Embedded Files
Psst! We're moving!
Following Fertan’s orders, Wilson led the third squad of soldiers toward the safe house at full speed. The prolonged period he had left Eleanor alone weighed heavily on his mind, making him uneasy.
The path to Brellyn Street was narrow, as the residential area for commoners on the outskirts of the city had only one proper road.
Though there were multiple safe houses secured by their lord, not all were equally equipped for both offense and defense. The house Wilson chose was average in quality but accessible without needing higher approval.
A group of about a dozen mounted men raced in a single file. Wilson was at the forefront.
Struggling to maintain visibility through the stinging rain, he suddenly spotted a large group of burly men ahead. Their numbers were at least double that of Wilson’s squad. As the two groups closed the gap, they eyed each other warily.
Despite the urgency, Wilson couldn’t risk overtaking them recklessly. Attacking blindly from the side could prove disastrous.
Both groups maintained a cautious distance as they moved along the path. When the strangers turned toward the safe house, Wilson’s suspicions solidified. There was only one reason dozens of armed men would converge here: an attack.
The opposing group also grew wary as Wilson’s squad followed the same narrow path. Just before turning onto it, tensions flared. The apparent leader of the group turned his horse around.
As he slightly raised his head, Wilson recognized him. He was one of the men they had investigated days earlier at the Roland estate—likely a high-ranking commander of Edwin’s private army. Though Wilson didn’t know his exact rank, it was clear he served Duke Roland.
The duke would undoubtedly arrive soon—if he hadn’t already.
The enemy commander sensed the crisis too. With a fierce gaze, he barked orders to his subordinates.
There was no time for hesitation. Wilson signaled his men to prepare for battle.
“Attack!”
He drew his sword first.
“Leave no survivors. Kill them all.”
Spurring his horse forward, Wilson charged straight for the commander. Like a tidal wave, the entire assault team surged forward, drawing their swords.
The mercenaries reacted a moment later but outnumbered Wilson’s squad significantly. Dozens of horses became entangled in the narrow path, while the rain obscured visibility. The chaotic melee unfolded brutally.
“We fight back! Kill them!”
These mercenaries, veterans rather than rookies, had been pursuing Edwin since the cathedral. They owned their own horses and possessed considerable skill. Combined with their numerical advantage, the tide of battle soon shifted in their favor.
One by one, Wilson’s comrades fell from their horses. Agonizing screams echoed across the battlefield. As their numbers dwindled, the remaining soldiers faced overwhelming odds—two or three enemies per man.
In terms of pure skill, Wilson’s squad was superior. They managed to cut down several foes despite the chaos. Sharp blades slashed through flesh, leaving bodies trampled underfoot. Even Wilson himself sustained multiple wounds, drenched in blood.
“Hold your ground until death. Do not retreat.”
Determined to fulfill his lord’s command to protect Lady Eleanor, Wilson fought relentlessly, ensuring the enemy wouldn’t reach the safe house.
But ultimately, Wilson and his entire squad were mercilessly slaughtered. Their lifeless bodies lay sprawled in the muddy earth.
The mercenaries suffered heavy losses as well. Only four remained standing, including their commander.
“Stubborn bunch,” muttered the mercenary leader. “Who sent them, I wonder?”
He sought out any survivors to interrogate but found none willing to yield. Every last member of the third squad resisted to their dying breath, swords pointed defiantly at their foes. Once all had fallen, the commander gave up and rose to his feet.
“I must report this to His Grace. He’ll surely know who attacked us.”
The newly hired commander knew little about Duke Roland’s political rivalries.
The winding path led to a hilltop cul-de-sac. A clearing and a lone house came into view. Though the duke had arrived some time ago, the familiar horses tethered nearby confirmed his presence inside.
The site of the battle was a fair distance from the house. It seemed unlikely the duke was aware of the bloody skirmish. The commander worried he’d be reprimanded for arriving late.
At the entrance of the dilapidated house stood the man who had escorted the duke earlier. Though the commander didn’t yet know his name, he recognized him as Lady Eleanor’s guard—Liam.
Liam remained vigilant, his demeanor sharp and alert.
‘If there was unexpected combat on the way here, can we really assume this guard is loyal to the duke?’
Whispers among the servants suggested the duke and his sister had recently clashed bitterly.
Rather than feign familiarity, the commander decided caution was prudent. Dismounting at a distance, he observed both the house and Liam closely.
Nothing about the atmosphere seemed ordinary. Liam stood guard with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, eyes like a hawk scanning the surroundings.
“This won’t do. We need to neutralize him quietly.”
One of the commander’s subordinates listened intently.
“An attack, sir?”
All four were fatigued from the earlier battle and bore minor injuries. Blood trickled down the commander’s temple.
“They’re Roland retainers, so killing them might be excessive. Let’s knock him out and drag him away. We need to secure the safety of our master inside.”
“Will subduing just this one man suffice?”
“Well, there may be others. We’ll need reinforcements.”
The commander glanced at his most severely injured subordinate. Another fight could cost him his life.
“You—go request backup.”
“Yes, to the Roland estate?”
The commander paused. Most of the men left behind were raw recruits without mounts, requiring carts or carriages to mobilize. Slow-moving and inexperienced, they wouldn’t be much help.
But there was another option: the cathedral.
The commander vividly recalled the close relationship between Duke Roland and Crown Prince Leonard. He had personally witnessed their lengthy private conversation in the cathedral’s waiting room. Given their impending kinship, it made sense.
Surely, the crown prince could provide more capable reinforcements. Pleased with his clever idea, the commander smiled.
“Stop by the cathedral first. Inform either the crown prince’s attendant or the imperial guards of the situation. Tell them our master is in danger.”
“Yes, I’ll relay that His Grace is in peril… I’ll make sure to mention it.”
Repeating the message to commit it to memory, the subordinate nodded. The commander added a subtle twist.
“Mention that the person escorting our master was Lady Eleanor’s guard. Everyone knows how much the crown prince treasures her. This will surely prompt greater concern.”
This version wasn’t entirely false, so he believed he’d avoid future blame. With elite imperial guards rushing to their aid, even additional enemies wouldn’t pose a threat.
Unaware Eleanor was inside the house, the commander simply sought reinforcements out of fear of another ambush like the one on the narrow path.
After sending the messenger, the remaining three approached the target residence cautiously.
They circled the clearing stealthily, creeping up on Liam unnoticed. One loosened his belt, preparing to gag him.
The commander struck first, looping the belt around Liam’s mouth and grabbing his neck. Two subordinates wrestled him to the ground, delivering a hard blow to his jaw. Liam collapsed without a sound, unconscious.
‘Success.’
Planning to tie him up elsewhere, they disarmed him and dragged him toward a tree near the clearing where the carriage sheltered from the rain.
Just as they began tying him to the tree, Liam regained consciousness.
Gagged and groggy, Liam thrashed violently.
“Ugh… Uhh…”
His head throbbed, and his vision blurred.
Regardless of who these attackers were, retaliation was necessary. Twisting his partially bound wrists, Liam rolled backward, narrowly escaping their grasp.
There was no time to untie the gag. Dodging punches, he desperately searched for a weapon. Amid the scuffle, he managed to snatch a sword from one assailant’s waist.
Through blurred vision, he identified his attackers. The central figure was the man often seen entering Edwin’s study—the mercenary commander.
“Whoa, calm down.”
The commander’s words were absurd. How could he expect calm after ambushing someone? Nevertheless, his men belatedly drew their weapons.
“Ugh…”
No words were necessary. Regardless of what the mercenaries expected or hoped for, Liam saw them as undeniable enemies. Eleanor had assigned him to guard the safe house precisely to fend off Edwin’s private army. Knowing the grand cause shared by Fertan and Eleanor better than anyone, Liam shook off his dizziness and raised his sword.
The mercenaries charged at him all at once. They were seasoned fighters with extensive experience.
A fierce exchange of blades followed. Liam was stabbed in the arm and slashed across his side, but he fought back desperately. By the time he managed to fell one opponent, he himself was on the brink of death. The mercenaries were also battered and bloodied.
Liam anticipated that Eleanor might hear the clanging of swords. To him, the echoes of life-and-death combat rang painfully in his ears.
Ironically, at that very moment, Eleanor was locked in a heated struggle with Edwin inside the house. She screamed loudly after knocking over the shelf, hoping Liam would burst in to help as she fought alone.
In the end, only Liam and the mercenary commander remained, exchanging deadly blows.
The lethal duel couldn’t last long. This was a fight where one of them had to die for it to end.
The final one-on-one confrontation was decided swiftly.
Liam’s blade sliced deeply into the commander’s neck, nearly severing it. As the sword swung wide, closing the gap between them, blood gushed from the commander’s throat. In his dying moments, the man plunged a concealed dagger into Liam’s side.
“Ugh… Hnn.”
Still gagged, Liam could only swallow his agonized groans.
---
The assault on the palace had descended into chaos.
They had successfully breached the main gate before reinforcements arrived, but the rain rendered their firearms nearly useless. After firing just three rounds each, the damp powder turned their guns into useless hunks of metal. Both sides discarded their rifles and drew their swords.
“We need to enter the building. Break through!”
Fertan was growing increasingly anxious. His thoughts kept drifting to Eleanor, who was likely struggling to hold her ground against Edwin. He prayed fervently for her safety, his mind racing back to the safe house on the outskirts of the city.
She had repeatedly urged him to stay behind and command from the rear, but Fertan couldn’t bring himself to do so. Even as he hurried forward, every step felt agonizingly slow.
He cursed himself for being stuck in the heart of the palace when he should have been flying to her side. Entering the golden halls of the emperor’s quarters only deepened his self-loathing. He felt like biting off his tongue in shame.
His strides felt sluggish, as if his legs were dragging through mud.
“This way. I’ll lead.”
Fertan was the only one among them who knew the layout of the imperial palace. He had to take the lead to avoid getting lost.
He had frequented this place as often as his own quarters during his father’s lifetime. He knew every nook and cranny, from hidden storerooms to secret passageways. His father had even shown him emergency escape routes, preparing him for the day he’d ascend the throne.
A bullet whizzed past Fertan’s ear, fired by a guard around the corner, leaving a hole in the wall.
“Charge!”
Without hesitation, he sprinted down the corridor like a madman. Calculating the guards’ average reload time and the distance, he struck before they could fire again, slicing one guard’s throat.
Eleanor would surely scold him if she saw this scene. She’d tilt her sharp eyes and pout her lips, lecturing him endlessly. He yearned to see her face again—immediately, right now.
The morning’s ambush on the bridal carriage felt like a distant memory. Though barely half a day had passed, it seemed like years.
His black uniform was soaked, heavy with enemy blood from shoulder to knee, making movement cumbersome. No longer needing to conceal his identity, his exposed face was splattered with droplets of blood.
It wasn’t enough. He was too slow. Compared to Eleanor…
Eleanor, the lone warrior, was surely fighting Edwin, her brother and greatest adversary. While he had subordinates to shield him, she stood alone. She was enduring this hardship because of him, an unworthy man.
Occasionally, he reflected bitterly: What if he had left her alone? She might have found her own way to survive, perhaps becoming Leonard’s bride.
“No,” he muttered to himself. “That’s wrong. Never.”
He grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose as he cut down another guard who had failed to drop his rifle.
Though he could never be the perfect man for Eleanor, he was certain he was better than Leonard. By giving her the freedom to choose, he hoped to help her navigate these turbulent times.
Once, mere survival had been his sole goal.
But somewhere along the way, Eleanor’s safety had taken precedence. Was it after their intimate encounters? Or perhaps when he’d brushed against her skirt at a banquet? Maybe it dated back to those distant days when he first noticed her as a girl.
Fertan’s eyes burned red from the intensity of the battle. Blood vessels in the whites of his eyes had burst, and tears of blood streaked down his face as he ascended to the upper floors.
He reached the final room on the top floor, most likely the emperor’s bedchamber.
“Haa…”
A long sigh of regret escaped him as he stood before the grand door.
This chamber, once his father’s resting place, now harbored his mortal enemy. Perhaps Emperor Maximilian’s attendants had fled after betraying him, but Fertan knew all the possible escape routes.
The options were limited. They’d follow hidden paths through the forest and slip out into the secluded rear streets. Whether the emperor was behind the door mattered little. Fertan vowed to hunt him down and end his reign.
“Uncle Maximilian.”
Using a title unfitting for an emperor-archduke relationship, Fertan stepped forward boldly.
He had never acknowledged Maximilian as the true emperor. To him, the man was nothing more than a usurper.
Fertan wasn’t alone in asserting his legitimacy. The fact that Maximilian hadn’t held a proper coronation, instead seizing power ambiguously, revealed how hostile noble society had been toward him at the time. And yet, the man had a peculiar talent for ruining the nation. Fertan despised him utterly.
How many times had he seethed inwardly while addressing Maximilian as “Your Majesty” in formal settings? He had masked his resentment with the guise of a dissolute rogue, fearing that without this disguise, he might recklessly attack the man with nothing but a dagger.
Never again would he address Maximilian as “Your Majesty.” But calling him vulgar names felt beneath him. The man wasn’t worth the effort.
Thus, he settled on the distant term “uncle,” a mere relative soon to feel Fertan’s blade.
The bedchamber bore no resemblance to the memories of his parents’ resting place. It was dark, almost cavernous, with flickering candles atop red candelabras casting eerie shadows. The massive bed, draped in crimson curtains, exuded decadence bordering on vulgarity.
Maximilian was nowhere to be seen. Had he already fled?
During their advance, Fertan’s forces had killed several attendants. Some might have cleverly evaded capture, while others likely alerted Maximilian to the danger.
His men searched the room thoroughly—bathrooms, dressing rooms, lounges, and large furniture pieces were all inspected.
“Your Grace, the emperor is nowhere to be found.”
Herod’s flushed expression betrayed cautious optimism as he delivered the report.
At this point, the tide had clearly turned in Fertan’s favor. With Maximilian unable to defend his personal quarters, it was effectively over. Even if luck allowed him to escape, his chances of recovery were slim.
Yet Fertan’s clenched jaw showed no sign of relaxation. His feud with his uncle went far beyond the throne.
“Find him. Leave no loose ends.”
He examined the room for escape routes. A built-in console beside the bed concealed an exit. Its handle was ingeniously hidden within the decorative frame. Since his late father had personally shown him this secret passage, Maximilian might not know of it unless he’d stumbled upon it during his frantic search.
Before pulling the handle, Fertan heard sounds from behind the console.
“Hrk!”
A deep male voice grunted.
Accompanied by loud thuds, a woman’s sharp scream pierced the air.
“Aah! Ugh, unngh!”
Fertan quickly opened the secret door. In the narrow, pitch-black passage, a man and woman were locked in a desperate struggle.
It was Maximilian and his young wife. He was trying to flee, and she clung to him with all her might, refusing to let go. Her face was bruised, her hair disheveled, and her elaborate wedding gown, stained with blood, bore witness to their violent struggle.
“Uncle...”
Fertan ground his teeth as he called out to him. The terrified man flailed his arms wildly.
“Ablein Duke, huff!”
Despite the dagger in his hand, the empress clung to his leg with bare hands, risking her life. She had a firm grip on his groin, and the scream they’d heard earlier likely came from that.
Fertan’s sword flashed in a long arc, slicing through his uncle’s hand. The dagger clattered to the floor.
“So we meet again, Uncle.”
His voice dripped with years of pent-up resentment. There was so much to say, yet the weight of it all choked his words. The shadow cast over his face spoke volumes more than any language ever could.
“Y-Your Majesty...”
“Who is Your Majesty? You are no emperor. You were never the true emperor.”
“…!”
Maximilian stammered, struggling to free his leg from the empress’s grip. When he tried to kick her away, Fertan slashed at his thighs.
The empress screamed desperately at Fertan.
“Kill him! Kill this bastard right now!”
With one arm and both legs injured, Maximilian collapsed. The empress climbed onto him, pummeling him with her small fists.
Fertan had gathered quite a bit of information about what she had endured. Compared to her suffering, his own grievances felt insignificant. Yet, watching her sob and beat the man pitifully stirred something within him.
“Uncle, your sins are too great.”
He sighed deeply, weighed down by regret.
Fertan stomped on the only limb Maximilian could still move, immobilizing him. Then, he handed the empress a spare dagger, rewarding her for keeping the man from escaping.
Memories of his past flashed before his eyes—his painful upbringing, clinging to life by a thread, and the moment his father, the late emperor, exhaled his final breath with an ashen face.
“It’s fortunate that I’m avenging my father rather than myself.”
The empress tried to kill Maximilian with a single strike but lacked skill with the blade. Though she stabbed him, she missed the vital spot. Deep wounds caused heavy bleeding, but death didn’t come easily. Groans of agony dragged on endlessly.
Her desperate cries and curses echoed as Maximilian slowly died. In the end, he turned his head to the side, listening to the empress’s vengeful screams—the same ones he had once mocked.
---
Fertan removed his foot from the limp wrist. Exiting the passage, he signaled to Herod.
“Take care of this.”
“Should I clean it up thoroughly or leave it as is?”
“Dispose of everything. There’s no need to honor Maximilian as an emperor. Just handle the basics.”
Though memories of the past made his chest tighten, there was no time to wallow in regret. More urgent matters awaited.
The palace was now under Fertan’s control, and nothing could reverse the tide. Only one task remained: formalizing his ascension as emperor. But first, he needed to find Eleanor.
Once the bloodstains were cleaned, bureaucrats and nobles would be summoned. Surrounded by soldiers, he would proclaim himself emperor to the world. But what did such formalities matter now? His heart raced only for Eleanor’s safety.
He left the cleanup of the blood-soaked palace to his trusted aides. Disposing of Maximilian’s body and relocating the empress were tasks for subordinates.
Fertan grabbed the shoulder of the assault commander and hurried onward.
“Leave only the essential troops behind. Mobilize as many as possible. We’re going to find Eleanor.”
Though the commander followed obediently, he offered practical advice.
“It’s too soon. No one knows Maximilian is dead yet. By now, the imperial guard must be putting up fierce resistance.”
“Spread the news of his death. Announce that the usurper has fallen.”
“The surest way to break their morale is to display his head. It will crush them instantly.”
Fertan furrowed his brow, hesitating. He considered ordering the decapitation but paused, wondering if Eleanor would disapprove. She would likely prioritize his dignity over meaningless acts of vengeance.
Though he had no virtue to preserve Maximilian’s corpse, he restrained himself for her sake.
“I am not trash like that usurper. I wish to uphold basic decency. Confirming his death can wait until a simple funeral where his face can be displayed.”
“Then I’ll spread the word verbally.”
“This will reduce the number of troops we can muster.”
Fertan groaned in frustration and hurried out of the palace. As he ran, he issued orders—to contact Count Ginédien and announce that military command had transferred to him, to prepare for Leonard’s potential counterattack, and to dispatch messengers to the cathedral, Roland estate, and the 7th Division’s advance route.
He couldn’t wait for the commander to gather reinforcements. Taking only a few close aides, he raced toward Brellyn Street.
“Your Grace, going with so few men is dangerous!”
He ignored the commander’s anxious shouts from afar. The horse carrying Fertan galloped across the chaotic palace gardens, sending up sprays of water.
---
For hours, Eleanor and Edwin had been locked in a standoff.
When the shelf fell earlier, Eleanor thought she heard faint, sharp sounds outside. The noise of tumbling stones accompanied the shattering window, though it was soon drowned out by the howling wind and rain.
Both waited for external support, but no one came.
“You’re surprisingly tenacious.”
Edwin glared at the trembling tip of the dagger in her hand, breathing heavily.
Contrary to his expectation that she wouldn’t last long, Eleanor’s indomitable spirit had held out for hours. Despite the immense energy drain from her self-harm threat, she persisted, unsettling him.
“I won’t stop until you give up, Brother.”
She repeated this hundreds of times, her voice devoid of strength.
Though outwardly defiant, Eleanor was at her limit. She could no longer hold the dagger to her neck and instead pointed it at her abdomen.
Edwin was tired too, but compared to her, standing precariously on tiptoes in a corner, he fared better. Perched on the windowsill, he waited for her to expose a weakness. Knowing persuasion was futile, neither wasted breath on useless words.
In the end, he even grew leisurely, shrugging his shoulders and making idle chatter.
“Not bringing any weapons to the ceremony was my mistake. I should’ve prepared something on the way here. Things would’ve gone smoother.”
Exhausted, Eleanor lost track of time.
It was probably afternoon. Had Fertan had enough time? If night fell, the cathedral doors would close, and she might avoid being dragged to the wedding—but when would darkness arrive?
Her body wavered, reaching its limit. Her legs felt stiff as wooden planks.
Uninterested in his pointless ramblings, time dragged on. She reminded herself that every passing moment benefited Fertan. Her blurry gaze eventually dropped to the floor.
She stared blankly at raindrops pooling on the shards of glass scattered across the floor.
As her line of sight lowered, her dry legs buckled at the spider-webbed corner.
A cold draft swept in through the broken window, chilling her unstable ankle. Her knees hit the floor, and her soaked skirt flapped heavily.
“Oh, finally.”
Welcoming the long-awaited collapse, Edwin rushed forward.
The sweat-drenched hilt of the dagger slipped from her hand, clattering to the dusty floor before rolling out of sight.
“Hnn…”
As the last shred of her willpower faded, her consciousness slipped away. She was too exhausted to move. Her limbs felt paralyzed.
I can’t faint now…
As her eyes rolled back, Eleanor lamented her frail body that hadn’t gained enough strength. It was unfair that she couldn’t handle the situation properly even for a fleeting moment.
To close her eyes and be dragged to the cathedral like this—no, she must wake up and resist Edwin.
Though her mind desperately fought, her body went limp in Edwin’s cold grasp.
---
Leonard paced restlessly in the tiny waiting room.
He couldn’t leave the cathedral. As the groom-to-be, his vigilant presence conveyed the message that the ceremony would soon proceed. If he left in haste to search for Eleanor, the venue might close entirely.
The officiating priest repeatedly sent messengers to inquire about Eleanor’s whereabouts. While relations between the Imperial Church and the royal family were decent, Leonard didn’t have the authority to bark orders at them.
The atmosphere in the venue was chaotic and somber.
There was growing concern that the cathedral might refuse to host the wedding as night fell. The raging storm fueled rumors that God disapproved of this union.
Still, no one dared defy the imperial authority and stayed put. Guests whispered incessantly, speculating when it would end. Only a few left early due to unavoidable circumstances.
Among them was Princess Lucena, whose departure was uncharacteristic but understandable given their recent heated argument and her impending departure for the Pelos Empire.
The wait was tedious and nerve-wracking.
While pestering his attendants aimlessly, Leonard received an unexpected report. It was from the captain of the imperial guard.
The captain was drenched in rain and sweat, his soaked attire unfit for the occasion. Leonard had never seen the usually composed man so disheveled.
He’d heard the emperor awaited news in the palace. They were supposed to bring Eleanor and then head to the cathedral. But the sight of the captain arriving alone in such a state felt ominous.
“Your Highness, there’s grave news.”
“What brings you here? You should be attending to His Majesty…”
Gasping for breath, the captain cut Leonard off mid-sentence.
“Treason!”
Leonard questioned his ears.
“What? That’s absurd.”
“The Duke of Ablein has stormed the palace with an army. The imperial palace is now under his control, and His Majesty… is reported dead.”
The captain’s powdered cheeks twitched uncontrollably. Despite hearing it repeatedly, Leonard couldn’t believe it.
“S-Surely not. That can’t be true.”
Fertan had always been the epitome of incompetence—getting stabbed by assassins, drowning in alcohol, flaunting his wealth without substance. He lacked the capability to attack the emperor.
Or so Leonard believed. Fertan had no powerful backers to support him militarily.
“How could His Majesty be gone? He was supposed to be in the safest place, under layers of protection.”
“The enemy’s assault was overwhelmingly swift. I personally heard the cries echoing from His Majesty’s quarters.”
Staggering, Leonard was on the verge of collapse. His weak knees hit the chair in the waiting room. His unfocused gaze wandered aimlessly.
It wasn’t sorrow for the emperor’s death that struck him—it was the realization that he still needed the emperor. Even in death, the emperor should have passed the throne properly, not fallen prey to someone like Fertan.
What about my position? That throne was mine.
Accepting the captain’s report as reality was difficult. Could it be a lie? Gripping his head with both hands, Leonard wrestled with conflicting thoughts.
“Are those lowlifes just causing trouble near the palace?”
“The enemy forces attacking the palace far outmatched our guards. The main gate was breached instantly by gunfire, and we were overwhelmed in close combat.”
“What were you doing during all this? If it was such a fierce battle, shouldn’t you have been guarding His Majesty?”
“His Majesty wished to spend some time alone with Her Majesty, so I withdrew. I used the remaining time to check other areas of the palace to ensure comfort for Her Highness, your future bride.”
A curse escaped Leonard’s lips as he thought of his father, the emperor.
“That bastard.”
Unable to wait any longer for the delayed wedding, he sought privacy with the empress, dismissing everyone around him. Now, his impatience had brought ruin upon himself.
It wasn’t just Fertan’s timely assault that was problematic. The captain’s erratic movements here and there highlighted the emperor’s accumulated vulnerabilities—shoddy palace security and deteriorating military discipline.
Sweat poured down the captain’s forehead as he continued his report.
“When I heard the gunshots and shouts and rushed back to His Majesty’s quarters, it was already over. The enemy was proclaiming their victory everywhere…”
“What were they shouting?”
With a hoarse voice, the captain muttered:
“The usurper is dead. Maximilian is dead. Long live the new order!”
Delivering the message flatly, the captain gradually steadied his breathing. The rain-like sweat began to dry. Though still dutiful, there was no trace of grief over the emperor’s death.
Leonard, too, felt no sorrow. Fully aware of how poorly the emperor had treated the captain, he guessed the man acted out of principle rather than loyalty. Reporting the emperor’s death to the crown prince, despite witnessing treason, was commendable in its own way.
Trusting the captain blindly was risky.
Hearing the tale of defeat, Leonard turned pale. It was a one-sided rout with no room for counterattack.
Now, what should I do?
Terror made his words stumble. With the empire’s ruler changed, Leonard had nothing left.
“The squad that fled the palace with me numbers only one platoon.”
“Is that all?”
The captain’s faint nod confirmed the end of Emperor Maximilian’s reign.
“What about the emperor’s army? Don’t we still have those soldiers? If I immediately order them to enter the city...”
“As you know, the military command hasn’t changed. Count Ginédien holds the fort. Did you think they’d stage a coup without preparing for this? If Your Highness wishes to retreat to the military base…” He paused. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“What do you think will happen?”
“They’ll seize you the moment they hear the news.”
Back when Count Ginédien suppressed revolts in Tordun, the atmosphere was different. Those loyal to the late emperor were dismissed as sentimental fools, and the count, held by the emperor’s leverage, was forced onto the battlefield despite his old age.
That was earlier this year. Had the emperor foreseen this sudden upheaval, he wouldn’t have entrusted command to the count.
Even yesterday—or this morning—Fertan was just a rat begging to be crushed.
But this insignificant rat hadn’t merely bitten his heel—it had torn into his artery. Feeling the lifeblood drain away, Leonard trembled like a leaf.
Revealing his terror openly, he clutched his arms tightly.
The attendant glanced outside, plotting an escape, while the captain prepared to withdraw, deeming his duty done. No one intended to protect Leonard.
Through chattering teeth, he issued an order, unsure if anyone would follow.
“W-We’re escaping. Let’s get out of the city first.”
Leonard, who had spent his life committing atrocities against anyone, now found himself nervously gauging others’ intentions. What if they abandoned him? Worse, what if they pretended to help, only to stab him in the back?
Fear gripped him swiftly, preventing him from lashing out or kicking as he normally would.
The attendant reluctantly asked:
“Where do you plan to go?”
“We need to escape first.”
“It’s still necessary to decide on a direction, isn’t it?”
The attendant’s less submissive tone was no illusion—his demeanor had grown increasingly uneasy.
“South… no, let’s go north.”
Leonard blurted out directions haphazardly.
Once he resolved to save his own life, the thought of taking something valuable with him crossed his mind.
Eleanor immediately came to mind. Even if he lost the crown prince’s title, she was still the one thing he wanted most—a treasure far more precious than gold.
“My Eleanor.”
The attendant frowned at Leonard’s habitual muttering.
“Lady Eleanor? It would be wise to give up on her. You said we need to escape the city, yet searching for her is impossible.”
“I can’t leave her behind. She belongs to me.”
“But how will you find her? We must flee immediately.”
The attendant’s impertinence grew bolder by the second. Though Leonard wanted to punish him severely, he feared losing what little loyalty remained and chose to ignore it.
“Duke Roland went to see the emperor to dispatch soldiers to find Eleanor. Captain, did you happen to encounter the duke in the palace?”
“No, I didn’t. I heard nothing of his arrival.”
“Then where could he have gone? Did he change destinations?”
With the emperor’s death now confirmed, Leonard felt the weight of mortal danger pressing down on him. Edwin’s disappearance seemed ominous. Was there some hidden scheme he hadn’t foreseen? Could it be related to the coup?
Leonard had long recognized Edwin as an inscrutable man. The duke was undoubtedly a cunning and ambitious figure.
Yet, during the coup, Edwin vanished.
His whereabouts were unknown, and that uncertainty unsettled Leonard. He even speculated that Edwin might have aided Fertan’s coup. Given Edwin’s boundless greed, it wasn’t far-fetched.
“This won’t do. Let’s leave first. And Eleanor…”
A long sigh escaped him.
She was like a treasure within reach yet forever slipping through his fingers. The frustration of not possessing her gnawed at him almost as much as losing the throne.
“Is there no way to get news of Eleanor?”
The attendant couldn’t hide his disapproval.
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
“Contact Edwin—or the palace…”
“What?”
It was nonsensical rambling. Leonard couldn’t even decide on clear orders, his world crumbling around him. Only his obsession with Eleanor remained, teetering precariously on the edge of reality.
They slipped out of the waiting room secretly, avoiding the guests’ eyes, and exited through the cathedral’s rear door. Unaware servants brought a carriage, assuming the crown prince was simply departing elsewhere.
Only a handful of guards had escaped the palace battle, some injured.
“What now?”
Lost in chaos, Leonard gnawed anxiously on his thumbnail.
For now, the attendant had gathered Edwin’s remaining soldiers to follow Leonard, but their numbers were pitiful. They didn’t know Leonard was fleeing empty-handed, merely serving him out of duty to Duke Roland.
‘Will they stay loyal once they learn the truth?’
Probably not. Mercenaries driven by money wouldn’t feel any allegiance to the imperial family.
‘If they discover I’m fleeing, they might cut off my head and present it to Fertan.’
But abandoning everyone and escaping alone wasn’t an option either.
‘What should I do? What can I do?’
In a state of mental collapse, he chewed his nails obsessively, even sucking on his fingers like a regressed child.
As he prepared to leave the cathedral, Eleanor weighed heavily on his mind. He fantasized about her delicate face streaked with tears, her soft body bruised under his hands. Despite the dire situation, his thoughts wandered through delusions rather than confronting reality.
‘If only Eleanor were here, escaping would feel so much better.’
His fleeting rational thought amounted to imagining how useful she’d be during their escape. Conjuring her image in his mind, he imagined commanding her presence.
Her gentle yet persuasive demeanor would surely win over the guards and soldiers. Many might willingly pledge to protect her—and by extension, him—even without pay.
All Leonard had was the ceremonial attire he wore for the wedding. Obsessively trembling, he pulled out a clump of hair and chewed on it compulsively.
Even in his fractured consciousness, Eleanor remained firmly in his grasp.
---
Edwin carried Eleanor out of the safe house.
The two horses they and Liam had ridden stood drenched in the rain outside. It was impossible to mount an unconscious person onto a horse, so Edwin scanned the area. Across the clearing, he spotted a small carriage—it seemed to be the one Eleanor had arrived in.
Crossing the gravel yard, he approached it and froze at the shocking sight before him.
“What on earth happened here?”
Liam, the mercenary commander, and several soldiers lay sprawled, bleeding from fatal wounds.
“Hey.”
Edwin nudged the commander with his foot.
“Are you alright?”
There was no response. Whether alive or dead wasn’t immediately clear. After lowering Eleanor into the carriage, Edwin checked the commander’s neck—his body was already cold.
There was no time to verify the status of each man. Even if some still lived, they wouldn’t be able to serve as his guard. He left them where they lay.
Locking the carriage door, Edwin climbed onto the driver’s seat. As he urged the horses toward the cathedral, the feeling of playing coachman left him deeply unsettled.
Eleanor remained unconscious for a while.
Slumped like crumpled paper, her head hit the corner of the narrow seat when the carriage jolted violently over a deep puddle.
Fortuitously, the impact woke her.
She found her wrists tightly bound with a man’s belt—likely a precaution against further self-harm. The carriage interior was stripped bare of any objects.
“Where…”
Surveying the inside and outside, she quickly grasped her situation. She hadn’t been unconscious for long.
Peering left and right, she saw no one following. Using her bound hands, she opened a small vent on the driver’s seat and recognized the familiar back.
“Brother!”
The ivory silk coat, embroidered lavishly, was now smeared with mud and dust. Though the situation was dire, Edwin’s uncharacteristic disarray struck her as faintly amusing. Watching his crystal-glass-holding hands now clumsily driving the carriage was quite the sight.
The violent vibrations of the speeding carriage rattled her. Edwin, staring ahead at the darkening sky, didn’t slow down.
“Compose yourself. We’ll arrive at the cathedral soon. Wipe your face or something.”
“Please stop. Please.”
“No wedding gown is unfortunate. Hopefully, there’s a dress we can hastily procure at the cathedral. You look terrible.”
Edwin ignored her pleas, prattling on about dresses.
“Brother…”
Tears streamed involuntarily, smearing dirt and cobwebs across her face. Her skin was caked with grime from hiding in the corner of the safe house.
If only staying dirty like this could mean she wouldn’t have to become a bride. She hoped the cathedral would reject her for being improperly dressed for such a sacred union—though she knew neither Edwin nor Leonard would allow that.
“Given your current state, we’ll have to enter through the back door. At least let me tidy you up a bit.”
Eleanor tried turning the carriage handle, but something blocked it from the outside. Even if it had opened, jumping out while the carriage sped forward would’ve been impossible.
“Open it! Please!”
Her cries were futile.
The area around the cathedral was wide and open. As the largest cathedral in the empire, its grounds spanned an entire square block, accessible from all directions.
Edwin drove the carriage halfway around the cathedral walls before approaching the rear entrance.
There, they encountered a group of mounted soldiers passing through the gates.
Eleanor, who had opened every vent on the carriage windows and driver’s seat, gasped in shock at the sight of dozens of cavalrymen. Some wore imperial guard uniforms, adding to her astonishment.
Even more surprising was the massive carriage they surrounded, drawn by twelve horses. Adorned with flowers atop its roof, it was clearly meant for the wedding procession.
“Why is that carriage here?”
Her surprise was short-lived as Leonard, seated inside the ornate carriage, locked eyes with her.
“Ah!”
“Huh, Eleanor!”
He leapt from the carriage and rushed toward her.
Seeing Leonard in his ceremonial attire filled her with dread. Whatever was happening, letting him grab her hand meant the end of her life.
“Ahh… No.”
She kicked at the opposite door, but there was no escape. Leonard unlatched the bolt from outside and thrust his head inside.
His face was ghastly pale, his eyes gleaming with madness. He grinned ear to ear, ecstatic beyond reason.
His eerie giggling sent chills down her spine.
“How perfectly timed! It seems we’re truly fated to be together.”
He reached for her—not to help her down, but like plucking honey from a jar.
“Leonard, why are you here…? No!”
There was nowhere to hide in the cramped space. His powerful grip seized her arm, dragging her out despite her struggles.
Though she’d been searching for a way to escape, instinct made her resist fiercely upon seeing Leonard. Kicking wildly, she tried to fend him off, but his brute strength overpowered her, pulling her onto the slick road.
Leonard wasn’t particularly strong for a man, but he was strong enough to manhandle her. Yanking her elbow caused her resistance to rebound, sending her crashing onto the pavement.
“Ugh…”
The road within the cathedral grounds was smooth, paved with precisely fitted stone blocks. But rolling on them bare-skinned was another matter entirely. Her palms scraped raw as she braced herself against the ground.
Clutching her bleeding hands tightly, she glared at Leonard with defiance.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He looked even more menacing than she did, treating her like a dog he intended to drag away.
“No time for this. Let’s go.”
Unable to move quickly due to her bound hands, Leonard impatiently untied the knot.
“Where do you think you’re taking me…”
Before she could finish, he grabbed her nape along with her clothes, muffling her protests.
Leonard assumed untying her would make controlling her easier, but her resistance proved far fiercer than expected. Eleanor fought back with everything she had, sparing no thought for her own safety.
They wrestled violently in the rain-soaked street. No one dared intervene as the crown prince and Lady Eleanor clawed at each other, tearing at clothes and hair.
“We can talk while moving. We need to get out of sight.”
Eleanor twisted desperately, resisting with all her might. This was a fight for her life.
It was a muddy brawl. Their clothes soaked through with rainwater, weighed down like stones, they thrashed about in the muck. Her ankles scraped raw against the ground, yet she refused to give up. Every movement radiated desperation.
Eleanor marveled at the savagery she didn’t know she possessed. A lifetime of aristocratic refinement hadn’t prepared her for such chaos—or so she’d thought until now.
As her nails raked across Leonard’s cheek, part of her mind processed his earlier words:
_No time_—
_We need to hide_—
Realization struck like lightning.
Leonard must have heard something urgent. The fact that he fled in such haste, abandoning the long-awaited wedding, meant only one thing.
_Fertan succeeded in capturing the emperor!_
His panicked demeanor confirmed it. He was clearly running, his judgment clouded by fear. If subduing Eleanor had been his priority, he’d have ordered his men to handle her instead of grappling with her himself, his wild eyes betraying his desperation.
Caught up in their fierce struggle, Eleanor barely noticed her surroundings. A quick glance revealed wounded guards among Leonard’s retinue.
Though pity tugged at her heart for the injured, their presence reassured her—confirmation of Fertan’s victory.
“Stop acting up! Get over here, now!”
In the scuffle, Leonard grabbed her hair. Undeterred, Eleanor retaliated by clutching his golden locks, yanking them free until mud-like strands clung between her fingers.
Her voice rose shrilly. Realizing Fertan’s triumph fueled her determination to resist at all costs.
“No! I won’t go! Never!”
Her commotion drew attention. A nearby monk hurried indoors to fetch reinforcements. Soon, priests and others emerged from the cathedral.
Leonard barked at her in frustration.
“You wretch, you’ll die under my hands.”
Unable to bear the scene, the captain of the imperial guard intervened. Having completed his final mission of reporting the coup, he couldn’t ignore Eleanor’s pitiful state.
“Your Highness, may I assist the lady?”
“Yes, lift her up.”
A priest approached cautiously, holding an umbrella. Sensing the chaos, he kept his distance while offering help.
“What’s going on? Is there anything I can do?”
Eleanor was powerless against the towering strength of the guard captain. Held firmly by both arms, she was lifted effortlessly like a doll and placed beside Leonard. Despite biting the hand gripping her elbow, the captain didn’t flinch.
Leonard, visibly agitated, turned sharply when he noticed the priest. Wiping mud from his lips and squinting suspiciously, his behavior grew increasingly unsettling.
To everyone’s bewilderment, he chuckled maniacally.
“Well met. You can help us.”
The priest hesitated, unnerved.
“What…?”
“The bride has arrived. We must begin the ceremony immediately. Since I’m in a hurry, conduct it right here.”
The stunned priest’s mouth dropped open.
“Here? That’s impossible. There are procedures for the ceremony…”
“Skip them all. Just get to the conclusion.”
Leonard strode forward and grabbed the elderly priest by the collar, forcing him into a triangular position between himself and Eleanor.
By now, a crowd had gathered at the rear entrance. Guests who had been idly wandering due to the prolonged wait followed the commotion stirred by the cathedral staff.
Unaware of the coup at the palace, the guests were puzzled by the chaotic scene unfolding before them. The sudden influx of onlookers created an atmosphere as if the rear gate had become the wedding venue itself.
“Hurry up and recite the vows. Then declare us married!”
Leonard barked impatiently.
“B-But…”
The priest hesitated, glancing at the growing crowd. He shook his head firmly, signaling his refusal to comply with Leonard’s demand.
“If you wish to proceed, please enter first. After tidying yourselves, kneel in prayer before God…”
“Are you joking? We don’t have time for that!”
“Why the rush, Your Highness? If you hurry inside, we can light new candles for the ceremony.”
Leonard let out an exasperated sigh.
“Enough nonsense! Just perform the ceremony now. Declare Eleanor and me husband and wife!”
Eleanor, held firmly by the captain of the guard, couldn’t move but raised her voice defiantly.
“No! I refuse this marriage.”
Her hoarse cry cut through the pouring rain, carrying further than expected.
“I won’t marry. Never to Crown Prince Leonard.”
The murmurs reached the ears of guests watching from inside the cathedral. They could see Eleanor struggling desperately, forcibly placed beside Leonard.
Some conservative nobles clicked their tongues disapprovingly, believing a dutiful bride should obey her family’s wishes. However, most frowned upon Leonard’s blatant disregard for the bride’s consent.
Though arranged marriages were common among noble families, children’s desires were usually respected to some extent. Parents generally wished for their children to lead fulfilling married lives.
Thus, such coercive behavior was rare. Moreover, the evident hostility between the couple made the situation seem even more dire, hinting at underlying issues.
The priest hesitated awkwardly. Conducting a hasty marriage on the street wasn’t feasible, yet defying the crown prince outright was equally perilous.
His frantic gaze darted around, seeking help.
Leonard and Eleanor continued to argue loudly.
“Hurry up and proceed!”
“I strongly object! This marriage is invalid.”
Eleanor was right. A priest couldn’t unilaterally impose a marital bond without proper consent.
The priest had never faced such a dilemma. Marriages were always acknowledged by both families and willingly accepted by the participants. A legitimate union required mutual agreement.
Just then, a blood-soaked guardsman emerged from the crowd, his upper body drenched in crimson. Leonard’s eyes widened as he called out.
“What happened?”
The guard staggered, barely able to walk.
“I followed Captain’s trail here after hearing he came to the cathedral.”
“You followed? Was there any message from the palace?”
“The palace… It’s fallen. Duke Ablein has taken control. Only a few like me managed to escape.”
Panic seized Leonard. He needed to flee immediately.
The nearby nobles seemed oblivious to the guard’s report, but the priests and monks close by were visibly shocked.
Leonard resorted to one last desperate ploy.
He intertwined arms with Eleanor and declared loudly:
“Thus, Eleanor and I are now married. Finally, we are husband and wife.”
The priest waved his hands frantically.
“What are you saying? This cannot be… Ugh!”
Leonard brutally kicked the priest in the stomach, sending the frail old man sprawling in pain.
“Speak out of turn again, and you won’t live to regret it.”
Hurrying toward the carriage, Leonard ignored Eleanor’s cries.
“Ahh! Such a marriage is invalid! The priest refused!”
“Captain, gag Eleanor and put her in the carriage. Make sure she stays silent.”
The captain grimaced deeply.
He didn’t want to follow the order. For a moment, he considered refusing Leonard and protecting Eleanor instead. But duty-bound as captain of the guard, he resolved to assist Leonard’s escape at least.
Silently restraining Eleanor, his heart felt as heavy as the overcast sky.
Someone grabbed Leonard before he could leave. Edwin turned him around.
“Your Highness, what is going on?”
While Leonard had been preoccupied beating the priest and oppressing Eleanor, Edwin questioned a nearby guard about the situation. Learning of the emperor’s death and Fertan’s takeover devastated him.
Turning Leonard forcefully, Edwin pressed:
“Is it true His Majesty has fallen?”
“Let go of me.”
“You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’d fear Duke Ablein’s retaliation too, wouldn’t you? It’s safer to flee with me.”
Brushing off Edwin’s grip, Leonard hastily urged his group onward. Climbing into the carriage beside Eleanor, he signaled departure.
As the door closed, Edwin thrust his hand in.
“Even now, do you persist with this farce? You should’ve informed me first.”
“It’s too late. Eleanor is my wife now.”
Deliberately slamming the door, Leonard crushed Edwin’s fingers, leaving him to watch the carriage depart.
Edwin ground his teeth furiously. How could everything collapse so suddenly?
He refused to give up easily.
It wasn’t over yet. Behind him stood dozens of mounted soldiers. Contacting the Roland estate would summon even more infantry immediately.
He deliberated swiftly. Which path to choose?
This decision would seal his fate.
Though still commanding significant forces, defeating Fertan outright seemed impossible. The power that swept the palace would surely overwhelm him.
Escape was inevitable. And fleeing alongside Leonard, of royal blood, offered strategic advantages. If necessary, he could dispose of Leonard later.
“Mount your horses.”
Replacing the dead commander with a subordinate, Edwin issued orders.
“Follow His Highness for now. Do you know our destination?”
“He mentioned heading north initially, but no specific location was given.”
“Send swift messengers to the Roland estate. Gather all troops and follow us north.”
Though catching up with Leonard’s fleeing party on foot seemed unlikely, Edwin clung to hope, requesting reinforcements despite the uncertain destination.
Despite the desperate escape, the opulent wedding carriage sped through the streets at the center of a long procession.
Specially crafted to flaunt the Crown Prince’s grandeur, its high ceiling and wide, unshuttered windows gave it the air of a lavish room. Adorned with flowers and ribbons on all sides, it was as ostentatious as it was impractical for their current plight.
Through one of the open windows, Edwin locked eyes with Leonard.
Watching the man who was no longer crown prince filled Edwin with unease. Was he truly destined to assist this murderous madman in his flight? A deep sigh escaped him as he lamented his fate.
Even now, Leonard clutched Eleanor’s hand tightly, flaunting her like his final trophy. He waved their intertwined hands mockingly at Edwin, his face gleeful despite having lost everything. Pathetic. All he had left was Eleanor, yet he acted as though possessing her made up for everything else.
In a way, Edwin could understand. To Leonard, she was his sole powerful ally now.
‘Still, this isn’t the time to dwell on Leonard’s failures. My own future is just as bleak.’
Edwin hardened his expression and slowed his horse, falling back to the rear of the procession.
As they turned multiple corners, navigating obscure roads behind the cathedral toward the north, Edwin listened intently to the soldier recounting the full story of the palace battle. When the soldier vented his anguish over the near-annihilation of the imperial guard, Edwin drifted into his own thoughts.
If Fertan had led the charge through the palace’s secret passages, the chances of the emperor surviving were virtually zero. No one knew the palace’s geography and hidden routes better than Fertan.
‘By now, Fertan must be preparing to ascend the throne.’
He likely had Maximilian’s head mounted on a spike for all the citizens to see. And to proclaim his ascension, Fertan would summon every noble he could to the palace. With most of the influential figures currently gathered at the cathedral, it might even make his task easier. Perhaps he’d send troops to round them all up in one fell swoop.
This realization drew Edwin’s gaze back to the cathedral, its spires still visible behind them. They were dangerously close. Could they really escape in time?
He contemplated the possibility of failure. More importantly, he questioned whether following Leonard was the right choice.
Fertan was undoubtedly in a deep relationship with Eleanor. Though Edwin didn’t know the extent of their bond, he’d heard from his sister herself that they shared affection. She had said Fertan loved her.
Rather than clinging to Leonard’s sinking ship, what if he switched allegiances to Fertan instead?
‘Should I sell Eleanor to Fertan?’
It wasn’t a bad idea, in theory.
But Eleanor knew about his role in assassinating the late emperor. Surely, she would have told Fertan—or perhaps already had. Even if Fertan cared deeply for her, there was no way he’d forgive Edwin for his past crimes.
Perhaps he could beg for mercy and save his life that way. But would that be any better than following Leonard into exile? The decision weighed heavily on him, uncertain and unclear.
What troubled him most was how drastically his fortunes had changed. Just moments ago, he had been the hidden power behind the throne, the brother of the empress-to-be, soon to become the emperor’s brother-in-law. After eliminating Leonard and Eleanor, he had envisioned ruling the empire as regent, with everything beneath his feet. Now, here he was—fleeing through rain-soaked streets, part of a defeated rabble.
And there he was, still arrogantly searching for a path forward amidst the chaos, clinging to the remnants of his former self.
Google Sites
Report abuse