Chapter 110
“Your master ordered you to kill me?”
Even at Yan’s venomous words, the servants didn’t flinch in the slightest. Instead, they drew white curtains around him, herding him in like cattle.
“!”
Then, the grand-ducal knights clad in golden armor swarmed around Yan.
“They instructed me to prepare you for the funeral, sir.”
One of the knights rested his hand on the sheath of his sword.
“Force… huh. Fine. Come at me.”
Still smarting from Sinclair’s earlier attack, Yan rolled up his sleeves and assumed a combat stance.
“Hmph.”
“Are you mocking me right now?”
Yan’s anger flared at the knight’s sneer.
“Grab him.”
At Sophia’s command, the servants rushed forward.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re simply following orders from above.”
“You fools!”
Yan struggled violently, but they were stronger than anyone he had faced.
His mood sank to rock bottom.
“Fine, fine. I’ll prepare myself.”
He needed to get ready anyway.
The archpriest would come for the service, and the ceremony couldn’t proceed with him in a mess.
He reluctantly accepted the witch’s courtesy.
Finally, he tossed into his mouth the gargle the grand duchess had left for him.
Ugh!
Spit! Spit! Spit!
“Do you intend to kill me?”
Bloodshot veins bulged in Yan’s eyes.
“If the Empire’s knights can’t handle this, how would that make sense? The disinfectant kills oral bacteria, and the mint is only to remove the odor. That’s all—it’s just a tingling sensation.”
Sophia held out the gargle bottle again.
“What did you say?”
Annoyed at how she looked exactly like the grand duchess, Yan swatted the bottle away.
He grabbed what he assumed was a sprig of peppermint and chewed it, intending to brush them off and leave.
Whoosh!
Without warning, Sophia doused him with water from a wooden box she had somehow prepared.
Gah!
Yan splashed his face with his hands in confusion and glared at Sophia.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to make you presentable.”
No sooner had Sophia’s arrogant words left her mouth than the knights and servants began stripping him of his clothes.
“Let go! Let me go!”
Yan screamed, but Sophia commanded:
“Turn him around!”
In an instant, a long sunflower-shaped contraption appeared before Yan.
What is that?
Two servants began turning the handles on the rectangular container that Sophia had just filled with water.
Whoooosh.
Droplets poured from the sunflower-shaped device, pelting Yan.
He tried to block them with his hands, but it was useless.
Water gushed from both sides, filling his nose and mouth, leaving him unable to scream.
Dozens of hands grabbed him and began washing him.
His toned body was stripped bare in the open field. This was clearly assault—violence!
Whiiing!
The wind scattered the grayish earth piled near the pit where Michael would be buried.
Though he had risen by his own hands, his life had been fleeting and empty.
No one mourned him, no one wept.
“Michael Owen, don’t be sad. Still, this is a more dignified funeral than in the original story. You weren’t killed by your own son. You’re being laid to rest in the cemetery with the crown prince and grand duke seeing you off. Isn’t that better than the original death?”
Sinclair looked at the crown prince and the grand duke standing solemnly beside the grave.
How well those black uniforms suited them.
Behind them, the blue sky, green forest, and refreshing breeze stretched like a spring watercolor—clear and pure.
Even the unique statues scattered around the graves were beautiful.
The crown prince looked dignified and prim, while Theodore appeared as if a playful god had manifested in a child.
Click.
If only she had a camera to capture these moments—so they could be remembered forever.
Perhaps she should ask Count Ashura to make one.
At that moment, Theodore’s bright red eyes suddenly gleamed.
He glanced around, then, while the crown prince and grand duke were talking with the ladies, he tried to sneak away.
See? This little rascal cannot contain his curiosity.
Those chubby cheeks needed a good pinch—“nom-nyah”—but this wasn’t the place for such antics.
He seemed to have spotted something in the pit dug for the coffin.
He leaned forward to peer carefully into the hole.
But the young grand duke was only five years old, still five heads tall.
And his head was disproportionately large and heavy!
Oh no!
Theodore tipped forward, about to fall into the pit.
“Theo!”
Sinclair shouted, and Gerald turned around, smiling faintly at her from afar.
“No, Theo, Theo!”
Why didn’t this man realize a child was about to fall, despite having mana?
Sinclair waved her hands, urging someone to catch Theodore.
At that moment, Crown Prince Alfred grabbed him firmly.
Theodore, tilting forward, froze mid-fall, saved by Alfred’s grip.
Phew, that’s our crown prince.
Sinclair hurried toward them, almost running.
The wide-eyed Theodore pointed at the pit and spoke to Alfred.
Alfred also bent down to look inside.
What was going on?
Gerald too leaned over the pit. Then… something popped out from it.
Gerald?
Why was he inside the pit during a funeral?
Moments later, he emerged like Superman, showing the children something he held in his hands.
What’s that black thing?
Its mouth was pointed, and it was completely black…
Oh, a baby mole!
The children’s faces lit up instantly.
Apparently, while digging the pit, the baby mole had fallen inside, and Gerald rescued it.
True to form, Theodore valued even small lives.
Oh dear.
When Count Ashura comes, I should have the tech team make a camera.
Capturing every expression, every movement—video is best for that.
For now, without a camera, she would rely on her senses.
Feeling the soft cheeks and fine hair of the children.
Grasping their hands, hardened from training to bear the weight of the Empire.
And seeing their sparkling eyes and hearing their exclamations of curiosity.
Sinclair quickened her pace.
But Sophia rushed in front of her.
“What’s wrong?”
She bit her lip in frustration.
“Sir Yan stubbornly chewed on the mint leaves.”
Turning back, he appeared neat—clothes changed, hair arranged.
Fortunately, there was no longer a smell of alcohol.
But his face was blotchy and his eyes swollen.
“Yan!”
“Don’t be arrogant.”
Yan, pouting as if Sinclair were to blame, passed by.
Ridiculous.
He intended to face the archpriest like that?
Ugh, that long-nosed brute.
I need to give him allergy medicine… Should I even say something?
Before she could decide, the archpriest entered the cemetery with young priests.
There was no choice.
Well, just say he cried—nothing more could be done.
Yes, sudden death could explain it.
“Good job, Sophia. That must’ve been hard. Thank you.”
“No, ma’am.”
Sophia regretted not being able to make Yan perfect.
Sinclair patted her shoulder, signaling it was fine, and strode ahead.
That’s enough care for such a stubborn person.
She needed to stay by Theodore’s side.
The archpriest had marked the grand duke and grand prince as sinners needing absolution.
Why?
Jubius had performed a ritual to lift Theodore’s curse, but it didn’t work.
It was said this failure was due to the lack of faith from the grand prince and grand duke.
Even with divine powers, one without faith cannot be healed, and such people must repent and receive absolution.
Therefore, the archpriest claimed the curse remained because of Theodore’s fault.
Trust that archpriest? Not a chance.
Dragging out the emperor’s illness unnecessarily… and now questioning the emperor’s faith?
Suspicious fellow.
At that moment, Yan stepped ahead of Sinclair.
She let out a bitter laugh.
Trying to compete with me now, huh?
Around Alfred, there seemed to be no competent adults.
A different strategy to protect the crown prince was needed.
Sigh. The archpriest group approached.
Ahead of the archpriest, a boy priest carried a long banner symbolizing Orlesion.
Every step they took jingled bells attached to the heels of their ceremonial shoes.
In temple rituals or funerals, these bells announced the descent of the divine.
Over their robes, they wore chest coverings like aprons, embroidered with the wheel of Orlesion in gold and silver threads that sparkled in the sunlight.
A long purple silk sash wrapped their waist, flowing softly.
Their round white turban-like hats symbolized holiness, perfection, and glory.
‘The archpriest did pay attention. My father’s funeral won’t look shabby.’
Yan, convinced the archpriest was approaching her, increased her distance from Sinclair.
She had to hear her father’s final words.
That day, the archpriest had likely visited her father in the underground prison before returning.
Time-stopping magic.
She hadn’t forgotten.
She had to learn her father’s last conversation and handle this crisis as the heir without faltering.
There might be a way to survive the cruel emperor.
“You’ve arrived.”
Yan clasped her hands neatly and bowed.
“You’re late.”
The archpriest bowed his head as he approached.
Yan lifted her head with a solemn expression.
But the archpriest bypassed her and went to Sinclair.
Sinclair, with a composed smile, clasped her hands over her chest and greeted:
“May the blessings of Orlesion be with you.”
“May the blessings of Orlesion be with you.”
Seeing the archpriest exchange greetings with Sinclair, Yan felt as if she had been hit on the back of her head—dazed.
