Chapter 80
“Your Majesty, the Empress!”
Alfred hurriedly grabbed Kenneth’s arm to stop him. Kenneth pushed away the hand the Crown Prince had held.
Ugh.
Alfred watched in horror as the Empress, now free from Kenneth, wiped the blood and pus from her hands clean by licking them.
Kenneth silently licked all the blood and pus from his hands and respectfully spoke,
“This is slander, Your Majesty.”
“Slander?”
“If you wish, I can clean all the pus from my body for you.”
“Look at them. These are the ones called your mother and your maternal grandfather. Servile in front of you, conspiring rebellion behind your back.”
As Kenneth crawled forward on his knees, Herais kicked him in the chest as if shaking off dirt.
“Ugh!”
“Mother!”
“Shameless brats.”
Alfred tried to approach Kenneth, who had collapsed to the floor, but Herais grabbed Alfred’s shoulder roughly.
“Have you been coveting the throne so much?”
The arrow that had been aimed at Kenneth now turned toward seven-year-old Alfred.
Alfred’s green eyes filled with tears, terrified.
At that moment,
“Your Majesty, you are misunderstanding things. How could you say such absurd words?”
Kenneth grabbed Herais’s ankle. She kicked him like brushing off a bug.
“Absurd? We’ll see if that’s the case when we investigate. Drag that woman out.”
“No, Your Majesty. Mother… she cannot be harmed.”
Alfred grabbed Herais’s arm.
“Ugh!”
At that moment, blisters burst, and pain accompanied by heat surged. Herais pushed Alfred. The small boy flew through the air, hit the wall with a thud, and fell to the floor.
“Alfred…”
Kenneth tried to crawl toward his unconscious son.
“Confine the Crown Prince in the Northern Tower, and throw that woman into the underground prison where her father is!”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
The Emperor’s knights put their hands under Kenneth’s armpits.
“Let go, let go! How dare you touch me? Alfred, Alfred!”
“Quiet.”
With just that one word from the Emperor, a knight swung the flat side of his sword at Kenneth’s neck. The Empress lost consciousness.
“A boy not even ten years old, already coveting the throne?”
Herais’s gaze blazed as she watched her son being dragged away.
Underground Palace Torture Chamber
“State your name and rank, did I not ask?”
Michael’s feet hung suspended in the air. His ankles were stripped of chains, revealing the white bones beneath.
His body was covered in bruises, black and purple, with dark red blood stains across them.
“Burn him.”
A pale-faced knight in his early forties, sitting cross-legged in a chair, ordered two masked torturers.
From the brazier, they took a red-hot iron rod and pressed it against Michael’s chest.
“Ugh… you bastard! …Ugh.”
Michael gritted his teeth and endured it. He had lived like a dog for Herais, bowing and sacrificing for his last dream.
“This is impossible. Bring a lawyer!”
“A lawyer? There’s no one to defend you.”
“Tell the Empress and the Crown Prince! I am caught in a false conspiracy!”
“Hmph…”
The early-forties knight snatched the iron rod from the torturer and pressed it repeatedly into Michael’s stomach.
“Listen well, Michael Owen!”
“The Empress you trusted is also locked in the underground prison.”
“…!”
“And the Crown Prince is imprisoned in the Northern Tower.”
“Pht!”
Michael spat in the knight’s face.
“Filthy wretches, get lost.”
The man slowly wiped the spit from his face.
“This won’t do. Sprinkle it!”
The masked man brought a white bottle and poured its contents.
“Ssssss!”
“Argh!”
Michael screamed. His flesh melted. The smell of burning flesh filled the torture chamber.
“Now it’s quiet. Call him when he wakes.”
The knight who had given the order left. The two torturers turned away, unable to face his almost skeletal face.
Corner of the Underground Prison
Yan clenched his knees, grinding his teeth.
Something was wrong.
The Emperor suspected the Crown Prince? And his father had orchestrated all this?
Impossible.
Michael had sent him not as the next family head but as the Crown Prince’s bodyguard. Since his teenage years, he had devoted himself to Alfred’s life and death.
And yet, his father had supposedly tempted Crown Prince Alfred to seize the throne?
A conspiracy. A vicious slander.
Someone must have planned this.
Then,
Squeak.
The prison door opened slightly.
“Who’s there?”
Yan frowned and took a defensive stance.
Squeak.
As the door opened a bit further, Yan sprang to his feet and pressed against the wall, hiding in the shadows.
A guard would not enter like this.
Time passed, but no one came. The door remained ajar.
It didn’t feel like an assassin. He sensed no presence.
…?
Yan pressed his back to the wall and cautiously approached the door. He peeked outside.
But there was no one.
What is happening?
Someone unlocked the door, opened it, and vanished?
A trap?
He swallowed nervously, and the sound of saliva made him freeze. He couldn’t even breathe out.
Then,
“Argh!”
His father Michael’s scream rang out.
“Light the fire! You wretches, light it!”
“…!”
He was only imprisoned, not shackled or tortured, yet what was happening to his father?
His heart pounded. His upper body instinctively leaned toward the door, but he bit his lip.
No. He must not waver.
Emperor or enemy, this must be a trap.
“Argh, kill me, you wretches!”
His father’s screams echoed again, and he covered his ears.
“Light the fire, you fools! Light it!”
The sound shook Yan’s eardrums through his hands.
“Light the fire.”
Michael opened his eyes wide and ordered them.
But instead of obeying, the torches on the walls flickered and illuminated the chamber.
Suddenly blinded, Michael panicked.
Had they given him the same medicine the Emperor took?
If so, this was definitely a trap set by the Duke; he should seek help from the ministers.
Michael tried to gather strength in his core to lift himself, but the pain prevented him.
Ugh.
Only groans escaped.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Michael Owen.”
A soft, elegant voice pierced through his melted ears, striking his cochlea.
“You?”
Michael’s voice trembled with relief.
“You came, you came.”
“You made a big mistake.”
“What?”
Michael frowned, thinking he had discovered some collusion with the Duke.
“Your injuries are worse than I expected. Tsk, tsk.”
“Enough talk. Put me down.”
“Why?”
“Why? Have you forgotten our promise?”
“Orlesion’s power will guide you.”
“…?”
“You remember better. Recall the vow five years ago.”
“Vow? That was a vow you made to me, the one who believes in that insignificant one true god.”
“Heh. Shall we see? Rest in a world without pain. Orlesion will guide you.”
A sudden bright light struck his body with a pop.
“Ah!”
His arms flailed weakly and fell limply to the floor.
Squeak, squeak.
The chains supporting his limp body rattled.
Blood from pulmonary hemorrhage dripped to the floor.
Michael’s prison door closed.
Silence.
Could it be this quiet?
Just moments ago, the underground prison had been filled with screams.
The palace people’s screams.
The tortured knights and maids’ cries.
Nothing. Not a sound.
Most of all, with his father’s screams gone, Yan was terrified.
He looked at the slightly open prison door and finally took a step forward.
But he hesitated again.
If he left now, would it only raise suspicion?
Then, a familiar priestly robe brushed past the slightly opened door.
Was it Deputy Minister Jubius?
What was he doing here?
Had he come to help his father?
The Owen family had a longstanding alliance with Deputy Minister Jubius.
Peeking through the door, he saw no guards.
Strange.
No guards in this grim torture chamber?
He stepped forward but bit his lip again.
One wrong move, and he wouldn’t be able to protect Empress Kenneth, Crown Prince Alfred, or his own family.
But the silence… something was off.
Finally, he took another step, hiding in the darkness to observe.
The prisoners, mutilated and bloodied, seemed frozen in time.
He saw Jubius’s robe hurriedly climbing the stairs.
Had the deputy minister used magic to stop time?
Squeak, squeak.
What was that sound in the silence?
Yan’s steps naturally followed the noise.
The prison door was open.
Squeeeak.
Yan opened the door and grimaced. His face was unrecognizable, uniform melted, but the figure was unmistakably his father Michael.
The chains creaked sharply, scraping his eardrums.
“Father.”
Yan rushed in and dragged the bloodied Michael out.
And then…
“Argh!”
The silent underground prison was suddenly filled with screams of agony.
“Why are you here?”
Yan looked toward the entrance, flustered.
It was Chancellor Martin. He frowned at Michael’s horribly melted face.
“What is this? Shouldn’t it have been done according to the law?”
Yan spoke angrily.
“According to the law? Yes, hiring a lawyer would be wise. But in this system, that would be difficult.”
Yan frowned at the chancellor’s words.
“What do you mean?”
“He attempted to assassinate the Emperor.”
“Assassinate?!”
Yan clenched his anger, glaring at the chancellor.
“It was the Emperor’s command.”
Thud.
Yan’s heart sank to the bottom of hell.
