Chapter 61
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 61
Chapter Title: Shadows of the Past
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She certainly knew that Prince Joseph was skilled with the sword. She knew his talent even surpassed Ricardo's. And yet, he was the son of that vulgar woman.
But just as always, she had assumed that since he could never grasp true power, he would at least keep his head bowed low and scrape by.
Moreover, while she pretended not to know and dismissed it as feigned illness, she was aware that Prince Joseph's health was poor. He had been found collapsed in the corridors more than once.
She chalked it all up to his lowly bloodline.
At that rate, she had thought there was no need for any special schemes—he would simply waste away on his own, and she could rest easy...
The Empress trembled once more, unable to contain her fury as she gazed at Joseph in the arena, one arm raised high in victory.
At that moment, the Emperor turned his head, speaking quietly to one of the guards standing beside him. For a brief instant, the Empress caught sight of her husband, Emperor Sanchez's profile.
And there was the expression she least wanted to see.
It was not disappointment or anger at Ricardo's defeat.
His face was utterly expressionless, but in those ash-gray eyes of his, a certain glint sparkled unmistakably—like a man who had just discovered a gem he had never noticed before.
The Empress bit down hard on her rouge-painted lips. It hurt so much she thought they might bleed, but she had to do something, or she really would lose her mind.
'...So now he thinks Joseph isn't just a discarded pawn anymore. He might even regret letting that talent go to waste.'
And the atmosphere—the entire audience rising in unison to cheer this new star—it grated on her nerves beyond endurance.
'I have to get Joseph out of the Emperor's sight somehow. Everything is mine. I won't give that bitch's mongrel son a single scrap.'
It didn't matter.
Whether her own son truly lagged behind Prince Joseph in skill or not. None of that mattered.
For now, nothing could threaten her power.
She had made it that way, and she would keep it that way.
Stubbornly remaining seated as everyone else stood, she took a deep breath only after glancing at the Emperor's face.
Too late, she realized that everyone would be watching her—the Empress, mother to Prince Ricardo.
As the queen mother of a nation and as Prince Ricardo's mother, she could not afford to show agitation now.
She mustn't give them any ammunition.
Forcing down the urge to flee the stands right then and there, the Empress compelled herself to rise from her seat.
Clap, clap, clap.
The heavy silence that lingered long after the match's outcome was decided was finally broken by faint applause from somewhere in the crowd. Like a spark igniting dry tinder, it spread, and soon the entire arena was engulfed in thunderous ovation.
In the Cheiker Kingdom, those with true skill deserved respect proportional to the effort they had poured into honing it.
Now that the Third Prince had proven his worth, no amount of past scandals could deny him this level of acclaim.
But amid the deafening cheers that made his ears ring, Joseph showed not the slightest hint of excitement.
Anyone in such a situation would instinctively puff up with pride, shoulders rising unbidden. Yet he remained serene, as if secluded in a silent forest where no sounds could reach him, his gaze fixed on one spot alone.
The girl with pink hair—who had been the first to clap—sat in the wooden contestant waiting area, split logs fashioned into benches. She flashed a wide grin, teeth gleaming, as she met his eyes fully.
'You did great. You worked so hard, my baby.'
Charlotte mouthed the words silently.
As if annoyed by her babbling that skipped past "big sis" straight to "mom," Joseph just stared at her blankly from afar.
Find it so amusing, did she? Charlotte clutched her belly in mock laughter even from that distance, then mouthed a correction.
'Joseph, you did amazing. Great job.'
Only then did the tension melt from Joseph's face.
Just locking eyes like this made the two of them feel as though they were the only ones left in the world.
He paid no mind to the Emperor who had always ignored him or the spectators now on their feet roaring in approval—as if they didn't exist at all. Staring only at Charlotte, he slowly took a step forward.
Toward her, and her alone.
Emperor Sanchez remained standing in a daze long after the applause died down, finally sinking back into his seat.
His gaze was fixed squarely on Joseph.
He loved these tournaments.
Loved them to the point of obsession.
He had no choice but to.
In his youth, he too had competed as a prince, savoring the thrill of victory. He had entered three times: advancing to the third round of the finals at nine, taking runner-up at fourteen, and claiming the championship at nineteen.
Back then, it had been hailed as an extraordinary feat.
Only after becoming Emperor did he realize that such pure meritocracy—where effort yielded fair results—existed nowhere else but in these rare martial tournaments.
Growing stronger was hard enough, but charting a clear path through daily toil was even harder.
The life of an Emperor had far less room to maneuver than it appeared.
That's why he cherished the magical interlude of these events. Escaping the grind of routine, witnessing victory and defeat unfold before his eyes. Moments unbound by political strings, decided solely by personal prowess.
'...Joseph.'
The Emperor murmured the name he had tried so hard not to think of.
'...You've grown so much. You look sturdy now, quite capable.'
He squeezed his eyes shut tight.
The next match began; an announcer called someone's name. But the Emperor's mind was too tangled to care.
A woman who often wore a poignant expression much like Joseph's floated into his thoughts.
'...Aienne would have loved to see this tournament.'
The thought came unbidden.
But he knew full well that Aienne would never watch one.
Beneath his closed lids, the silver-haired woman—like a pure white snowflower—tilted her head in perpetual distress, just as always.
Aienne had been a countess's daughter turned palace maid.
Serving as a maid in the imperial palace wasn't lowly by any means.
In other words, had the Emperor not touched her, Aienne could have married into an ordinary noble family.
The Emperor had been utterly smitten with Aienne.
At first, he forgot the Empress entirely in his infatuation.
But the more he loved and cherished her, the more Aienne withered away.
One day, she conceived their first child. But the boy died just a week after birth.
In this era of mages and priests, infant mortality was rare—especially in the imperial family, not some common household.
Yet for some inexplicable reason, every time a priest examined the boy, his fever spiked higher, until he slipped away from the world.
Aienne wept for a full week without even drinking water. That was when the Emperor first learned how relentlessly a person could grieve.
When he learned she was pregnant again, he finally realized how late he was in noticing her terror. Her profound anxiety.
No matter how lavish the gifts he showered on her, she refused them. Unlike before, she no longer smiled at his stories. Instead, she stroked her belly day after day, pleading with him.
To let this child live.
Of course, he promised to give her everything he could and raise the child openly as a prince. But that wasn't what Aienne wanted.
What she truly desired was this: if the child was a boy, depose the Empress and let both mother and son live in obscurity, far from the spotlight.
No matter how he vowed to protect them, Aienne believed the Empress capable of killing the child.
He tried persuading her, over and over. But eventually, he realized it was futile.
Aienne grew increasingly hysterical, scrutinizing not just her own food but even the young prince Joseph's. Naturally, Joseph barely touched the palace fare anymore.
Drifting like this, both Aienne and Joseph would die. The thought chilled him.
So when Joseph turned seven, the Emperor belatedly granted her wish.
It was no great feat.
Elevating status is hard; demoting it is effortless.
Fabricating some flimsy charge like "unseemly conduct" was child's play.
After that, he deliberately tried not to think of Joseph or Aienne.
The more attention he gave, the more he tried to help, the more everything would spiral out of control.
'...But even without me doing a thing, Joseph grew to this point on his own. Far beyond what I imagined. Aienne, what should I do now?'
Without turning, he felt the Empress's piercing stare from behind.
Very slowly, he opened his eyes, turned casually toward the arena, and leaned back against his seat as if nothing had happened.