With a mighty rumble, the sky carriage settled beneath the massive walls shielding the palace. As the door swung open, dozens of knights stood in imposing formation.
“Director, don't worry. I've got your back.”
Walter stepped out first, escorting me like a lady at a ball. The lead knight approached.
“I am Theodore Holman, Captain of His Majesty's Imperial Guard. You are Baron Gold?”
“Pleased to meet you, Sir Holman. Minor Gold.”
At first glance, they didn't seem much different from the imperial knights I'd seen on the battlefield. But while those had griffin emblems symbolizing the empire on their breastplates, Holman and his men bore a single sword. And the captain's armor featured a red cape draped from the back—unlike the imperial knights.
“We'll proceed inside via a prepared carriage. This way.”
His tone reeked of authority, a reminder that as captain of the guard, he stood right at the emperor's side. The man wielded real power.
As we boarded a golden carriage plastered with enormous griffin emblems on the doors under Holman's guidance, knights blocked Walter and the witches from following.
“Sir Holman, they're my retainers.”
“Baron Gold will have an audience with His Majesty first. Retainers cannot accompany. They'll be shown to guest quarters.”
“Understood.”
Walter's hand twitched toward his scabbard, or so it felt. I answered quickly. Though my tone stayed calm, my heart raced.
My barony investiture was set for July 20th, a Thursday—two days away. I'd assumed no emperor meeting until then.
Heading straight in? For a mere baron like me?
My exploits in the subhuman war were impressive, sure, but an imperial audience before the ceremony? Shocking.
Clop-clop—
Clop-clop—
Walter and the witches headed off in another carriage. Alone with Holman in the golden one, I rolled through the palace gates. The silence choked me.
“Sir Holman, may I ask something?”
“Speak.”
“Do all who come for baronies get an audience like this?”
“No. You'll learn the details upon meeting His Majesty.”
“……”
My small talk probe hit a wall. Better shut up. One wrong word, and his micro-expressions screamed he'd cut me down.
Damn... this is suffocating.
People get cautious when they have more to lose. Last year at Frederik Castle, I'd been buzzing with dopamine, scheming a big score—“even if it kills me.” Now that money flowed steadily, everything felt precarious. Especially facing the infamous tyrant psycho emperor.
“We've arrived at the palace. Step down.”
“Thank you.”
After about thirty minutes of riding deeper inside amid my swirling thoughts, we reached it: the emperor's palace.
Frederik Castle had been vast and aesthetically stunning. This place? Pure grandeur and intimidation.
“Follow me.”
I swallowed dryly at the cannon-proof facade. Holman led me inside.
Whoa... the interior's a total contrast.
Unlike the stark exterior, inside brimmed with ornate arches, moldings, and sculptures that screamed art. I tiptoed across exquisite tiles, lest I scuff them, until we reached massive doors guarded by armed imperial guards.
“Your Majesty, presenting Baron Minor Gold.”
“Enter.”
A stern voice echoed from within. Two armored knights shoved the doors open. With a heavy groan, a long red carpet unfurled into the audience chamber.
Guuuung—
The doors thudded shut behind us. Per protocol, I matched Holman's pace on the carpet.
“Now.”
At the carpet's center, he whispered. I dropped to one knee, head bowed.
“Minor Gold greets the Great Sun of the Empire.”
“Raise your head.”
I'd avoided looking upon entry, terrified of catching killing intent via micro-expressions.
“You've traveled far. Well done.”
“Not at all, Your Majesty. It's an honor to have this audience.”
Lifting my gaze, the emperor sat sternly on his throne. Pale-skinned from rarely venturing out, with sunken, fatigued eyes—but his gaze sparkled.
“I've heard of your great deeds in the subhuman war. I summoned you to commend them, Baron Minor Gold.”
“I am humbled, Your Majesty.”
Odd feeling. Back home, even meeting the president wouldn't involve bowing or honorifics. But in this barbaric isekai, screw up etiquette and heads roll—instinct made groveling natural.
“The war's toll lingers, yet I longed to see you and called you hence.”
“Thank you for summoning me. The barony is a profound honor.”
“Ah, yes. That too.”
“……?”
That too?
Cold sweat trickled down my back. The barony was a pretext; he wanted something else.
“Baron Gold.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Have you ever seen a chimera?”
“……”
Should I pull the crystal orb from my subspace pouch and hit emergency call? Serious dilemma.
Stay calm, Minho. Calm.
The conversation veering to chimeras tied to his summons. Time to fish for more info.
“I've seen a drawing from an orc warrior.”
“So, not in person.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
His eyes gleamed; he stared inscrutably.
“Baron Gold, word is you wield unusual treatments. Healing rotten limbs without amputation, curing untreatable plagues. Regrowing hair, removing moles—many marvels.”
“……You overpraise me, Your Majesty.”
To others, mere praise. To me? Pure terror. Even with shaky support, he ruled two massive continents. The pinnacle of power knew my Beauty Tower treatments—not just battlefield ones.
He wanted something. And it linked to chimeras.
“I wonder if you could heal a chimera.”
Heal a chimera? What nonsense was this?
“Forgive my ignorance, Your Majesty. I fail to grasp your intent.”
“No need for fear. I am merely curious. Could you restore a fused chimera to its original, healthy form?”
“……”
Ah, this bastard. A complete psycho.
Rich, powerful types blow cash everywhere, then buy art for kicks when bored. This emperor had a chimera fetish.
No point dragging this out with the obsessed freak. If he's curious about medical approaches to chimeras, spill it.
“I've never seen one firsthand, but from descriptions, mages forcibly fuse same or different species. Like grafting another subhuman's face or arm onto an orc body.”
Was that the right play? He smiled faintly for the first time.
This bastard's a total psycho, alright.