The Vanelshire Empire’s capital. Marshal’s residence… Dusk was nearly upon them.

As the Empire’s Marshal, Eilinor Lund was shrouded in countless legends. To honor him, Her Majesty had ordered a lavish estate built. Yet since the Marshal’s death, perpetual gloom had clung to the halls. After grand memorial rites, it seemed forgotten.

“Hail, my lord…”

In a hidden chamber of the residence, figures cloaked in black knelt on one knee, bowing to a man studying the Marshal’s portrait beside the fireplace. The man cradled a silver spear, ignoring the homage, his gaze fixed on the painting. His thoughts… unreadable.

“Hmph… Rise. Rise. Go when ready. No need to report to me… Command is your duty. I’m merely a messenger…”

The man turned, waving the six kneeling figures up. It was none other than the Holy Lancer, Capella.

“Yes, but my lord… As your subordinates, we must brief you on deployments. It’s necessary.”

“Ugh, such a hassle… Can’t you brag to the priests yourselves? Fine. Spit it out…”

Capella’s tone was impatient, yet his expression held no displeasure—still that same carefree smirk.

“Yes. One hundred infiltrators are inside the city. Three Temple Warriors lead ten men to raid Duke Kein’s manor and seize his mother and family. Five Temple Warriors command twenty to assault the Magic Academy and assassinate Ludinger South. The rest strike the Imperial Palace to eliminate the Empress, princes, and royal kin. Even if we fail, we’ll plunge the Empire into chaos…”

“Alright, got it… Now go die. I’m tired of hearing about suicides… Off you go.”

The cloaked subordinates bowed and vanished. Capella returned to the Marshal’s portrait… a trace of unspeakable loss in his eyes. *Must so many lives be sacrificed? Can we truly save the kingdom and forge a new nation as His Grace claims? They’re just power-hungry priests… Why not send a few knights to end them? Why such convoluted schemes?* No. Perhaps His Grace was right. Only when the old order is utterly shattered and burned to ash can a new one rise from the embers. Like petals falling into soil… not by choice, but bound by nature’s law…

———

Night was ink-black. No stars. No moon. Even with human eyes, discerning shapes beyond five meters was near impossible.

Yet Jor and his fellow night watchmen patrolled the streets with rigid discipline. War had brought curfew. The drunken stragglers once common after dark were nowhere to be seen…

“Who goes there!”

Jor’s head snapped toward a second-story balcony ahead. *Meow.* A stray cat, startled, darted into shadow, glanced back once, then fled.

“Just a cat… I thought—”

His words died as something pierced his neck and slammed him against the wall. Gagging, Jor tried to wrench the arrow free. From the corner of his eye, he saw his comrades cut down by shadowy figures. On a distant rooftop, a dark silhouette loosed an arrow—piercing the head of a guard reaching for his alarm whistle. The whistle hung uselessly in his slack jaw… no sound emerged.

“Damn… urgh…”

*Must sound the alarm…* Jor fumbled for his own whistle, pressed it to his lips—but the arrow in his throat choked every breath. Then, a sharp pain exploded in his temple… darkness swallowed him. The rooftop archer had seen his attempt.

In under a minute, seven guards lay dead, dragged into alley shadows and buried under refuse. The assassins signaled silently, then moved on to clear the next patrol…

———

In the Duke’s manor corridor, Langzur strolled toward his chambers, hands clasped behind his back. Servants bowed as he passed; he nodded back politely.

But as he neared a maid, Langzur halted, turning to study her. *Something’s off. Her footsteps… too uniform. Only a swordsman would land on the balls of their feet for quick strikes. And that subtle bend in her arms? Habit from wielding short blades. Plus… the scent of blood on her. She’s no maid.*

“…Stop!”

“Yes, my lord? Your command?”

“You’re new here?”

“Yes… arrived just days ago.”

“I see. A beauty like you? I’d have noticed. Since you’re new… are you still a maiden?”

“…! My lord, what are you saying?”

“Joking, joking… Heh heh…”

“…I’d hoped it wasn’t a joke…”

“Hoped?…”

“Yes. If you desire… I could… somewhere private…”

“I know a secret place. A hidden passage in this manor. Only I know it. Come? No one will find us… Heh heh…”

“A passage? O-Okay…”

Langzur scratched his head, grinning lewdly as he led her behind the manor. After a moment, he beckoned her toward a thicket and slipped inside.

*Disgusting lecher. Once I find that passage… I’ll cut off that thing of yours. How dare you—* The maid’s thought shattered as her ankle snapped shut in a trap. Excruciating pain shot through her leg—*A bear trap! An ambush!* Before she could activate her martial arts, three arrows flew from the thicket. One pierced her mouth, exiting the back of her skull. The others struck heart and gut.

Langzur emerged, shortbow in hand, smirking down at her crumpled form.

———

Outside the Empress’s chambers, Crown Prince Jesta paced, anxiety etching his face. His fingers brushed his sleeve—where a vial rested. *The perfect moment to seize power… Duke Cethevor commands the Imperial Guard outside the city. The garrison leader here is mine. For days, whispers urged me to act… But patricide? My brother and I share no bond, yet no enmity either… And Mother…*

“The imperial house knows no kinship…”

Sighing, Jesta spotted an approaching servant—the Empress’s sixty-year-old handmaiden. *What was her name? Doesn’t matter. Just a servant.*

“Prince Jesta… Her Majesty summons you. Follow me.”

“My thanks…”

Jesta trailed the elderly maid through two antechambers into the inner sanctum. His mother, the Empress, sat in plain robes beside her bed. Exhaustion had worsened her illness; she looked decades older.

“Mother…”

Jesta rushed forward, kneeling at her feet.

“Jesta… my son. Forgive my worry. Being the Empress’s child is a heavy burden. We rarely share the warmth of ordinary mothers and sons. Ruling as royalty demands such sacrifice. You and Sabo have borne it well. Now… it’s time for my medicine. Help me take it. Then tell me of your days—joys, sorrows, marriage, family… This mother wishes to hear her child’s heart. I’ve been a poor one… always too busy for my own sons…”

“Mother… You are Empress. All the Empire’s people are your children. I… I understand. I don’t blame you…”

“Hmm… You’ve grown. Strong.”

The maid brought the medicine bowl. Jesta took it, blew gently on the steam, then tested a spoonful himself before stirring it carefully.

“Ready… Mother…”

The Empress studied him for a full minute before accepting the bowl.

“My dutiful son… Even if this were instant poison, I’d drink it.”

“……!!!”

She drained the bowl in one gulp.

“Now wipe the poison from your lips. Leaving it too long harms the body… even if none was swallowed.”

“…Mother, I… What do you mean?”

She handed him a handkerchief and rose.

“Having done this, why tremble? Patricide for the throne… many great emperors began thus. No need for fear.”

“……”

“A poison blending alchemy and magic? No… What is this?”

The Empress swayed, collapsing. The elderly maid caught her with unnatural speed, forcing another vial down her throat.

“Useless… Not magic. Not curses. A poison never seen before. Clever… so clever…”

The Empress drew a dagger from her sleeve and plunged it into her own heart. Magical energy surged from the blade, battling the toxin ravaging her body—holding it back, but only briefly.

“Jesta… heed my words. From this moment… you are Emperor! Dukes Cethevor and Kein will be your regents! If all seems lost… promise them two-thirds of the Empire’s lands, split equally, to secure their loyalty and save the realm! An unseen enemy threatens us. You cannot stand alone… only Cethevor and Kein can shield you. Remember: seize the one who gave you this poison. Extract every secret. Then capture your brother. Kill him. And purge every minister loyal to him—root and branch!”

“…Mother!”

“No tears! An Emperor shows no weakness! Take this… the Scepter and Ring of Rule… and my sealed letter. Give it to Cethevor and Kein—they will swear fealty. Trust no one but them.”

Shouts and steel clashed in the corridor outside.

“So it begins… Silk… protect the Emperor. At all costs. Guard the Empire’s future…”

Her final command given to the aged handmaiden named Silk, the Empress dissolved into foam, scattering on the wind… leaving only her robe in Silk’s trembling hands.

“Yes… Your will be done.”

The elderly maid folded the robe neatly and placed it on the empress’s bed.

“Your Majesty… please follow me. Don’t stray more than three meters from my side…”

“Uh… okay…”

Just then, the door burst open violently. Arrows shot inside… but disintegrated into splinters mid-air… With a flick of her hand, the elderly maid sliced the intruders into seven or eight pieces.

“…What’s going on!? This is…”

Another knight charged in—seemingly their leader—and noticed the air thick with threads… incredibly fine Silk threads, like strands of hair…

“Heh… you little brats… daring to cause chaos in the imperial palace… how unfortunate… Now, learn some manners at the cost of your lives…”

The elderly maid raised her hand. The Silk threads, controlled by her fingers, sliced everyone in the corridor to pieces. Even those hiding behind stone pillars weren’t spared… Deep gashes, five inches deep, scarred the walls…

“Monster! Monster! Retreat!”

“Thinking of running? You can’t escape… From the moment you entered this garden, I sealed the barrier’s entrance… You’ll all die…”

At that moment, the former crown prince—now emperor—realized this ordinary maid, always smiling and kind, was truly terrifying. How many Vanelshire Empire secrets did he not know! His mother must have fulfilled his ambition by handing him the empire this way… Could he really protect this nation? Then… he must carry out her orders without fail… Brother, I’m sorry…

—

Meanwhile, a kilometer from the capital, by the riverside, the second prince pushed aside disguised weeds and emerged from a tunnel… gazing at distant Yilisong.

Without that warning, he’d be dead… He glanced back at the spear-wielding man, still unable to believe it. Moments ago, this stranger showed him—through a mirror—his brother’s patricide, usurpation, and his mother’s command… He never expected this from her… He lacked talent, but hadn’t erred. Why? Did she truly hate him so much… that even his kin-slaying brother became emperor, while he, innocent, was sacrificed?

“Well then, Your Highness, farewell… Take these swift horses. Ride south with your loyal followers to take refuge… Oh, and Lord Hisar is sheltering there too… He might serve you well. Consider this my final advice…”

“Why help me? And… who are you? What’s your purpose?”

“Me? Just a passerby who enjoys foolish acts like helping the wronged… Happened to meddle… Farewell.”

Holy Lancer Caber waved and walked off, giving Sabu no chance to ask more.