The Debt Of Fate

Chapter 338: Take over

The more Karen struggled, the faster her strength drained away.

Princess Karen clawed at Prince Lucan’s wrist, her nails digging into his skin, but his grip only tightened. Her vision began to blur. Black spots flickered at the edges of her sight. The room felt smaller. The air thinner.

Prince Lucan’s gaze turned manic—wild, unrecognizable.

"If I cannot have you," he muttered hoarsely, "no one will—"

He hated that everyone was using him. His brother, his mother, and now even the woman he loved. Just because he was the second prince, he could never fight for anything. How was that fair?

Karen’s hands weakened.

Her movements slowed.

Her lungs burned.

Just as her arms fell limply at her sides—

The door burst open.

It slammed against the wall with a thunderous crack.

A team of guards rushed inside.

"Your Highness!" one shouted.

They did not hesitate.

Two men seized Lucan from behind while another drove his shoulder into the prince’s side. The sudden force knocked him off balance. His grip loosened.

Karen dropped to the floor.

Lucan struggled violently, but illness and rage had drained him. The guards forced his arms back, wrenching him away from her.

"Restrain him!" the captain ordered.

Ropes were pulled tight around his wrists.

Lucan thrashed, shouting incoherently, his eyes still burning with madness. "She betrayed me! She—"

His words dissolved into coughing.

On the floor, Princess Karen lay motionless. Her body crumpled against the cold stone.

Lucan’s resistance weakened as the fight left him. His manic expression flickered—rage giving way to something hollow.

For a brief moment, clarity returned to his eyes.

He looked at Karen’s unconscious form.

Something like regret crossed his mind.

One of the guards quickly knelt beside her. "She’s breathing," he said after pressing his fingers to her neck. "But faint."

"Call the physician. Now."

Hearing that, the small trace of guilt in Lucan’s eyes vanished. He had wanted to kill her not only because she had deceived him, but because her death would create problems for Ernest—even if he sat on the throne. The King of Gube would seek to avenge his daughter. But now that he had failed, he did not know what the future held.

"Take him away," the captain ordered coldly.

The guards dragged Prince Lucan from the room despite his uneven protests. His footsteps scraped against the floor until the sound faded down the corridor.

Silence settled.

Only Karen’s shallow breathing remained.

Moments later, servants hurried in with blankets. The physician followed close behind, kneeling beside her and checking her pulse, her throat, and her pupils.

"She will recover," he said after a tense pause. "But she must rest."

"As long as she can recover," the captain said with relief. He immediately sent a message by bird to Ernest, hoping to receive quick instructions on how to handle the situation.

Two days later, Ernest’s reply arrived. Prince Lucan and Princess Karen were to be brought back to the royal city without meeting the search team from Gube.

That night, the captain made preparations and left the Third Region. Princess Karen and Prince Lucan did not ride in the same carriage.

When the search party finally found the hidden estate, it was already morning.

"Our princess released her signal from these walls. We ask that you release her immediately," the lead envoy called out from outside the estate gate.

They waited. Because of the sudden internal turmoil, they had not been able to travel smoothly. Even after locating the estate, they had not dared to approach immediately. Now that Edward had fled the royal city, they had taken care to investigate the estate before revealing themselves.

The group waited in silence for a while before the gates were pulled open.

"The princess and the prince have been taken to the royal city," the steward of the estate said as he stepped outside.

The envoy was surprised. They had kept a close watch for some time—how could she have left unnoticed?

"I think this is a trick. The princess is still inside," one of the guards said. The envoy thought the same.

"Let us search. If the princess is not here, then we will leave," the envoy said.

"To enter this estate, you must obtain permission from the palace," the steward replied. His voice was polite, but he showed no fear.

The envoy took out the permit given by King Edward and presented it to him.

"Sir, we do not honor the permission of a fleeing king. We answer only to a reigning king. The princess is already on her way to the royal city. Whether you believe it or not is your choice," the steward said calmly.

The soldiers from Gube immediately drew their swords. Their stance was clear.

The steward did not react. He simply stepped aside. Seeing this, the men assumed he was frightened. But once he moved fully out of the way and the gates were completely open, they noticed rows of well-trained guards standing inside with their swords already drawn.

At that moment, they understood—they would not win.

"What do we do?" the captain of Gube asked quietly.

"We divide into two groups. One group will head to the royal city to obtain proper authorization, while the rest remain here and keep watch," the envoy decided.

What he did not say aloud was that a messenger would also return to Gube to request reinforcements—just in case.

....

Royal city

It was three days after the battle.

Although the atmosphere in the royal city remained tense, the visible scars of war had already begun to disappear.

Ernest had ordered a full physical cleanup at once.

Broken gates were repaired.

Burned banners were replaced.

Cracked stone tiles in the palace courtyard were torn out and reset.

Bloodstains in the council hall were scrubbed until no trace remained.

Carts moved day and night, carrying away debris, shattered weapons, and the bodies of the fallen. The wounded were separated carefully—Ernest’s men and former royal soldiers alike were treated by the same physicians.

That decision did not go unnoticed.

It was deliberate.

Mercy, when shown at the right time, was more powerful than fear.

The marketplace reopened under heavy guard. Bakers lit their ovens again. Blacksmiths returned to their forges. The sound of trade—cautious, uncertain at first—slowly replaced the echoes of battle.

But tension lingered beneath the surface.

Royal soldiers who had surrendered were temporarily confined to the outer barracks. Oaths of allegiance were being recorded one by one. Any hesitation was noted. Any name linked too closely to Edward was quietly investigated.

Ernest did not rush these matters.

He understood that a throne won by force could only be kept by control. He sort to balance fear with benevolent.

Inside the palace, servants moved with renewed discipline. The royal emblem had already been replaced throughout the corridors. Edward’s crest had been removed from tapestries, official seals, and guard uniforms.

In its place stood Ernest’s sigil.

Edward had planned and escape root with just Dorothy, so Elizabeth was kept under straight guard.

Anastasia walked through the restored council hall that afternoon, her fingers brushing lightly across the polished stone table. Just days ago, it had been a battlefield.

Now it was ready for a coronation.

"You’re moving quickly," she said softly as Ernest entered behind her.

"I must," he replied.

There was no triumph in his voice.

Only calculation.

"Edward will not stay silent," he continued. "He will gather what remains loyal to him. If I hesitate, doubt will grow."

"I see," Anastasia understand, she just fear unexpected situation.

"The kids would enter the palace today, just take care of them and leave the rest to me," Ernest said. He noticed that she still worried.

"Are you sure it is safe?" She asked. The attack back then was only so bad because there was a traitor and he was yet to be identified.

"Don’t worry, I already have everything well planned, this time if they moved, they would be exposed," Ernest said.

Anastasia nodded and tried to relax her mind.

...

Council hall

Ernest stood at the head of the long chamber, not yet seated upon the throne. He wore dark formal robes trimmed in silver, simple but unmistakably royal. Anastasia stood slightly behind him, silent, observing.

When the last noble took his place, Ernest spoke.

"We are here to set a date for the coronation," he said calmly. "Preparations will begin immediately."

A murmur rippled through the hall.

One elderly lord stepped forward, bowing stiffly. "Your Highness... King Edward still lives. Until his fate is decided, announcing an ascension may be... premature."

A few nodded in agreement.

They were cautious men.

Men who had survived by bending with the wind.

Ernest’s gaze swept across them.

"I did not summon you to debate whether I will ascend," he said evenly. "I summoned you to decide when."

Silence fell.

The air grew heavier.

Another noble cleared his throat. "There are still territories loyal to King Edward. If we move too quickly, it may provoke resistance."

Ernest stepped down from the platform slowly.

Each step echoed.

"Edward fled," he said. "He abandoned his army. He abandoned this city. A king who runs is no longer a king."

His voice was not loud.

"I will take the throne," he continued. "With or without unanimous approval."

The meaning was clear.

This was no request.

It was a declaration.

He paused, letting his gaze settle on each face in turn.

"Those who still wish to stand by Edward may do so openly," Ernest added. "I will not execute you for loyalty."

A few heads lifted in faint relief.

But then his tone hardened.

"However, you will be stripped of title and land. You will be banished to the Cold Region and serve as border guards."

The Cold Region.

A frozen wasteland at the northern edge of the kingdom. Brutal winters. Little food. No influence. No comfort.

It was not a death sentence.

But it was close.

The hall went completely still.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

The choice had been made very clear.

Support the new king—

Or freeze in obscurity.

Ernest watched their faces carefully. He saw calculation replacing hesitation.

Finally, lord Williams lowered himself to one knee.

"This minister supports Your Majesty’s ascension."

The words broke the tension. Lord Williams was known for his loyalty, if he bow, the rest saw no reason to resist.

One by one—

Robes rustled.

Knees touched stone.

Voices followed.

"This minister supports Your Majesty."

"Long live the king."

Within minutes, the entire hall knelt.

Ernest stood tall above them.

"Prepare for the coronation in a" he ordered. "The former Queen mother and second prince would be present to give their blessings."

The nobles bowed their heads.

Outside, word began to spread.

The coronation date had been set.

The throne would not remain empty.

And whether Edward still breathed somewhere beyond the borders—

The royal city had already chosen its king.