IMIS 69

Chapter 69 …

At that moment, when a strange tension hung in the air indoors, someone appeared with perfect lack of tact.

It was my magic mentor—and the Minister of Magic for the Imperial Household—Jet.

“Oh my, pardon the interruption.”

Jet apologized for breaking the mood, though his face showed not the slightest trace of regret.

“Jet?”

“Levieta, hello. Your beauty is as radiant as ever today. The flowers must grow jealous when they see you. Ah, don’t mind me—just continue whatever you were doing.”

“We weren’t doing anything…”

I said that, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet Jet’s eyes.

Turning my head sharply, I asked Rocinante,

“Did you call him?”

“I won’t deny it.”

“Oh? Good job. Why don’t you invite Her Majesty the Empress and His Majesty the Emperor next and found a whole new nation while you’re at it?”

I mocked his overprotectiveness, but he calmly raised the stakes.

“If it’s a nation for you, there’s no need to invite them.”

Such an elegant way to insult someone’s entire lineage. Hah. At a loss for words, I let out a hollow breath.

After handing me over to Jet as though delivering a kindergartener to her teacher, Rocinante finally left the palace with visible relief.

“What on earth is wrong with him…?”

He treats me like a child being left by the creek. And sometimes he looks at me with such heartbreaking tenderness—yet refuses to explain why.

If anyone should have been acting out after our wedding night, it should have been me. Instead, he beat me to it.

“He didn’t tell you?”

Jet tilted his head in mild surprise.

When I answered no, the words that flew from his mouth chased away every trace of my drowsy morning haze.

“Today is the day Levieta is supposed to be murdered.”

Jet was smiling.

I wasn’t.

Masks. Daggers coated in poison. Preparations for the operation were complete.

As Diego surveyed the line of assassins standing in formation before him, his hunger for power boiled over.

Before long, Levieta’s severed head would be in his hands. And once Rocinante lost his crown princess, he would fall from power as well.

That vermin should have been crushed at the sprout from the start. Because he had left it to his mother, something so simple had dragged on for years.

“…No. I did try to crush him.”

Yet the lowest-ranked illegitimate son—once not even worth opposing—had stubbornly survived every ruthless kick. Now he had spread his wings and was threatening Diego’s position.

“I thought he was a worthless insect. Turns out he was a dragon.”

It was a bitter truth, but Rocinante’s recent conduct left no room for denial.

And because he acknowledged him, he had to crush him all the more.

Countless assassination attempts had failed. Targeting Rocinante’s life was useless—his mother’s failure had already proven that.

Diego saw no reason to repeat the same mistake. He had a better move.

“Fine. I admit it. You’ve become somewhat worthy of being called human.”

Now that he recognized Rocinante as a rival, he would choose a superior method over a foolish frontal assault.

“What I’m aiming for is your weakness!”

Diego’s blade pointed toward the foolish woman who had rejected him and chosen Rocinante instead.

By plunging her into misery, he would prove that her choice had been wrong.

At some point, crushing Levieta had become more urgent than crushing Rocinante. But since he intended to eliminate them both, the order hardly mattered.

The ranks of assassins awaiting his command were the source of Diego’s confidence.

“Gentlemen, the day of judgment has arrived!”

Raising his sword high, Diego proclaimed in a solemn voice.

It rang through the chamber with force. Encouraged by the sound of his own authority, he laid out the mission without hesitation.

“The stain of Grimlore, who dared act beyond her station, will stand before the tribunal today by my official accusation.”

Diego planned to corner Levieta by leaking fabricated information to the Imperial Security Bureau’s Investigation Division.

The scenario had already been crafted.

He would stir confusion by claiming she had secret contact with the Holy Kingdom. False testimony had been prepared; even if the truth emerged, it would buy him time.

He pictured thorny vines binding Levieta’s body tight.

A fitting end. A satisfied curve touched Diego’s lips.

“Do not let her use magic—it will complicate matters. End her life in one swift strike before she senses anything amiss.”

It was a pity he would not see her cry, but success came first. Diego had no intention of letting opportunity slip through his fingers like Cordelia or Eve Maria had.

He was more animated than usual.

And paradoxically, that very fact prevented him from sensing the strange current flowing among his subordinates.

“Lastly—you all know who your target is, don’t you?”

The final step of the ritual to confirm loyalty between master and servant began.

The assassins in black masks raised their daggers in unison and aimed forward.

Standing alone before dozens of blades, Diego felt a chill creep down his spine.

“What is the meaning of—”

As if answering his question, unfamiliar footsteps shattered the silence.

Slowly, Diego turned his head toward the sound. His movements were stiff and unnatural, as though pulled by invisible strings.

Perhaps it was fate—an inescapable destiny set the moment he was born—that compelled him to move.

“That… That man…!”

Someone emerged, cutting through the darkness.

The intruder had entered this secret chamber—secured by four layers of protection—without permission. Worse, he carried himself as though he were the master of the First Prince’s Palace.

Perhaps not only this palace, but every space within the imperial household had already fallen under his control.

A cloak billowed. A long blade gleamed cold silver.

The light formed a halo around his head, making it seem as though he wore a crown.

The instant he saw him, Diego’s face twisted grotesquely. He didn’t even realize how distorted his expression had become—he had no room to spare for such awareness.

“Damn it. I can’t move…!”

For some reason, he couldn’t even use his authority.

He tried to force his rigid body to obey, but his trembling hands and shrinking toes had already slipped beyond his control.

With desperate will, he managed to spit out the intruder’s name.

“…Rocinante.”

“You thought you could end me anytime you wished. In truth, I was the one who let you live.”

Diego ground his teeth.

“Shut up!”

The moment Diego tried to swing his sword in rage, the assassins’ daggers pressed tightly against his throat.

Each and every blade was coated with deadly poison—enough to kill with the slightest graze.

As the one who had ordered it, Diego knew that well.

No anger could compete with the immediacy of death. Forced to freeze mid-motion, he stood as if being punished, his arm suspended in the air.

Yet unable to endure the humiliation, Diego lashed out in reckless arrogance.

“You’ve completely lost your mind! Over a woman whose origins you don’t even know—”

Before he could finish, Rocinante’s kick struck his jaw.

If nothing else, Diego learned a lesson about running one’s mouth.

“A woman? If you describe Levieta that way, then I suppose the world itself is ‘just one’ as well.”

Rocinante was usually mild, rarely given to emotional extremes. But when it came to Levieta, he reacted with excessive sensitivity.

Diego had been correct—she was his weakness.

But precisely because she could not be touched, she was no longer his weakness.

Shadow, disguised among the assassins in a black mask, reflected quietly.

Thanks to Shadow’s groundwork and Rocinante’s dominion, control over the interior had already been secured.

Unaware of this, Diego had walked straight into the trap. His failure had been inevitable.

“In that world of yours, there will likely be no place left for you to stand.”

Because that world—

is a comfortable cage made only for Levieta.

With a short flick of his sword, Rocinante sliced through the golden tassel attached to Diego’s attire—the symbol of a prince’s authority.

To witness history shift so drastically was a rare experience.

Shadow widened his eyes, engraving the image of the king into his memory.