Impulse: A Familiar Face
A familiar face. The man who attended the Academy's graduation ceremony alongside the emperor every year. The one whose family had grown enormously, to the point where he could be called the true beneficiary of the recent war, and who had acquired the unprecedented right to monopolize the empire's major roads. Because of that, he was mockingly called the lowest duke. And... the one who had wiped out Seolhwa's family.
If it's this street, it will definitely reach him.
No matter where he appeared, the knights who guarded Duke Sachsen like shadows were nowhere to be seen. Of course. Even he couldn't bring private soldiers to a place with the emperor.
Push him off the stairs? No, Jepeto's right next to him.
Magic? Unfortunately, I haven't reached the level where I can perform the miracle of 'something from nothing.'
Shamanism? Yes... shamanism will reach him.
A cold, heavy sensation crawled from the small of his back up to his right hand, like a snake slithering along his spine. He didn't know what price shamanism would demand, but no matter what it was, Seolhwa would pay it gladly.
But... is this the right way?
Suppose he killed Duke Sachsen right here. Of course, he wouldn't have brought soldiers, but he'd surely be wearing expensive protective gear. And the more he twisted causality, the greater the price shamanism would exact. But assume he somehow managed to kill him.
Before the bereaved family could even don masks of grief, the emperor would first reclaim the road monopoly rights held by Duke Sachsen. That privilege probably wouldn't be granted to any noble again. Next would be his territory. His main estate in Sachsen would go to his only daughter, but the outer manors would be swiftly carved up by the other electors. The daughter might resist, but it would be futile.
Finally, Duke Sachsen himself. The emperor and electors, having taken his monopoly and manors, would elevate his honor as a minimal courtesy. The hero who led the war to victory, aided the emperor in postwar reconstruction, and met his end at the hands of an assassin in that process. Hell, every bard in every tavern would praise Duke Sachsen, and the drunks would raise their glasses. And in that process, the nameless assassin who killed him—Seolhwa—would become an axis of evil too vile to even mention, serving as a bottomless receptacle for curses his whole life.
Is this really the way I want it?
His fallen family, lost honor, and burned castle wouldn't return. All he'd gain was a fleeting pleasure, light as a snowflake melting in the morning sun. Far too meager a result for granting Duke Sachsen an honorable death.
No, it can't be like that.
The sensation of a snake licking his back faded away.
"...See."
Duke Sachsen would crumble far more thoroughly than this. He had to make sure of it.
"...See, my friend."
And only in that final moment... at last!
"Vice Warden Suhwa Romanov!"
"Yes? Uh, yes, Warden, what's up?"
He hid both hands behind his back like a kid caught playing with fire. The murderous intent that had seemed unquenchable vanished, leaving only a trace of shame.
"You looked like you'd seen a ghost."
"Did I? But if there's a ghost in Palatium, wouldn't it be a saint?"
"You've got the leisure for jokes again. Let's go."
Instead of pointing out the mistake and scolding, he gave time to let him realize it himself. Rotten roots would feel relief at not being caught; promising sprouts would shiver with stinging shame.
Was my vessel only this big?
He'd sworn to himself countless times. He hadn't come here just to cut the enemy's throat. He'd sever everything bit by bit, slowly tightening the noose, then shatter him utterly.
But when the moment came? He'd been so consumed by vengeance that he hadn't even noticed his surroundings, drawing up shamanism. If a guard mage had been nearby, it would've turned into a huge hassle.
I'm still far from ready.
Each step up the stairs stamped Seolhwa's anguish and torment.
As he reached the second floor, a statue came into view. Before entering the corridor toward the emperor, there was a brief moment for reflection. A monster painted on the ceiling fresco gazed down at Seolhwa. The beast, pierced by a spear and dying, sneered at the hero—and now eyed Seolhwa steadily.
"Utopia's warden, Jepeto Cervantes, comes before Your Majesty."
"You've had a hard journey. Duke Cervantes."
A rather awkward title clung to Jepeto's name. Seolhwa, Helena, and everyone else at Utopia had forgotten it, but Jepeto still formally held a ducal rank in the empire.
"I never thought that cumbersome decoration would hang behind my name again, Your Majesty."
"Who else would call you that but me?"
"Then I'll speak freely instead. 'Servant' and 'We' are hard to say or hear."
Was this okay, even for a duke? Seolhwa glanced at the emperor, anxious. If he got angry and issued an expulsion order here, not only would Seolhwa's goals fail, but there'd be no chance to meet the emperor again. Tension gripped his heart like a vise. The earlier mistake on the stairs was forgotten. Should he stay silent? No, that was like standing in an open field as a storm gathered. Should he step forward and correct Jepeto's words? That was also a blunder. Pointing out a senior in front of the top brass as a lowly junior? He'd be crushed.
As Seolhwa flailed amid self-devouring questions like a snake eating its tail—
A hearty laugh boomed, and the emperor pulled Jepeto into an embrace.
"Hahaha! You really haven't changed a bit."
"They say people change only when they die. Guess it's not my time yet."
"That's true enough."
Seolhwa, the attendants, and guards all sighed in relief. Reasons varied, but it was a shared camaraderie among those who knew an offended emperor spelled trouble for everyone.
"Still, this meeting won't start with retirement talk and end in fishing... so maybe you have changed a bit?"
"No way. You're the one who brought it up first, but this year it's really different."
"Fishing? Fishing's fine too. But then who'd manage Utopia?"
The emperor and Jepeto's gazes stabbed toward Seolhwa simultaneously.
"Utopia's vice warden, Suhwa Romanov, comes before Your Majesty."
"Romanov? Were you my half-brother or something?"
The emperor, having faced audience after audience with a cup each time, seemed already tipsy.
"I received the imperial grace bestowed by the late emperor to commemorate the victory."
"Victory? Oh!~ Yeah, I remember. Right, that happened."
The war hadn't just shattered castles and cities. Families crumbled, society collapsed, producing an unmanageable flood of war orphans. For those left in the war's wake, there was no today. They could only curse yesterday while starving or flee into tomorrow through crime.
When it exceeded what a single territory or noble could handle, the previous emperor issued a radical edict.
I bestow upon you the surname Romanov. Live lives that do not shame the name Romanov!
The nobles' backlash was fierce, and even the war orphans were lukewarm. What use was a surname to the nameless? Could they boil it in a pot and eat it? Trade it for bread? Despite the victorious emperor's dignity, rumors spread that it was a failed policy.
But little by little, change began—like dandelions blooming in rock crevices.
"You think I'd give work to some nobody? Day labor too good for ya?"
"Aw, come on... If I beat around here a bit, you'll know who I am."
"Then at least give me a name. So I can put you on site."
"Name? Man, that's harsh... Ah, right! Romanov! I'm a Romanov."
Even those who scoffed at first, or scolded them for daring to utter His Majesty's surname, changed. Humans needed a minimum of respect, and now the war orphans had names. And so, they began to live today.
"But... these days, they say people shy away from the Romanov name?"
"Perhaps burdened by such immense imperial grace."
Thoroughly drunk, the emperor spoke casually even to Seolhwa, like with Jepeto.
"Big? Hell yeah, big time!"
"Your tolerance is as weak as ever."
"I'm not drunk. Still good. So this kid's taking over Utopia? Looks too young...."
"Skinny build, sure, but this one's this year's Academy top graduate."
Hearing that, the emperor first marveled, then looked glum.
"Should've given you the award myself. My tour kept me too busy to check. Forgive me."
"I know you're busy with imperial duties for the empire. Don't worry about it, Your Majesty."
Whether sincere or not was secondary; the emperor expressing regret mattered. For pulling out the main topic later, at least. The last bottle emptied, and the emperor beckoned his attendant. Jepeto lightly stopped the one slipping out the door.
"His Majesty seems plenty drunk, so no more booze. You all go rest."
The tour banquet plus audiences meant endless overtime. Who'd refuse to clock out? Especially an order from the duke who'd just been chatting freely with the emperor. Guards were outside with the imperial knights, and the emperor, on the verge of dreamland, didn't need more service.
The attendants exchanged glances and left with light steps—all but one.
"Why do you hesitate?"
"Someone has to escort His Majesty to his chambers."
"Heavens! Such loyalty... I lamented His Majesty staying alone in the capital, but it was an old man's unfounded worry!"
Jepeto, face moved as if a god had descended, slipped a few gold coins bearing the late emperor's face into the attendant's pocket. The attendant's gummy smile bloomed as he escorted the golden late emperor from the room.
He'd go to "chambers," as said. Just not the emperor's—his own.
As Seolhwa admired the old fox's slyness—
A sharp voice flew and pinned him.
"Your quick wits are as sharp as ever."
"Child's play compared to the battlefield, Your Majesty."
Seolhwa barely suppressed his surprise and turned to the emperor. The emperor, sober as if bled like a hog, smiled lightly.