"Someone… wants to kill me?"

In the howling cold wind, Moen's heart tightened sharply. That ambiguous, indistinct voice, like the forewarning of an impending disaster, instantly cast a shadow over his heart.

But when he turned around, he saw that Lawrence had already walked away. The words he had just heard seemed like nothing but an illusion.

"Was that… a deliberate warning for me, or…?"

Moen squinted, his mind racing with countless speculations after recalling Lawrence's identity.

Unfortunately, speculation remained just that. With insufficient information at hand, it was hard to deduce anything from a single claim that someone wanted to kill him.

Yet, judging by the recent chain of events, Moen faintly grasped the broad patterns of the unfolding situation.

Watching Lawrence's retreating figure, Moen's lips curled into a faint smile as he chuckled quietly.

"Heh, someone finally can't sit still, huh?"

---

"I am Moen Campbell."

Rounding a corner, Moen now stood before two door guards, their halberds crossed to bar entry. They were tall and imposing, practically resembling giants in their bulky armor. Moen spoke softly:

"May I trouble you to announce my presence?"

"…"

After a brief silence, a cold and detached gaze fell upon Moen through the slits of one of the guards’ helmets. From the depths of metal, a voice as low and resonant as a war drum rumbled:

"Please wait. His Majesty is meeting with another guest."

"Alright."

Without questioning why he had to wait, Moen simply stood in place before the door, patiently waiting.

About half an hour later, the grand doors slowly opened, and a figure emerged.

It was a refined-looking middle-aged man, dressed in a slightly ill-fitting gentleman's suit. He didn’t appear particularly old, but his temples were streaked with gray.

When he saw Moen, he didn’t seem surprised at his presence. Offering a courteous smile, he nodded slightly and said, “Master Campbell, you may enter now. His Majesty is waiting for you.”

This man…

He looked somewhat familiar.

Moen gazed at him intently, feeling as though there was a faint impression of him somewhere in his memory.

But he didn’t dwell on it. Now wasn’t the time for such thoughts.

Returning the man's nod, Moen stepped into the room.

His eyes blurred momentarily as they adjusted to the slightly brighter light inside. But soon, he saw the figure seated on the broad throne directly ahead—crowned with majesty and exuding an air of authority.

The supreme ruler of the Leopard Empire—the Emperor, Aldrich III.

"Your Majesty."

Straightening himself promptly, Moen placed a hand on his chest and bowed low in a gesture of respect.

"Moen Campbell, son of the Campbell family, answers Your Majesty's summons."

Silence.

Aldrich looked as though he had fallen asleep, making no response.

But Moen dared not raise his head arbitrarily. He simply counted the beats of his own heart, silently awaiting a response.

Time seemed to freeze in that moment. The air grew stiflingly still, and Moen could hear nothing but the slightly heavy rhythm of his own breathing.

"You’ve come, Campbell boy."

Finally, that regal voice graced Moen's ears. It was not particularly deep, yet it carried an undeniable weight of authority that was hard to disobey.

"Raise your head."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Moen lifted his head, though he refrained from looking directly at the Emperor, keeping his gaze steady and respectful while relying on his peripheral vision to make observations.

That was when he realized the Emperor’s figure was far more imposing than imagined. Though lounging with his cheek resting casually on one fist, he radiated an aura as oppressive as a mountain, enough to make breathing difficult.

It was hard to reconcile this image of imposing grandeur with the petite stature of his daughter, Celicia.

Could it be that this Emperor also had a liking for lolicon…? No, best not go there.

The original novel offered very little description of this Emperor, so Moen couldn’t help but idly speculate.

Yet no matter what passed through his mind, none of it showed on his face. Remaining composed, he waited silently for the Emperor’s next words.

"Come here."

The seemingly drowsy Aldrich suddenly extended a hand towards Moen.

Startled for a moment, Moen obediently stepped forward.

Aldrich raised his hand and patted Moen lightly on the shoulder.

"The last time I saw you," Aldrich began, "you weren’t even half as tall as you are now. A mere few years, and you’ve grown so much. That face of yours, now fully matured, bears quite the resemblance to Ron, that old bastard. I wouldn’t be surprised if your looks alone have charmed many young ladies already."

"Your Majesty remains as wise and commanding as ever," Moen responded, smoothly flattering him in turn.

"Heh, your tongue wasn’t as sharp the last time I saw you."

Aldrich III’s gaze, deep as an abyss, studied Moen as though prying into his very soul. The prolonged scrutiny almost made Moen’s scalp tingle before Aldrich finally withdrew his gaze, reverting to his semi-lethargic demeanor.

Just as Moen began to heave a silent sigh of relief, the Emperor abruptly asked, "How's the chocolate?"

"Uh… cough, cough, what?"

Moen nearly choked on his own breath.

"That chocolate—was it truly your doing, Your Majesty?" he asked, half in disbelief.

"No, not directly me," Aldrich III replied. "But I allowed it. Everything that leaves my palace naturally falls under my watchful eye."

"You permitted it?"

Moen was utterly dumbfounded.

What kind of father goes out of his way to sabotage his own daughter?

"Recent events have stirred too many emotions," Aldrich remarked with a chilling smile. "Certain parties cannot accept the current state of affairs, so they’ve resorted to crooked schemes."

The cold angle of his lips bore an uncanny resemblance to Celicia when she was upset.

"And so, I decided to go along with it—to let them utterly give up their delusions."

"And… has Your Majesty achieved your goal?"

"…"

Aldrich III cast a sidelong glance at Moen, the faintest trace of amusement tugging at his expression.

"Though I don’t know all the details," he said slowly, "I presume you saw her moment of vulnerability—not a pretty sight, was it?"

"Um…" Moen’s smile turned helplessly awkward, "Even in that moment, Celicia was dazzling."

"Hahaha, considering Celicia’s temperament, the fact that you witnessed such a mortifying scene and are still alive to stand before me—that, in itself, isn’t the best result?"

"…"

Damn it.

So you're not just sabotaging your daughter; you’re dragging me into it too, huh?

Moen's lips twitched involuntarily, frustration bubbling within him.

Yet that irritation soon transformed into a glimmer of smug satisfaction.

At least the ending wasn’t all bad, he thought. The process had been, if not victorious, certainly memorable.

Though he’d been manipulated, perhaps the outcome wasn’t entirely a loss.

Now, however, Moen could finally piece together the deeper currents beneath this so-called "unexpected" chain of events.

It was, in fact, quite simple.

The news of his and Celicia’s imminent engagement—a ceremony slated for months later—had evidently provoked a reaction. Those opposed to a Campbell-family alliance with the royal house had begun to act.

This marriage contract, decreed by His Majesty himself, was nearly untouchable. Ordinary people simply didn’t have the power to overturn it.

There was, however, one individual whose will could potentially shake its foundation.

Celicia herself.

As the most famous princess in the land—the nation’s beloved "Pure White Witch"—Celicia wielded immense influence over public sentiment.

Moreover, she wasn’t just a symbolic figure. Her terrifying talents and prowess had already led many to predict she could become the Empire’s youngest crown-class powerhouse in history.

Such a person’s will could not easily be dismissed—not even by the Emperor.

Thus—just as the plot of the original novel foreshadowed—when the original Moen’s attempt at some unspeakable scheme failed, and coupled with Ariel's discovery, well-timed manipulation by shadowy forces had magnified the fallout to catastrophic proportions.

The tragic fate that befell his original counterpart had much to do with those faceless orchestrators pulling strings behind the scenes.

This time, it was much the same. Their plan was simple: make Celicia despise Moen Campbell, to the extent of publicly opposing their betrothal.

Or better yet, provoke her into outright killing him.

Such a result would not only annul the engagement—no, it could even pit the Campbell family against the royal house as sworn enemies.

To that end, clandestine factions had moved quickly. Taking advantage of the lingering aftermath of recent political turmoil, they sought to ensure everything went according to plan.

Which was why, under Aldrich’s watchful non-intervention, a certain box of "special" chocolates had been delivered at just the right time—and into just the right hands.

But as with all schemes, contingencies existed.

The masterminds behind it all could scarcely have predicted…

That through a twist of fate, this particular pig moved alarmingly fast when it came to rooting out this rose.

Though the rose hadn’t fully been uprooted yet, the frost-locked soil had definitely begun to thaw—hadn’t it?