Chapter : 27
While everyone was still reeling from shock, Cassielope opened her mouth again.
“Let us now proceed with the ceremony of departure.”
When she lifted her hand, the waiting attendants entered in a line, each carrying a sword.
The purpose of this ceremony was to bestow a good sword as a blessing for success in battle.
Thus, the number of swords prepared matched the number of nobles departing for war.
But there were three swords prepared.
Count Lothes looked around, puzzled.
“Only Seren was supposed to go… why are there three swords?”
Convinced that his plans couldn’t have gone wrong, yet uneasy, he cautiously asked:
“Your Majesty, only one from our house is to go forth, so why have three swords been prepared?”
“They match the number of those departing, Count Lothes.”
“What… what do you mean?”
Ignoring his question cleanly, Cassielope unrolled the scroll beside her.
“Those whose names I now call, step forward and receive the imperial order to depart.”
Thinking himself safe, the marquis took a half-step back.
“Mireon Lothes of House Lothes.”
Countless eyes turned toward Marquis Lothes.
He stood frozen, blinking rapidly, unable to react.
Had he really just heard his own name?
He wanted to deny it—but the Empress’s gaze was fixed directly on him.
His face drained of color.
“Eirban Lothes of House Lothes.”
The next name was that of his beloved eldest son, Eirban.
“And lastly—”
The Empress’s gaze shifted to Seren.
“Seren Lothes of House Lothes.”
The air grew cold.
At first, the nobles had suspected something strange, but when even the marchioness’s name was called, everyone was certain.
This was a death sentence.
If only Eirban Lothes, who could wield a sword, had been summoned, perhaps it would have made sense.
But the others—Marquis Lothes, a man past middle age, and his wife, a lady who had lived her entire life in luxury—had no place on a battlefield.
It was war.
There was no chance of their return.
Marquis Lothes shook his head frantically.
“This… this must be some kind of mistake, Your Majesty…”
“What mistake? I’ve checked and rechecked the list—there is none.”
At Cassielope’s icy tone, the hall began to buzz with anxious murmurs.
Reactions split into two camps.
“What’s going on all of a sudden?”
“Indeed! The entire Lothes family being sent off?”
“Only one bearer of the Lothes name needs to go… She must’ve truly angered the Empress.”
“Can you blame Her Majesty? The Lothes family has been fawning over Duke Icart nonstop—if I were her, I’d be sick of the sight too.”
Some sided with the Empress, saying her actions were understandable.
Others protested:
“No matter what, this is too cruel! To send even the marquis’s wife and heir to war?”
“They’re a high noble house—this punishment is excessive!”
Marquis Lothes was so flustered he couldn’t even form proper words.
Unable to watch any longer, Duke Icart stepped forward.
“Your Majesty, sending even the marquis and his wife to the front lines is no different from eradicating their house. Only one member needs to go—why send three?”
Cassielope replied coldly,
“The Lothes family still has the second son and the young lady alive. That is hardly eradication.
And besides—hasn’t it been the Euriel Duchy that has avoided service until now? To balance the records, three at once seems fair.”
“But, Your Majesty,” Icart pressed, “if you continue sending excess numbers to the battlefield, the nobility will rise in protest.”
“Who said anything about continuing? The Lothes family will be the first and last.”
Icart’s brow twitched upward. He didn’t like that answer.
“You seem curious,” Cassielope continued, “as to why the first example had to be your vassal’s house.”
“…”
“This is the price for disobeying the command of the Empress.
Your daughter serves as my lady-in-waiting, Lady Mardia as my head maid—yet Marquis Lothes alone defied me.
It is an insult not only to me, but to you as well, Duke.”
There was no refuting that.
Duke Icart’s rank was higher than that of a marquis.
Even he had obeyed the Empress’s command—but the marquis, a lower noble, had not.
It was tantamount to insulting both the Empress and the Duke himself.
If the Duke now stepped in to defend the marquis, it would mean admitting he stood beneath him in authority, and worse—it would unravel the noble hierarchy they’d so carefully maintained.
Duke Icart ground his teeth.
When even the Duke, whom he’d trusted, withdrew his support, Marquis Lothes looked around helplessly.
But the other nobles avoided his desperate gaze.
Even those who had just moments ago cried that Cassielope was being too harsh now stayed silent.
Had this been a purely emotional order, they might have spoken up for fairness’ sake.
But this time, the justification was irrefutable—one the marquis himself had provided.
If they took his side now, they risked becoming targets themselves.
Realizing no one would help him, Marquis Lothes made one last, desperate attempt.
“I told you clearly! It was my daughter—Seren Lothes—who volunteered to go!”
He didn’t even realize that by saying this, he was tightening the noose around his own neck.
“I also told you,” Cassielope said coolly, “the choice is not yours to make.
Do you think that if you decide your daughter will go, I must automatically grant it?”
Marquis Lothes’s eyes flared, his body trembling violently.
In noble society, blood ties were never sacred.
As long as an heir of one’s bloodline carried on the family name, it mattered little who lived or died.
Parents and children, brothers and sisters—many had killed one another for succession.
What truly mattered to them was appearances—the image they projected to others.
Even if families were torn apart in private, revealing discord in public was the same as exposing weakness.
And in a social world built on tearing others down, the Marquis’s outburst had just made him prey.
“So, to summarize…” someone murmured,
“The Marquis tried to send his daughter to war in his place and in his son’s place, didn’t he?”
“Unbelievable! To favor his eldest son so much that he’d send his daughter—who’s never even held a sword—to the battlefield? That’s no different from sending her to die!”
Hearing the nobles’ voices, the marquis finally seemed to realize his mistake.
He looked around with a feigned innocent smile.
Even then, he didn’t glance once at his daughter, Seren Lothes.
“…Ha.”
Seren let out a short, hollow laugh as she stared at him.
She had hoped—just a little—for even one word of apology.
But it had been a foolish hope.
Her eyes grew cold.
She regretted ever writing down her parents’ and brother’s names that day, feeling that heaviness in her heart.
Neither her father nor her brother looked at her.
They only trembled in fear of their own fates.
From the high seat, Cassielope watched the disarray of House Lothes with bored amusement.
“How entertaining,” she murmured.
She had merely nudged them once—
and they had turned on each other, devouring themselves.
What a delightful spectacle.
Cassielope tilted her head and curled her lips into a crooked smile.
