Chapter 47

The air in the room froze at Zarcarius's exasperated words.

The soldiers surrounding the emperor on his throne cautiously turned to look at Gilbert's face. The prince, who had been harshly rebuked, had turned pale like a Noh mask, his lips trembling.

Zarcarius, directing a pitying gaze at his silent son, sighed deeply.

"I thought you must have had a noble cause for rebelling against me, your emperor. But to find out it was merely petty jealousy... It seems I overestimated you, my son. I am disappointed."

"Jealousy...?"

The prince's face flushed with anger at his father's mockery, and he finally managed to speak.

"Do you have any idea what I've been through, serving you all this time!? To call it jealousy... That's too much!"

"Hmph... If it's not jealousy, what is it? Even my own son is being so petty."

"Ugh...!"

Gilbert gripped the sword at his waist. His hand, trembling with rage, was about to draw the blade and strike his father's neck. After a moment of heavy breathing, Gilbert seemed to regain his composure and confronted Zarcarius again.

"Father, this is the last time. I want to know the reason you disinherited me."

"Hmm."

Seeing the madness in his son's eyes, Zarcarius's expression turned serious. He answered Gilbert's question succinctly.

"It's simple. You were not chosen by the Holy Sword."

"That... You can't be serious!"

"Serious? You misunderstand."

Zarcarius snorted dismissively at Gilbert's distorted face.

"The empire is a land of conquerors. The emperor's mission is to unite the continent by force and bring peace to the world. To defeat the man-eating demons, the fire-breathing dragons, and the wicked witches who herald the end of days, and to protect the peace of humanity—this is the destiny that a conqueror emperor must bear. Therefore, the one who becomes emperor must be chosen by the Holy Sword, the sacred artifact of salvation."

"..."

"However, son, you were not chosen by the Thunder Clausolas, the Ice Galarhorn, or my own sword, the Flame Durandal. Therefore, I concluded that you lack the qualities of an emperor and disinherited you. Are you satisfied with this answer?"

"Father, do you really judge who becomes emperor based solely on strength? Do you say that strategy, connections, and the ability to lead are meaningless!?"

"Of course."

Zarcarius answered bluntly to his son's words, which were like spitting blood.

"In some unknown country, a kind and gentle person might become king. A clever person might become king. But this is the empire, the land of the conquerors who rule the continent. There is no place for a weak king. You should know how much a weak king, loved and respected by the people, can suffer others."

As Zarcarius spoke, the face of his own father appeared in his mind. The late emperor was a great and benevolent king, kind-hearted and beloved by the people.

However, the gentle king never took a strong stance externally, and as a result, he could not stop the conflicts that broke out in neighboring countries, which only spread the war.

As the most powerful hegemonic state on the continent, he failed to unite the surrounding countries.

A king who is loved and respected by the people is a wonderful thing.

But if being loved means being underestimated and taken lightly, it would be better to have no kindness at all.

It would be better to be feared and hated to fulfill the role of an emperor.

"The empire does not need a weak king. No matter how much you struggle, I will not make you the next emperor."

"Then... Do you intend to make that slave's son the king?"

Gilbert thought of his half-brother, who had become the bearer of the Holy Sword Galarhorn, and continued to ask.

"Shandra? Well, he'll do. Sylia is also a candidate."

"Sylia is a woman! She is not fit to be emperor!"

"Why not? If the country lasts long enough, a female emperor will appear."

"Father... You would choose that slave's blood or the woman Sylia over me, who has served you and the empire as the first prince... Just because they were chosen by the Holy Sword!?"

Gilbert's body swayed from side to side. His ghostly presence and eyes, devoid of light, were filled with madness.

"Then... I will prove that I am strong enough without the Holy Sword! I will kill the emperor who bears the Holy Sword and show my power!"

He raised his hand. The soldiers surrounding the emperor, with their spears at the ready, slowly closed in.

"Interesting! Rebellion is a sign of growth. How wonderful!"

"Shut up! You foolish emperor who knows nothing but the use of force! Fall into hell!"

Gilbert drew his sword. At the same time, over a dozen soldiers thrust their spears forward in unison. One sword against over a dozen spears. An inevitable death approached Zarcarius, who remained seated on the throne.

"That ambition, that resolve, truly admirable! However..."

Zarcarius sighed. With a pitying and mournful gaze, he looked at his son, who was about to strike with his sword.

"What a pity. You lack the power. It seems that the qualities of an emperor are indeed force and violence."

Zarcarius, looking sad, muttered and picked up a sword leaning against the throne. The ancient greatsword, adorned with rubies on the hilt, was swung horizontally without even being drawn from its sheath, using only the strength of his arm from a seated position. The strike was so clumsy it could hardly be called an attack.

"AAAAAAHHH!?"

But a crimson flame burst from the tip of the sword, slicing through the soldiers like a blade. The bodies, cut in half and burned, collapsed in the audience chamber, filling the room with the smell of burning flesh and smoke.

Among the corpses was the first prince's. Gilbert, who had not even realized what had happened to him, died with his eyes wide open in shock.