Chapter 824: Justice and Truth
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 824: Justice and Truth
The Kingdom of Saint Perod.
The Royal Capital.
The Holy Mist Palace.
A sprawling complex of buildings sat atop the hill at the very heart of the city, resembling a gargantuan divine beast adorned with gold and jade, crouching in repose.
As the legendary masterpiece of Master Karant—a man who had left a profound mark on the history of human architectural art—this ancient palace had stood upon this continent for seven hundred years. It had weathered countless storms and vicissitudes, and had even been twice destroyed by fire and the calamities of war. Yet, at this moment, it remained no less magnificent, domineering, and splendid, possessing a refined beauty that stood in perfect harmony with its grand scale.
It was the royal palace of the Kingdom and its most famous landmark. Its reputation across the continent and its artistic sophistication far surpassed that of the Empire’s capital, Belland—that vulgar thing piled together with barbaric earth and stone, devoid of any artistic soul.
"How beautiful..."
Oriel stepped into the magnificent palace, the golden eaves, more dazzling than the sun, reflected in his eyes. Though this was a common sight he had long grown used to, a surge of heroic ambition he had never felt before welled up in his chest.
It felt as though, in the very near future, he would become the master of this place. He would stand at the highest point of this palace and look down upon the masses as if they were mere ants.
"Soon... very soon..."
Oriel whispered under his breath, forcibly suppressing his visible ambition and excitement. He knew the moment had not yet arrived; he still needed to endure.
Endure.
Continue to endure.
As the son of a King who was more cold-blooded and ruthless than anyone, endurance was the first lesson they had to learn from the moment they gained awareness.
Otherwise, they would end up like that fool Milne—ostentatiously flaunting his talent and ability, being favored, protected, and entrusted with heavy responsibilities. He had been insufferably arrogant and basked in infinite glory, seemingly destined for the highest seat... only to ultimately become a pathetic stepping stone for the Kingdom’s progress, a discarded pawn cast aside without hesitation by the Emperor, their father.
But he was not Milne. He was different. He would not repeat those mistakes.
He was the truly clever one.
"Ah, look, it’s Prince Oriel."
"He won again, didn't he?"
"Yes, I heard he has already breached the Empire’s sixth fortress and pushed the front line forward by two hundred miles. He leads from the front every single time."
"Incredible... This is exactly what a future leader of our Kingdom should look like!"
"Shh, quiet! How can you discuss such things in the palace!"
Clad in armor, Oriel walked through the palace. Along the way, he encountered court maids whispering about his deeds, only for them to be dispersed by stern guards.
This was normal. Against the backdrop of the Kingdom being at a disadvantage against the Empire for over a century, Oriel’s current achievements as the commander of the vanguard were enough to be called "great feats." In this regard alone, he had already far outstripped his siblings who intended to compete with him.
But the more successful he was, the more humble and respectful he acted. When he stepped into the great hall—said to be far more spacious than the Empire’s throne room—he behaved even more submissively than a common noble during an audience, kneeling directly at the feet of the old man upon the throne.
"Greetings, Father. Seeing you in such good health as always brings me immeasurable joy."
"Oh, it’s little thirteen, Oriel. You’ve returned."
The old man on the throne stood up with a loud laugh and personally helped Oriel up with a kind expression.
"Why such formality? Between father and son, what is the point of such etiquette? Are you trying to make this old man feel awkward?"
"Father, you joke. This isn't mere etiquette; no one greets like this."
Lifting his head, Oriel’s eyes were slightly red, as if he wanted nothing more than to cling to the old man’s feet and pour out the sorrow of being away from his father.
"This is simply my heartfelt affection for you, Father. This emotion is so profound that I cannot help but act this way!"
"Gag..."
Several ministers and some of Oriel’s brothers, who had also been given heavy responsibilities, stood in the hall. It was unclear where that faint sound of retching had come from.
However, that ill-timed noise was quickly drowned out by Oriel’s sincere outpouring of emotion, seemingly never reaching the old man’s ears.
"Good, good. Seeing you return safely makes me happier than any good news."
The old man... King Saint Peronne V of the Kingdom, wore a gratified expression. His eyes seemed filled with nothing but love for this son of his.
"I heard you’ve achieved quite a bit lately. As the vanguard, you’ve sent the Imperial army into a steady retreat... Some in the country are already calling you the most talented young general the Kingdom has seen in a century. Not bad, haha, well done."
"..."
Oriel’s heart tightened, and he quickly said, "Father, you overpraise me. I only rely on your prestige. If not for your brilliant leadership, how could the Kingdom have achieved such a great victory?"
"Eh, why be so modest? Do you think this old man would steal your credit? Come, bring a seat. With you here, this meeting can officially begin."
"Thank you, Father."
Oriel sat on the seat personally bestowed by the King, his every move filled with filial piety and respect.
Once Saint Peronne V returned to his throne, Oriel used his peripheral vision to scan the people in the hall.
Kingdom ministers, royal brothers... there was nothing to say about these people Oriel knew all too well. The only one who caught his attention was a black-robed figure standing closest to his father.
The person’s entire body was shrouded in a voluminous black robe, including their face. In this hall, before the King, such an act of concealing one's face was undoubtedly extremely disrespectful—especially since they stood even closer than the King's own sons.
Yet Oriel felt little displeasure. In fact, upon seeing the black-robed figure, he felt a sense of genuine security.
The peace of mind that black-robed person gave him far exceeded that of his father on the throne.
The reason was simple. As the commander of the vanguard and the only prince with actual military power who faced the Empire on the front lines, no one here felt the immense pressure he did, nor did anyone understand better than him just how terrifying an enemy the Empire truly was.
He understood perfectly that such a terrifying enemy had to be pinned down from behind, preventing it from responding with full force, for the Kingdom to have any chance of a frontal victory.
Therefore, although such matters could not be brought into the light—lest they be condemned and spurned by the other nations of the continent—Oriel, who had entered the Empire’s core power circles, knew exactly who their partner in this cooperation was.
...The Demon Race.
Indeed, only the Abyss Demons—so ferocious that even the Empire feared them and had to strain every nerve to deal with them—were qualified to be the Kingdom’s allies. Together, they would devour the insufferable Empire from both sides!
And this process of devouring was also the process of him gradually accumulating strength and prestige! This was why, while his group of useless siblings were still thinking about internal strife, he was the only one who went to the dangerous front lines.
He understood this was his best opportunity. In a Kingdom where the heir had not yet been officially decided, as long as he could defeat the Empire, the prestige he gained would automatically push him into the position of Crown Prince.
Father actually allowed the Demon envoy to enter the hall for this meeting, and to stand so close. It seems the alliance with the Demons has indeed reached a state of incredible smoothness.
After a silent analysis, Oriel’s confidence in this war—and the even more important division of interests after the war—grew significantly.
After all, as the King, Saint Peronne V’s welcoming posture already signaled trust and attitude.
And to earn the trust of that heartless old man meant the benefits brought by the Demon envoy were enough to make him take such a massive risk.
It seems my gamble was correct.
A sharp light flashed in Oriel’s eyes, and he felt immensely fortunate for his decision to join the army and become the vanguard commander.
"Well, since Little Thirteen has arrived, let us continue the previous topic—what are your thoughts on the war as it stands?"
Saint Peronne V said, "My lords, feel free to speak your minds."
He watched the people in the hall, his tone peaceful and his expression kind. He lacked even a hint of majesty, appearing as though he wouldn't be angered by anything he heard.
But after Saint Peronne V waited patiently for a good while, not a single person in the hall stepped forward to speak.
"What is this?"
Saint Peronne V finally couldn't help but frown. "Am I so terrifying that you don't even dare to speak?"
"Your Majesty misunderstands."
After a moment of exchanging glances, it was finally the Kingdom’s Finance Minister, Marquis Duncan—the best at smoothing things over—who stepped forward.
"It is not that we fear Your Majesty’s authority and dare not speak, but rather that we truly do not know what to say."
"Oh? What do you mean?"
"It is simple. Have our views on this war not already been fully presented to Your Majesty from the beginning?"
Marquis Duncan straightened his back. Beside him, most of the other ministers did the same.
"We believe that in this war... the Kingdom is destined for victory!"
"Destined for victory?"
"Yes, destined!"
Duncan was very old, not much younger than the King on the throne, but the light in his eyes at this moment was so bright it was hard to look at.
"Currently, the Empire is beset by troubles on all sides, its internal politics are in chaos, and the new Empress is incompetent and obsessed with romance. It is at its most vulnerable. At such a time, as long as our Kingdom strikes with full force, we will surely crush the Empire! Since victory is certain, what else is there to say?"
"Minister Duncan... I remember that at the start, you were the most opposed to this war," Saint Peronne V said in surprise. "Why the sudden change of heart?"
"Indeed. At that time, I did not expect the Empire to be so weak that it would be easily driven back by us."
Duncan said solemnly, "Though I opposed it then, now that the war has begun, I believe any talk of discouragement is nothing but cowardly behavior that holds us back. At this moment, we should only forge ahead with even greater courage. At the very least, with me handling the Kingdom’s logistics, Your Majesty need not worry."
"But I heard the front lines have been in a stalemate for a long time..."
Saint Peronne V couldn't help but sigh. "I only worry that if it turns into a war of attrition, our peace-loving Kingdom will ultimately be unable to compete with the barbaric Empire..."
"Father!"
Oriel stood up, knowing he had to step forward now.
This situation was practically a stage set specifically for his performance.
"Father, you need not worry! The situation at the front is only temporary!"
"Oh?"
Saint Peronne V looked surprised again. "What do you mean?"
"The current stalemate is merely a performance I am putting on for the Empire."
"A performance?"
Saint Peronne V craned his neck, looking puzzled. "How so?"
"Hmph. During this time, I have continuously sent small units to harass them but have refrained from a large-scale offensive. Through my deliberate holding back, the Empire has surely lowered its guard against us."
A confident curve appeared on Oriel’s lips. "That young Empress of the Empire must still be wondering about the Kingdom’s offensive, guessing if we’ve run out of steam or if internal problems have arisen. But she has no idea that during this time, we have already found the path to certain victory!"
"What path to certain victory?" Saint Peronne V became even more curious.
"This..."
Oriel glanced at his brothers around him and hesitated for a moment. "It is not that I distrust everyone, but this involves military secrets and is truly not suitable to be discussed here. I will present it to Father in writing afterward. I hope Father will not be anxious."
"Good... Good, good, good!"
Saint Peronne V said "good" several times in a row. He didn't show the slightest doubt toward Oriel’s empty words; instead, he seemed to have already envisioned the future of the Kingdom’s victory, laughing and slapping his knees in gratification.
"Haha! With such fine ministers and such a fine son, how could I worry about not winning?"
"It is all thanks to Father’s merit," Oriel said humbly. "We are merely basking in your light."
"Alright, enough flattery. What’s the point of saying the same things over and over? Since it’s rare for you to return, take a good rest for now. I shall hold a ball specifically for you to welcome you back." Saint Peronne V stroked his beard and smiled.
"I cannot."
Oriel looked grave and said solemnly, "I only returned this time to help expedite logistics for the front. How can I indulge in pleasure? The front is urgent; I must head back immediately!"
"Look, look at that."
Saint Peronne V grew even happier, pointing at Oriel. "This is my most outstanding son!"
"Father overpraises me."
Oriel lowered his head deeply, but in the depths of his eyes, an ambition taller than this palace gradually swelled, no longer able to be suppressed.
The scene he had witnessed outside the Holy Mist Palace earlier flashed through his mind again...
The pretentious whispers continued to reach his ears, but he couldn't help but sneer coldly in his heart.
Fools.
...
...
"Fools."
After everyone had left, Saint Peronne V looked at the empty hall. His previous kind expression had long since vanished, his face now appearing as if cast in metal—utterly cold.
He hissed, "How could I have such stupid sons?"
"Didn't you block the information yourself?"
The black-robed figure had walked to the side of the throne at some point and gently pulled back the hood.
However, what was revealed was not the face of a Demon—there were no red pupils, nor any symbolic horns. Instead, it was a stunningly beautiful and glamorous young woman with an ethereal temperament.
The woman rolled up her sleeves, revealing snowy-white wrists, and reached out to gently massage Saint Peronne V’s shoulders.
"You were the one who pushed for the war. You were the one who personally purged the nobles who didn't want war. After the anomaly occurred on the Demon side, you were the one who completely blocked the news. Now the entire Kingdom is united, driving the Empire back, and your most outstanding son is leading from the front—yet you still call him a fool? You can't have everything your way," the woman teased with a smile.
"That is exactly why I call him a fool... What greatness can someone achieve if they only see what they want to see?"
Saint Peronne V sneered. "With this level of competence, he expects me to hand the Kingdom over to him? Too naive."
"At least compared to your other sons who only want to sit back and enjoy the fruits of others' labor, he has some courage, doesn't he?"
The woman leaned close to Saint Peronne V’s ear and joked, "So, what’s next? Are you going to get your own son killed again? Come to think of it, the reason you can never find an outstanding son to be your heir... is because the truly outstanding ones were killed by you long ago."
"..."
The woman’s laughter echoed in the empty hall. These were treasonous words enough to ignite a king’s fury, but Saint Peronne V only let out a sigh that seemed to come from his very soul.
"I only... I only did it for the Kingdom."
Yes, only for the Kingdom. He had sat on this throne for sixty years. In contrast, the Empire’s ruler had changed through three generations, yet he was still here.
In these sixty years, he had already enjoyed everything the human world had to offer. His only remaining obsession was to make the Kingdom stronger and more stable.
To achieve this, the beast at his side—the Empire—had to be dealt with in advance or crippled.
Otherwise, he understood that as one waxed and the other waned, the future Kingdom would inevitably be forever shrouded in the shadow of the "Empire." That young Empress was no pushover, and she had an increasingly outstanding fiancé. The offspring of the Imperial family and the Campbells would surely be extraordinary.
And so he had acted. Taking advantage of the Empire’s internal purge and the new Empress’s ascension—a time when the situation was not yet stable, arguably the Empire’s most vulnerable moment in a century—he had decisively launched this war. To this end, he had not hesitated to collude with the Demons, nor had he hesitated to... personally use his own son as a pretext for war.
But as the plan progressed to this day, the situation had changed because of that bizarre occurrence...
"It’s not your fault."
The woman leaned down and wrapped her arms around Saint Peronne V’s neck. "Who could have imagined that the mighty Demon Race would suddenly vanish from the continent overnight? I imagine it’s not just you; even the Church is in chaos right now, which is why they haven't made it public yet, allowing you to block the news within the Kingdom so easily."
"It was caught off guard, after all."
Saint Peronne V sighed again. "We can only let poor Little Thirteen suffer for a while."
"It’s fine. I quite like it when you kill your sons. After all, they aren't mine," the woman giggled. "It’s better if they all die."
"..."
Saint Peronne V lowered his eyes, his pale eyebrows drooping like snow.
The Empire’s capital, Belland, was currently enjoying a balmy autumn breeze, but the Kingdom’s capital, Saint Wells, felt as though it were about to welcome its first snow.
"I am old," Saint Peronne V said suddenly. "After this winter, I will be exactly one hundred years old."
"Yes, you are old."
The woman also lamented, "I’ve never noticed so many wrinkles on your face before."
"But you still look so young."
Saint Peronne V greedily stroked the woman’s palm. Her hand was still so smooth, like that of a young girl.
"A Crown Bearer can always live a few more years. This is the world’s reward. Who told you not to cultivate properly back then?"
The woman said gently, "If only you had given up the throne and focused on the path of the strong with me, instead of the path of a king, how good would that have been?"
"That was never a possibility," Saint Peronne V said.
"Yes, never a possibility."
The woman sighed. "That is just the kind of person you are."
"..."
"..."
Another silence followed.
Saint Peronne V looked at his hands, withered like tree roots, and at his wrinkled, aged face reflected on the marble floor. He gradually raised his head and gazed at the distant lights of the capital.
He thought back to sixty years ago, when he first sat in this position and looked out the same way.
At that time, he was full of ambition, believing that under his rule, the Kingdom would usher in unprecedented prosperity.
In fact, the Kingdom had indeed prospered, even rivaling the Empire to some extent. But the final outcome still had to be decided by the coldest, most cruel edge of a blade.
And so, at this moment, the wheels of war had begun to turn, rolling forward relentlessly, unable to be stopped.
There was the Finance Minister, who had suddenly shifted from the conservative faction to the staunch pro-war faction because of the profits to be reaped from war. There was the "outstanding prince" who wanted to accumulate power and was far more courageous than most nobles. And there were the ordinary people, caught up in the excitement of defeating the Empire, without even knowing what those victories relied upon.
Everyone was on this war chariot, charging forward with it. As the helmsman, the King had to keep the news of the Demons hidden, lest the chariot disintegrate from within due to a sudden brake and internal turmoil before it even encountered a heavy blow.
Now, this chariot could only keep charging—either to destroy the Empire or to destroy itself.
There was no third possibility.
"But..."
Even for a King who had sat firmly on this throne for sixty years and witnessed countless storms, Saint Peronne V couldn't help but fall into a daze.
"Is this truly right? Seventy percent of this nation, including myself not long ago, are devout believers of the Goddess. Yet I am doing something that violates the Goddess’s teachings... After I die, will my soul truly find peace?"
"Can the Goddess you speak of help you? Can she help the Kingdom?"
The woman tilted her head, meeting Saint Peronne V’s gaze.
"She can't, can she? The vast number of believers in the Kingdom offer their faith so devoutly to that so-called Goddess, yet at this critical juncture, the Goddess’s help to you is not even as much as her help to that Empire where few people believe in her. How ridiculous, how pathetic. The so-called Goddess is nothing more than that."
"...Indeed."
Saint Peronne V closed his eyes and said, "The Goddess cannot help us. We can only help ourselves."
"It’s not just yourselves. Don't worry, you still have me. We are here, and at this moment, we are together."
The woman kissed Saint Peronne V’s forehead gently, as if to smooth away the wrinkles.
"Trust me. We... we represent justice. We represent truth."