Chapter 239
A man sat upon the throne within the ducal castle.
As the head of the Saxon Duke’s family, the continent’s foremost dark mage, and the one standing at the pinnacle of the Black Magic Tower.
He was the man known as the Jet-Black Duke.
And before the Duke of Saxony, the vassals serving the ducal house knelt in unison to pay their respects.
“Knight Helmuth Blackbear of the Night Ravens! We humbly greet His Highness, the new Duke of Saxony!”
Kwoong!
Led by Sir Helmut, the Night Raven Knights simultaneously thrust their swords vertically into the ground.
“We greet the Lord of the Black Magic Tower.”
The dark mages welcoming the new pinnacle of the Black Magic Tower were no exception.
“Heh heh, well now. This is why one must always keep their wits about them.”
Master Baro, leader of the Gravewalkers, muttered as if it were someone else’s affair.
Night Raven Knights, black mages trained for combat against the Elders of the Black Tower, and finally the Grave Walkers who lurk utterly in the shadows.
A new order and system existed there.
And from the throne of the ducal castle, the Duke of Saxony silently looked down upon them.
Just as Dale’s father had been before him, Dale was no exception.
To prove himself by defeating the pinnacle of the Black Magic Tower, ascend to that position himself, and inherit the name of the Duke of Saxony.
That night.
The father who had given up his place, Alan of Saxony, once known as the Black Duke, was in the bedroom. He gazed silently out the window of the duke’s castle.
“Alan.”
His wife Elena called his name from behind, and Alan turned his head.
“Are you disappointed that you gave up your place for your son?”
“Of course not.”
Alan smiled and shook his head at Elena’s question.
“It was only right. In fact, I’m immensely proud of my son.”
“Then why are you smiling so bitterly?”
“Well, I’m not quite sure myself. It’s just that the place I should be…”
It was Elena who cut off Alan before he could say anything else.
“This is still where you belong. Your place here hasn’t disappeared.”
Elena whispered tenderly as always, and at her words, Alan smiled silently. It was truly as she said. Just as he had once given everything to protect his wife and son, his son inheriting the title of Duke of Saxony could be no exception.
“I wonder if I’ve placed too heavy a burden on my son.”
“Was it a heavy burden for you?”
“That’s impossible. It’s something he must endure.”
“Our son will surely be the same.”
Elena said. Hearing this, Alan fell silent, as if he had realized something.
Imperial Parliament.
It was a rare occasion for the Empire’s feudal lords to gather in one place.
The last time the Imperial Council convened was immediately after the Empire’s victory in the Unification War. The Imperial Council held before that was the very session to formally announce that Unification War.
And that the Imperial Diet was reconvened, summoning the princes from across the empire.
Moreover, the succession ceremony held by the House of Saxony ahead of the Imperial Council served to drive a wedge into the shifting order of power.
The new Duke of Saxony, who claimed the epithet “The Ebony Duke.”
He was the Black Prince, once renowned as the empire’s foremost genius, and his wife is the Duchess of Lancaster, one of the empire’s three great dukes. She is also a swordsman possessing the rank of Heavenly Sword.
The two duke houses were united as husband and wife, while Duke Barbarossa of the Sea had resolved to secede from the Empire alongside the independence of the Four Seas Archipelago.
Unless they were fools, there was no reason for those three great duke houses not to join forces, and the empire’s nobles were not unaware of that fact.
Therefore, the Imperial Council convening this time carried weightier significance than anything else.
The newly shifting balance of power, and crucially, which way the scales would tip. It would be decided right here.
──Imperial Assembly Hall.
In the solemn silence that settled over the chamber, seats filled the room, each strictly assigned according to rank.
The secular princes of the empire, the ecclesiastical princes, the representatives of the imperial cities.
A seat that literally exists to determine the empire’s collective will.
And seated at the highest position among them all was a man.
Truly, the one standing at the pinnacle of this empire.
The Golden Sovereign, Arthur the Great.
The thirteen princes and princesses who carried the golden bloodline were also present there.
“Duke of Saxony, I humbly present myself before His Imperial Majesty the Emperor.”
And gazing up at the towering golden throne, Dale spoke.
Charlotte, Dale’s wife and Duchess of Lancaster, also stood silently nearby, paying her respects.
The man who looked like a drowned rat, Barbarossa the Drowning King, was also there. As the monarch advocating for the independence of the Dead Sea Archipelago.
The head of the Church, the White Mage Tower Lord, Cheon Sang-go, was no exception. Even if the independence of the Church-State he claimed was nothing more than a false maneuver to deceive Dale and the Shadow Camp.
Beyond them, the number of feudal lords each claiming an independent nation against the empire was by no means small.
In other words, this place is by no means a death trap from which one can unilaterally return alive. Rather, the real problem arises when they cannot return alive.
Understanding this fact, the feudal lords advocating independence could also willingly respond to the summons.
Amidst the dangerously tense atmosphere, the Golden Emperor finally looked at Dale.
Yet, strangely, no hatred stirred within him as he faced the Emperor for the first time as ‘Dale of Saxony’.
Too many years had passed for him to be swayed by personal feelings.
For Dale now, defeating that man, the Golden Monarch, was nothing more than a duty he had to fulfill.
Therefore, the outcome of bringing down the Golden Monarch and his empire remains unchanged.
“Lord Black.”
Arthur the Great Emperor spoke. His deep, resonant voice called out Dale’s name, and Dale bowed his head.
“Speak, Your Majesty.”
“Can you name even one reason why I should not strike off your head right here and now?”
For a moment, the air around them froze solid. Yet Dale answered without hesitation.
“Why don’t you strike my neck?”
He asked back, as if he couldn’t understand.
“If cutting my head off would resolve this situation, there would be no reason for you to hesitate to do so.”
“…….”
Arthur the Great remained silent in response to Dale’s question.
“The only reason I do not strike the Duke’s share here… is for one reason alone.”
The one who broke the silence was the Blood-Red Count, Marquis Yuris.
“The value of the empire Your Majesty pursues is not achieved through despicable deceit or intrigue, but through the truly just and unquestionable ‘justice of power’.”
The empire built by the Golden Emperor has endured to this day precisely because it has demonstrated overwhelming power beyond any doubt.
A false monarch, a false empire.
Above all, the words of Marquis Yuris were not entirely wrong.
For the Emperor of the Empire to summon a duke under the pretext of the parliament and behead him is an act that shatters the very essence of the justice of power the Empire has built up until now.
“On behalf of His Majesty, I declare to you here who dare defy the Empire and His Majesty.”
Rising to his feet as Chairman of the Imperial Council, the Crimson Duke spoke. A collective gasp echoed throughout the chamber.
“Please do so.”
“……!”
“Those lords who wish to break free from the Empire’s rule and claim independence, do so. Those princes who wish not to be loyal to His Majesty the Emperor, do likewise. His Majesty will gladly respect your decisions.”
The unexpected words caused a murmur to rise. Yet Dale remained unshaken.
“And His Majesty will prove it once more before you.”
Prove. What?
“Not through despicable lies, deceit, or intrigue… but by proving true strength that no one can deny.”
It was at that very moment.
The Blood-Red Circle accelerated, overlaying the entire landscape of the Imperial Parliament.
And his grimoire, The Book of Blood, was rewinding the empire’s history once more.
There were ashes. And that place had once been the capital of an unnamed kingdom that had stood against the Empire.
“You will prove it completely before your kingdom, your city, your fortress, and all your people.”
Overwhelming violence that cannot be resisted. The justice of power and violence so fervently proclaimed by the Empire and the Crimson Tower.
The strong take everything. The weak have no choice but to lose everything.
“Who is the sole master of this land, and what fate awaits the weak who resist him?”
Screams echoed. The Imperial Army slaughtered and trampled the innocent, while the sight of crumbling fortresses and burning cities stretched endlessly.
The fate of the weak who resisted the empire.
The nobles gathered in the council recalled the nightmare of the Unification War, frozen in terror.
Dale too recalled that day’s nightmare.
And in his past life, he was not the one having nightmares.
He was the one who inflicted nightmares.
He believed he had no personal feelings. Yet, amidst the empire’s rampage of plunder and arson, he remembered the leash binding him and the nightmare he had brought.
The empire’s bloodless, tearless hound. The enforcer of justice.
“Doubt it. Doubt His Majesty’s power, the empire’s power, and our power. Doubt it all.”
The Crimson Duke laughed as if amused. Even then, the fate of those who doubted and resisted the empire stretched endlessly across the land.
Wailing families, nobles begging for their lives, those who surrendered belatedly and groveled—no one was spared.
An undeniable, irresistible proof of violence unfolded before them.
But it was precisely then.
Whoosh!
The landscape of history, endlessly written by the Book of Blood, froze in place.
“I shall follow Your Majesty’s way.”
Leaving the swirling, pitch-black magic behind, Dale spoke.
“The justice of power claimed by Your Majesty and the Empire—the justice where the strong possess everything and the weak can only be stripped of all they have.”
“Huh.”
Dale spoke, and the expressions of the feudal lords demanding independence froze in place.
“And I will prove it your way.”
“……!”
Simultaneously, the Crimson Duke’s expression froze coldly. The expression of Arthur the Great, seated upon the golden throne, twitched.
“What do you mean?”
At last, after the silence, the golden monarch spoke.
“The truth that Your Majesty cannot conceal, no matter how hard you try.”
The Shadow Lord answered.
“That I am stronger than you.”
Kwoong!
With those words, the world of the Crimson Duke crumbled. A murmur of shock arose from all corners, but it was fleeting.
Unexpectedly, laughter rang out.
It was the Emperor’s laughter, and soon it turned into a roar of maniacal laughter.
The one bearing the name of the Dragon Chief (Pendragon).
The golden dragon began to roar.
