novelraw Chapter 107
Chapter 107
Chapter 107
“Treason, you say! What in the world is happening…!”
“There’s no official confirmation yet, but reports say that the Tindal Family—and several houses long close to them—have gathered their forces as if they were waiting for this moment, and are now marching toward the Imperial Palace. It seems… Tindal has made up his mind.”
“Tindal… they say he could even bring down the birds flying over the Capital, and yet that wasn’t enough for him….”
“Your Highness, there’s no time to sit idle! You must quickly gather your troops, protect His Majesty, and defend Aphahiel!”
It was the earnest counsel of a loyal vassal who had always stood by the Crown Prince’s side.
But the Crown Prince thought differently.
“No… no, that won’t do. Tindal is no petty provincial lord. If he truly planned and executed a rebellion, then all his calculations are already complete. If we move hastily now, we’ll only die alongside him.”
The Crown Prince saw the situation with piercing accuracy.
The Tindal Duke Family was certainly capable of such. His explanation made the vassal’s shoulders slump in despair.
“How could such a thing happen in Aphahiel…”
The Crown Prince silently nodded before his shocked vassal.
“Yes. That’s it. If Tindal plotted treason without my knowing, then it’s certain he has no ties to the other Princes either. And if a rebellion succeeds without any Prince at its head—what do you think will happen then?”
It wasn’t a question.
A clear answer flashed through the vassal’s mind as he listened.
‘If this rebellion succeeds… every last one of Aphahiel’s bloodline will be slaughtered…!’
The Crown Prince saw the pallor on the vassal’s face and knew he had reached the same conclusion.
Then, with a face gone just as pale, the Crown Prince spoke heavily.
“In that case… there’s no choice but for each of us to find our own way to survive.”
The Crown Prince’s Palace was not alone.
At the same time, in the Second Prince’s Palace, a similar conversation unfolded.
“…Therefore, judging by these reports, it seems certain that the Tindal Family has committed high treason.”
“Tindal? Tindal, you say? The loyal Duke Tindal plotting treason?”
The Second Prince’s tone was laced with disbelief, as if he couldn’t trust his own ears.
There was a reason Tindal was called the true power of the Capital.
The Tindal Family had faithfully served the Imperial Family for generations, closer to the throne than any other noble house.
Even their authority, which dominated the center of the Capital and the Empire, had been built purely out of loyalty to Aphahiel.
The current Duke Tindal, aged and frail, was no different.
As far as Arencar knew, the Duke was the last man who would ever dream of treason.
“…Though it’s nearly certain that the Tindal Duke Family plotted rebellion, we can’t say for sure that the Duke himself took part. His illness is widely known, but in recent months, his condition has reportedly worsened—so much that it’s become an open secret among the nobility… Perhaps, rather than his illness worsening…”
The Duke’s words trailed off, and the Second Prince’s expression darkened. Something clicked.
“Damn it, that’s right. That old man hasn’t been seen in ages, claiming he’s on his deathbed, refusing visitors… So the old fool must’ve died. And whoever took control afterward—he’s the one behind this madness. The Tindals were always close with the eldest. What about that side?”
“It seems Tindal acted without the Crown Prince’s knowledge. According to the spy we planted in the Crown Prince’s Palace… even they are in complete chaos.”
“When did that report come in?”
“I came straight here the moment I received it… so about five minutes ago.”
The Duke’s answer confirmed Arencar’s suspicion. The unimaginable truth sank in, and he bit down hard on his lip.
“Five minutes… If the Crown Prince had known beforehand, he would’ve made a move before the uprising began. If even his palace is panicking, then this must truly be something Tindal did alone, without ties to the other Princes… The situation is bad—too bad. It can’t be that fool Fisk. Have we still not found which of Tindal’s sons is behind this?”
“It’s certain it’s not Fisk. But our focus on the Palace has left our outside intelligence lacking. Our best guess is the second or third son of Tindal.”
Though Duke Baros answered thus, the Second Prince thought differently.
‘Second or third son? By age, perhaps… but no. If Tindal truly did this, then it’s that bastard….’
A face long forgotten came to his mind—the youngest son of Tindal, whom he’d briefly encountered years ago at the Royal Academy.
That faint memory vanished quickly as Duke Baros cautiously pressed for a decision.
“Your Highness… what will you do? Though our power isn’t what it once was, your faction still holds loyal men ready to give their lives at your word. Just say it. My house, the Baros Family, stands with you.”
“Hmm…”
The Second Prince weighed a choice that would decide his life. He studied Duke Baros’s gaze.
The Duke didn’t avert his eyes. They said the eyes were the window to the soul, and the unflinching certainty in Baros’s eyes steeled Arencar’s resolve.
‘Right… He knows it too. If I hesitate now, I’ll lose my head.’
It was time to decide.
After a brief yet heavy silence that felt like ten years, the Second Prince rose and, with his healed right arm, gripped his Guardian Sword.
“…Very well. Proceed with the plan we prepared before.”
The Fourth Prince was no different.
Each Prince sought his own path to survival.
And, as if anticipating their actions, a man hidden behind a curtain smiled faintly.
“…As you said, each of the Princes’ palaces is behaving oddly. It looks as if they’re preparing to flee somewhere.”
“Leave them be. I told you before—once we take down the Emperor and the Fifth Prince, the rest will collapse on their own.”
The voice of the man behind the curtain flowed like jade beads rolling on a silver tray—soft and refined, a rare tone among men.
“To think we’re striking at the very heart of Aphahiel with such a small force… My lord’s foresight was flawless.”
At his subordinate’s words, the man behind the curtain laughed, self-assured.
“If a man can’t become Emperor, yet hasn’t even the pride to be a king in some forgotten corner… it’s easy to see through such worms. Their thoughts are transparent. Because they divided their strength and split their loyalties, our work became laughably easy. Ha ha.”
While the Princes scrambled to secure their own fates amid Aphahiel’s turmoil, one man remained alone in the Tomb of Swords—the place said to hold all of Aphahiel’s history within its depths.
Tang Yuwon stood there, gripping the edge of his blade.
It was unlike him ever to show weakness before an enemy.
Yet after a long, brutal fight, he was barely able to stand.
‘Damn it… To think that the so-called elixir I risked my life to obtain was nothing more than poison… how pitifully I’ve fallen….’
The medicine he had taken from the Tomb of Swords had clogged his flow of qi, leaving him unable to draw out even half his strength.
Still, even in that crippled state, Yuwon had fought desperately.
‘I’ve killed and killed again… and still they come. If only my body were whole… So this is where my second life ends, huh….’
He had long since thrown every hidden weapon and dagger he carried into the wave of oncoming foes.
The white hair that once earned him the name “White Dragon” was now stained crimson with the blood of enemies and his own. Around him lay piles of corpses, their flesh rotted black from poison.
“I knew you were strong… but this strong? I’ve learned today that those destined to be Emperors are indeed different. However, it’s time to go, Your Highness. Emperor Yulaios is surely waiting for you already.”
Even the Enemy Leader at the heart of the Fifth Prince’s assassination plot was far from unharmed.
The number of subordinates Yuwon had slain far exceeded the man’s expectations.
“Well then… this is goodbye.”
The man lifted his weapon again. The blade he held would soon strike for Yuwon’s life.
Unable to move even a finger, unable to take a step, Yuwon could only glare with the fury of one who would tear his enemy apart with his eyes alone.
“Even in death… I’ll tear you to shreds.”
Then—
Bang!
A thunderous crash echoed through the Tomb of Swords as an unexpected intruder appeared.
He was short for a grown man, bald to the last strand, and so obese it was a wonder he could move at all—Marcellus.
“Oh! Lord Marcellus? What brings you here?”
“Well done. I’ll take it from here.”
“Ah, that’s all right, we’ve nearly finished—let us handle the rest…”
Marcellus made a gesture then.
In his hand glinted a piece of metal—no one had noticed when he drew it.
Flash—!
His motion was so fast that even Yuwon’s eyes barely caught it. And then—
Splatter—
The men who had been alive a heartbeat ago, pointing their blades at Yuwon, were now reduced to fist-sized chunks of flesh scattered across the ground.
“…!”
Blood and flesh rained down like a storm.
And at the center stood Marcellus, holding a spotless blade that hadn’t caught a single drop.
‘What… what is this…!’
It was a sight utterly alien to the Marcellus Yuwon thought he knew.
Before he could process the overwhelming power he had just witnessed, Marcellus began to approach him.
Step— Step—
Even his gait was unrecognizable. Gone was the wobbling, jiggling walk of the fat man Yuwon remembered.
Marcellus kept walking, drawing closer, one step at a time.
Soon, he was right before Yuwon—who could not move a muscle, clinging only to consciousness.
Marcellus’s face loomed close, so near that Yuwon could make out every wrinkle.
He had never seen the man’s face this closely before.
Then, Marcellus reached out with his rough hand and gently brushed aside Yuwon’s blood-matted hair.
Yuwon longed to slap that hand away, but in his current state, it was impossible.
Their eyes met—Marcellus’s and Yuwon’s.
‘This man…’
Yet, for some reason, tears shimmered at the corners of Marcellus’s eyes.
Suppressing the pain twisting his insides, Yuwon forced his voice out.
“Why are you…! Why are you crying…!”
He wanted to ask why the man was weeping.
And then, for the first time, Marcellus spoke in a voice Yuwon had never heard before.
“Your Highness… you have grown so well. To have come this far, so splendidly, without your mother… surely the one above will…”
Marcellus’s voice trembled with tears.
Before he could finish, they were already rolling down his ugly, slit eyes.
“I am sorry for being late, Your Highness. I am the protector of the House of Reqil and leader of the Ravens—Ser… no, an unnamed Raven who once failed to protect his one true master. I offer you my respects.”