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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Cyno
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“I’ll handle it myself.”
“Oh? Then handle it.”
Father nodded slowly. As the heir apparent to the Yosrahim Empire’s central power structure, a single word from me could send a minor noble like Baron Tyben flying without a trace.
I glanced at Father.
“Anything else you wanted to discuss?”
“No.”
That was strange. Father was supposed to exile me to the Divine Temple of Divinum.
“Uh, Father. Shouldn’t I be going to the Divine Temple of Divinum?”
Father’s eyes sharpened.
“How do you know about that?”
“Just heard it around.”
“Only six people, including myself, knew of this. Who leaked it?”
Father looked visibly agitated. The idea that a trusted subordinate had already aligned with me clearly angered him.
Power wasn’t something to be shared, even between father and son—especially when the son was the black sheep.
“A friend of mine who went ahead to the temple mentioned seeing my name on the list during a magic call. Oh, and Princess Sierra is going too. Seems confirmed.”
Princess Sierra, the youngest daughter of the King of Kern and my fiancée, was set to marry me next year—until events at the temple derailed everything.
Not that it was my fault.
She entered the Hall of Divinity and became the wielder of Vermond, the Earth God’s Annihilating Mace—one of the Seven Divine Arms. In other words, she ascended as the Great Saintess of Earth, leaving me in the dust.
The Kingdom of Kern delayed our marriage before finally demanding an annulment to wed her to the crown prince of a major power.
But that backfired too. Sierra refused, insisting on honoring our engagement. Apparently, as a Guardian, she valued promises above life itself.
What an infuriating woman.
She maintained our engagement while embarking on a pilgrimage, only reappearing eight years later at the dawn of the monster invasion as the Earth Empress and leader of humanity’s hope.
Would’ve been better if she’d just broken it off. Damn it.
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“Understood.”
As Father ended the discussion, I pressed further.
“So I’m still going to the temple, right?”
“No. There’s no need now.”
“What?”
“The reason is gone. You’ll stay and train as heir.”
Ah, right. My exile had been tied to Lilia’s pregnancy scandal. With that resolved, the pretext vanished.
I hastily objected.
“But that’s not right.”
“Why not?”
“Canceling now would be awkward, and becoming a Guardian would be beneficial.”
Father snorted. Guardians were chosen by the gods—a laughable prospect for me.
“You? A Guardian? Don’t make me laugh. Just stay out of trouble with Princess Sierra and manage the territory.”
“I can do it.”
“Yan! Must I govern the empire and the duchy? You’re an adult now—step up!”
Using my name meant he was furious. Normally, I’d back down—but not this time. Yozo was at that temple.
I pointed at Josef.
“Let Josef handle it.”
“What? A 13-year-old managing the duchy?”
I faltered. Right—Josef was still a child returning to school soon, not the young man I remembered.
“Then let Helen do it. What’s it called—regency?”
“And your heir training?”
“Give it to Josef. I want my freedom.”
I turned to Josef.
“You’re the heir now. Got it?”
The room froze. Helen paled; Josef trembled.
As the tension peaked, Father slammed the table, roaring:
“Yan! What nonsense is this?!”
“What? I’m yielding the title. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Father’s eyes blazed.
“Even so—!”
“Why the act? You want Josef as heir!”
“Guards! Take him to the dungeons!”
Knights stormed in, dragging me out despite my protests.
Soon, I was locked in Horton Prison by the southern walls.
—
Caged behind iron bars, I clutched my head in frustration.
I couldn’t fathom why I’d been imprisoned. All I’d done was selflessly offer Josef the title—only to be betrayed.
To add insult, Father assigned Count Maier—my former sword instructor and a notorious hardliner—as my jailer.
‘Why him?’
Count Maier, a mid-tier Master swordsman, commanded all of House Karl’s forces. Normally stationed at the Meta River border against orc tribes, his presence here was bizarre.
Yet part of me was touched. Father did care—why else react so fiercely to my abdication? Blood ran thick.
“Ah, I misjudged him.”
Just then, Count Maier—a blond, armored man in his forties—approached. He eyed me coldly.
“Must you go this far, Your Grace?”
“Go where?”
“Must you kill your brother to be satisfied?”
I stared, aghast.
“Since when did I want Josef dead?”
“You offered him your title.”
“Yes?”
“A ruler only yields power for one reason.”
“Which is?”
“To test loyalty. Accepting implies ambition—worthy of death. Refusing proves cunning—also worthy of death.”
I gritted my teeth.
No wonder Josef had looked so terrified. Politics twisted even the purest intentions.
“Not everything’s a scheme!”
“Had you been a sage, it might’ve been noble. But you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Reflect on your sins. You’ll have time—months, if needed.”
“You—!”
He left unmoved.
‘No wonder you die to an orc’s axe later.’
Soon, Paul arrived with a meal tray.
“You must eat, Your Grace.”
“No!”
“You’ve had nothing since yesterday.”
True—I’d skipped breakfast in shock, and lunch ended abruptly. But hunger was the least of my concerns.
“I’m fasting until Father releases me!”
When Paul persisted, I slapped the tray away. As dishes shattered, he paled.
“Out! NOW!”
As he scrambled to clean up, I watched intently.
“Why are you still here?”
“There were seven bread rolls… One’s missing—”
“Think I pocketed it?”
When I turned out my pockets, Paul hastily retreated.
Alone, I retrieved the hidden roll from under my heel and bit into it.
‘Damn. Not even filling.’
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