Chapter 283

It was a day when cold autumn rain fell, heralding the coming winter.

The soldiers who had gone to war received spoils according to their merit, and some returned to their hometowns. Yet White Swan Castle did not grow quiet. Far too many people had gathered, and even more were still arriving.

Especially on the day the Emperor and Crown Prince of the Bistor Empire were to be executed, people from other lands flocked to witness the spectacle, leaving no vacant rooms anywhere near Penmewick Castle.

“The descendants of Bistor founded the Bistor Empire, creating a court of swindlers and thieves, and proclaimed themselves the saviors of humanity. Though neighboring countries tilled their own land and built their names, they had to bow their heads before the name of the Empire……”

A skilled orator read from a long scroll before the gallows. The Emperor, now awakened from the curse his daughter had used, was emaciated like a skeleton and listless, to the point that no one could recognize him. The Crown Prince beside him was even worse, looking like a beggar one might have passed on the street yesterday.

Winning a war did not necessarily mean the victor had to kill the defeated monarch. Conflicts between monarchs often ended with the defeated swallowing their pride and paying reparations. Even in harsher outcomes, it was common for the defeated to swear allegiance to the victor.

Moreover, the one ordering this execution was a Grand Duke, and the condemned were the two pillars of the Imperial Family—the family that had bestowed the Grand Duchy and ruled this continent. An execution that should have faced tremendous opposition, surprisingly received overwhelming support from the gathered crowd.

People had once admired and respected the Imperial Family. While they might have had personal likes or dislikes toward individual members, they still held gratitude for the foundation the Imperial Family had provided. The Imperial Family were rulers both in name and reality, and people loved a powerful ruler.

But that absolute love had now turned into absolute hatred.

Of course, the fact that an ancestor six hundred years ago had lied was not why they were being executed. Those who gathered to watch burned with rage at every crime listed in the speech.

“Conscripting soldiers without just cause, raising tax rates in specific regions for luxury……”

Yes! Yes! People from the Tipian Marquesate shouted.

“Using entrusted state property for personal amusement under the pretext of national stability, causing great hardship to the people’s lives……”

Right, that’s exactly what happened! Those who knew about the Crown Prince’s gambling debts whispered among themselves.

“Promoting flatterers without standards and arbitrarily dismissing honest officials, causing significant administrative difficulties for the state……”

Absolutely! Officials who had come from Pellena, the Imperial Capital, to Maindulante nodded. They had come up to discuss post-war recovery with the Grand Duke’s side.

“……And ultimately, due to their own foolishness, they plunged the entire Empire into the flames of war. They threatened nobles with their children’s lives to supply soldiers, and arbitrarily seized commoners to shed their blood, so the tears of blood from those in distress reach the underworld and their laments touch the heavens……”

Yes! That’s right! Everyone who had come to witness the execution shouted. Those who had traveled from afar were sobbing. They were people who had lost precious ones, spending large sums of money and time to come here. They could not possibly ease their resentment and sorrow unless they saw the execution with their own eyes.

The Emperor on the gallows stared down with bleary eyes. He couldn’t count how many people surrounded him. It felt as if the whole world was packed with people wishing for his death.

In truth, the Emperor felt wronged. Only after awakening did he learn that his son had started such a foolish war. Why should a great man like him die in a wretched place like this for his stupid son’s crimes?

He barely managed to glare at his son staggering beside him. Abelus trembled with fear, his mouth moving as if muttering that he was wronged, that he had been deceived into this.

‘You fool.’

It wasn’t about taking the Crown Prince’s position from Camille. That was what the Emperor believed.

He was cold. He couldn’t believe this filthy northern autumn rain was soaking his noble body. And he couldn’t believe he was about to die.

Finally, the Emperor muttered, drooling as he spoke.

“I, I am wronged. I have not committed a capital crime.”

If being Abelus’s parent was a crime, then why wasn’t the Empress here? The Empress had been allowed to lose her noble status, enter a temple, and live a life of service. Why did she get to live?

The Emperor’s thin voice was drowned by rain and went unheard by most. But a few sharp-eared people standing near the front caught it.

One of them was a native of Penmewick. Someone who had grown up seeing White Swan Castle since childhood. Someone who had lived through what Maindulante became after the previous Grand Duke fell. How many people had died then?

He laughed mockingly at the Emperor and shouted.

“The country is in ruins because you are foolish! The respect you were born with, the expensive clothes, delicious food, palaces built with jewels! Even with all that, if you ruined the country, of course you should die! Who else would die, then!”

The Penmewick native respected the Grand Ducal family, but he couldn’t respect what happened after the previous Grand Duke fell. How many people died back then?

He loved the current lord and his wife because they were doing an excellent job now. No one’s work could be perfect, but at least they stood in their positions with the resolve to take responsibility for their mistakes.

Those who hadn’t heard the Emperor’s words heard his instead. Soon, voices of agreement—yes, yes—spread through the crowd. Those who had lost children in this recent war finally guessed what the Emperor had said, and their fury swelled as they surged toward the gallows.

People pushed and shoved. The flow became a powerful force, like a tidal wave converging on the platform. Whoa, stop pushing! The soldiers barely managed to hold them back, sparing the Emperor from being torn apart on the spot.

But the soldiers couldn’t stop the stones that came flying.

The Emperor and Crown Prince—no, the man who had been Emperor and the man who had been Crown Prince—were originally meant to be hanged. Instead, they were quickly pelted by so many stones that hanging was no longer feasible. Maindulante officials, unwilling to be struck, subtly stepped away from the condemned. The two men thrashed in agony, their lives fading as the blows continued.

Watching from inside a building facing the square, Cledwyn spoke to the young boy beside him, Marquis Lykeandros—Megara Lykeandros’s younger brother.

“Must be satisfying.”

The Marquis clenched his teeth and nodded.

Besides the two of them, many key figures had gathered in the room. Great nobles not currently imprisoned, allies who had accomplished great deeds in this war—everyone who needed to see and remember the execution of the Emperor and Crown Prince.

Marquis Lykeandros had resented Megara greatly before she died. He had been mocked by classmates, and his sister had deeply wounded his noble pride. But once she actually died, he found himself thinking more about how much he had loved her.

‘I want the Crown Prince to die as painfully and shamefully as possible.’

The Marquis had requested that of Cledwyn. He promised that if his request was granted, he would offer everything of his marquisate to the Grand Duke, enter his maternal family as an adopted son, and live and die ordinarily.

Regardless of what the boy promised, Cledwyn had already intended to make Abelus die painfully and shamefully, and planned to send the child to his maternal family. But since the boy’s resolve was firm, there was no reason to tell him his promise was meaningless, so Cledwyn agreed.

The condemned’s lives were extinguished. The Marquis, having shown the greatest respect he could to the man who killed his father, turned to leave. Cledwyn tossed a remark after him.

“I’ve collected the late Marquis’s remains. I can send them to you if you wish.”

“No, thank you. I am a member of a different family now. Please send them to Miss Rebecca Shirley.”

The boy answered without hesitation and left.

Watching him go, Edward Ganielo spoke with a smirk.

“You are kind, Your Grace.”

“There’s no reason to be cruel to a child who suddenly lost his entire family.”

“You also sent Her Majesty the Empress away quietly.”

“While the charge of neglecting her duties as Empress cannot be erased, it’s also true that there are limits to what an ‘Imperial Family by marriage,’ not Ja’an, can do in state affairs. Since she was raised delicately, serving in a temple for the rest of her life will be more than difficult enough.”

“My, I thought you were only kind to women and children. So you’re also protecting Princess Izet, aren’t you?”

“I did it because it would be troublesome if she fell into others’ hands. Are you free?”

Edward shrugged.

“Having been ill for too long, I’ve accomplished nothing, so there’s nothing to take responsibility for.”

“You’ll have plenty from now on. Even if you weren’t born healthy, if you manage things steadily, you can live without problems, so don’t think about idling away your life.”

“Is that so? But who I serve is what matters, isn’t it? Born into the precious status of a minor duke, the number of people I can swear loyalty to keeps shrinking.”

At the probing words, Cledwyn sighed. He knew it too.

The Emperor and his son were dead, and Izet could not rule the Empire under any pretext. The people would never follow her. So a heavy responsibility had suddenly fallen upon him.

But ‘I killed the Emperor, so now I am Emperor’ was not enough. Changing the Imperial Family wasn’t that simple. A pretext was needed—something beyond ‘our ancestors were betrayed and killed by their ancestors long ago.’

“The right people must come. So stop poking around so slyly and tell your father to come.”

Duke Ganielo was still securing the Imperial Capital with Aidan. With the leadership gone, it was the perfect time for a security vacuum.

And wasn’t the altar where Princess Camille was trapped still in the Imperial Capital?

Edward smirked and said he understood. Cledwyn watched the crowd disperse from the square and spoke to his attendant, Talfrin, standing beside him.

“Chop up Abelus’s corpse and bury it suitably in the ground.”

The time had come to keep the vow from long ago.

❖ ❖ ❖

Valentin held her breath.

It had already been a month since she escaped Carten and began wandering. With no money, no proper clothes, and no food, she had roamed the foothills in misery. When she occasionally found a civilian house, she would sneak in, steal some bread, and run.

She had lived with the best of everything. Anything she needed was given before she even asked. She had never imagined she would end up like this.

But what could she do? The Imperial Family had lost the war.

The Imperial Family members were all—not actually all dead, but the news that reached Valentin was exaggerated—dead, weren’t they?

The great noble families, aside from the traitorous Ganielo family, were annihilated, weren’t they?

The Elandria Family members had been taken away without exception, hadn’t they?

So she had no choice. She had to hide like this. She should have fled far from Carten, but she didn’t have the ability. She didn’t even know where she was, so what could she do?

Yes. So she spent her days crouched in the bushes near a small rural monastery, planning how to steal today’s food and a change of clothes.

‘There are definitely two people living there. One hard-of-hearing monk and one maid. The maid just went out to work in the fields, so she won’t be back for a while.’

Valentin felt miserable. When would this life end? It would be best to find a way to flee abroad somehow. There were collateral lines of the Elandria family who had married into foreign lands…

But now she was nothing more than a wretched thief. Valentin took a deep breath and prepared to dash into the monastery.

That is what she would have done, if someone hadn’t cracked the back of her head with a hard stick.

Thwack!

“You’re the thief who’s been prowling around here lately, aren’t you! Don’t you have anything better to do!”

Valentin recognized that rough, fierce voice.

It was the monastery’s maid.

Valentin tried to bolt, but a strong grip caught her, forcing her face into view. Burning with shame, she froze. The maid frowned at Valentin’s face, then, after a moment, asked in disbelief.

“Miss Valentin…?”