Chapter 594: The King of Pride (1)

The royal palace. The Throne Hall.

The once-majestic, resplendent hall was now shrouded in deep shadows. The royal knights stationed here had long since vanished, leaving only a few traces of blood on the gilded walls, beams, and pillars.

At the highest point, Albert sat upright on the throne in luxurious robes. Shadow split his profile into a cold, cruel arc. He listened intently to something as he caressed the throne’s gold-and-jade inlaid armrest with obsessive fascination.

Beneath his feet—on the ground where countless people had once knelt and bowed—an unending chant echoed. Like ghostly whispers, it sent a chill through the heart, yet carried an especially bewitching quality that made one unconsciously want to sink into it.

A group of people in black robes sat shoulder to shoulder in a ring. Over the imprint formed by intricate, vivid-red patterns, they raised both hands and made strange gestures, chanting words that could not be described in writing, staring with fanatic devotion at the dead branch floating between them.

It looked like nothing more than an ordinary dead branch, as if it had been picked up anywhere.

Yet under the fervent worship of the many robed figures, the branch’s charred, wrinkled bark began to slough away, and specks of brilliant golden light seeped out from the cracks.

Golden motes danced and flowed, then suddenly sank into some corner of the dim space, vanishing without a trace.

"Fo... found it!"

A robed figure suddenly shouted in ecstasy. "I found it!"

"Found it? Good. Very good."

A sharp light flashed in Albert’s eyes. Even decades of composure couldn’t hide his excitement now.

"Quick—quick, take me there!"

The devout chanting rose even higher. The bark peeled away from the branch bit by bit, and the golden light grew brighter and more dazzling.

But Albert had no patience. He lifted a hand, and more robed figures approached, each holding delicate vessels.

Thick, vivid-red liquid was poured onto the imprint. A vast power surged in response. A rootless yin wind came from nowhere, deepening the eeriness.

As they chanted, the robed figures gradually began to tremble violently. Blood flowed from their seven orifices. Their bodies withered little by little—yet they seemed utterly unaware, hands still raised, eyes still burning with zeal.

Finally, all the bark fell away, revealing a sacred gold. In an instant, all the gloom and strangeness seemed to be driven out.

The branch quivered, emitting a faint hum, as if resonating with something, somewhere.

Albert strode forward.

Stepping over the corpses of the robed figures sprawled on the floor, he followed that instinctive pull. Without needing anyone’s guidance, he seized the branch in a single grasp, unable to hide his excitement.

Crack.

Crack crack.

A sound like something shattering rang in Albert’s ears.

His vision plunged into darkness. Then a violent wave of vertigo hit. It was like he’d fallen from the clouds, then been caught up and whipped along by a gale, spinning through endless void.

Only after a long while did Albert manage to settle the nausea and push himself up from the ground.

He opened his eyes and looked around, and only then did he realize—he didn’t seem to be in the Throne Hall anymore.

No. That wasn’t right.

This was still the Throne Hall.

Those pillars that seemed to pierce the heavens, those gilded walls and domed ceiling, and that supreme throne that loomed high above, overlooking the entire empire—there was no doubt... this was the Throne Hall.

And yet...

It was in ruins.

Albert stared at the dust-caked floor. It was as if a hundred years had suddenly skipped forward—everything here had become old and broken. Even the surrounding walls were crumbling. Through the huge holes, he could see the black city outside.

And... the rolling gray mist.

"This is... Berland’s Shadow? A fragment representing the palace? Only I could enter—so there’s a royal bloodline restriction?"

Albert looked around, and a mocking curve rose at the corner of his mouth.

"The old bastard hid it well. I should’ve thought of it earlier. After all, I once had the same idea. A place completely cut off from the outside world—this is the safest, isn’t it?"

"But it’s useless... to hide."

Albert lifted his head and looked toward the throne.

That was the only place in this gradually abandoned Berland’s Shadow that remained luxurious and imposing.

The throne stood high above, as if a noble king had once sat there, resting his chin in thought.

And every time his thoughts reached a crucial point, he would unconsciously reach out toward... the sword at his side.

So beside the throne, a sword that looked utterly ordinary was propped there, as if casually tossed aside.

The King’s Sword!

"Ah... ah... finally... I finally found you."

At the sight of that sword, Albert trembled with excitement.

After expending so much effort, plotting for so long, taking such enormous risks... wasn’t this the very last piece of the puzzle?

And now that piece had finally been found—right in front of him, not far away... within easy reach.

"Heh. To treat the symbol of the empire’s emperor with such carelessness—how disrespectful."

Step by step, Albert approached. Seeing that the sword seemed to have been casually placed beside the throne, he felt even more contempt for that old man who was about to become the former emperor.

"Don’t worry. Soon—very soon—I’ll set the chaos right and return everything to the proper track."

Albert reached out, grasping for the King’s Sword—

"Set the chaos right?"

But at that moment, as if deliberately contradicting him, a second voice sounded in this dead, ruined place.

"You’ve got it backwards, Imperial Brother Albert. You’re the chaos, aren’t you."

Crack crack.

A bone-deep chill surged out, freezing Albert’s steps in place. The sword was right there, within arm’s reach—yet he couldn’t take even one more step toward it.

"Y-you... Celicia?"

Albert lowered his head, staring at the ice that froze all things. Then he snapped his head around, glaring in disbelief at the silver-white figure.

"How are you here? You... how is that possible?"

"Is it so surprising that I’m here?"

Celicia stepped out of the shadows. Her pure white dress swayed lightly. Her flawless black stockings made it look as if she were walking on darkness itself.

She brushed back a strand of hair. Her eyes—like icy lakes—reflected Albert’s furious face. On that cold, breathtakingly beautiful visage, a rare trace of icy amusement surfaced.

"Seeing that ridiculous expression on your face really does put me in a good mood, Imperial Brother Albert~"

"Impossible... impossible... impossible!"

Albert’s face darkened as he growled, "My arrangements were perfect. The entire palace is full of my people right now. How could you break through the palace guards in such a short time? Even if you have outside help, it’s absolutely impossible. The palace gates are solid—by my calculations, even if you gathered every last soldier Berland can field, you wouldn’t reach the palace until tomorrow morning at the earliest—"

"Yes. If you forced your way in, tomorrow morning would be the earliest. And by then, everything would already be settled, right?"

Celicia tilted her head slightly, the corner of her mouth lifting in mocking scorn.

"But, Imperial Brother... you don’t seem to know the palace’s details very well. Even though those details are, in and of themselves, connected to you."

"What do you mean?" Albert froze.

"It’s simple. Long ago, my dear eldest brother—Imperial Brother Albert, the first heir to the throne—was still young, and still carried everyone’s hopes."

Celicia tapped the side of her head lightly.

"Everyone knows Prince Albert suffers from a brain illness, and his intelligence is only at the level of a seven- or eight-year-old... but at that age, that kind of abnormality isn’t noticeable."

"Back then, Imperial Brother Albert had the halo of the eldest prince. Expectations were enormous. People swarmed around him. But little Albert hated that suffocating atmosphere. He always wanted to escape."

"So, behind the scenes, he dragged along his still-young little brothers and sisters and tried to dig a tunnel out of the palace... ridiculous, isn’t it?"

"A tunnel?"

Albert’s expression changed. "Don’t tell me—"

"Yes. The tunnel was actually dug. It took months... though tunnel is an exaggeration. In truth, it only broke through a few palace walls. It wasn’t anything impressive—and Father soon discovered it."

"We all thought Father would punish us, but..."

Celicia looked at her own hand, her expression turning distant with memory.

"Father not only didn’t punish us—he was delighted. He thought that tunnel was proof of your cleverness and tenacity. After praising you, he had the tunnel preserved."

"It’s a shame... that was the last time Father ever praised you."

At that, Celicia let out another soft laugh. "Looks like you really did forget it all, Imperial Brother Albert."

"...You used that tunnel to sneak in?"

Albert gritted his teeth.

"It was nothing but a trivial tunnel, but it was enough for me alone to break through your airtight blockade."

Celicia lifted her hand gracefully. An umbrella spun lightly in her palm, lovely as plum blossoms blooming in snow.

"After all—just like your earlier struggle with Imperial Brother Andrew—this storm is, at its core, a struggle between the two of us. In truth, it has little to do with anyone else.

"So I alone... am enough."

Celicia stepped forward, arriving beside the throne.

Albert—or rather, this body—was only an ordinary person. He had no strength at all to break free of the ice’s freeze.

Celicia raised her hand and thrust her sword toward Albert.

But brilliant radiance suddenly bloomed, blocking her strike.

"Something to save your life? You really are cowardly."

Celicia, who had intended to casually dispose of Albert first, wasn’t troubled by it. She continued forward.

If she couldn’t kill Albert ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) directly, then taking the King’s Sword would lead to the same outcome.

Albert wanted to seize that position. The King’s Sword represented the legitimacy and qualification to take the last step—and for Celicia, who also possessed royal blood and the right of succession, those could be replaced one-for-one.

What’s more, once she held the King’s Sword, she could use its power to instantly calm the unrest outside.

So everything... was simple.

"Stop... stop... that’s mine! That’s mine!!"

Ignoring Albert’s crazed roar, Celicia lowered her gaze. She reached out—and at last, she fully gripped the sword, taking it into her hand.

A chill ran through her palm.

The scabbard that held the King’s Sword looked unremarkable—just a black exterior carved with a few lines of patterns symbolizing royal nobility.

Then came the sword itself.

Celicia applied a bit of force. With a clear ring, the precious sword that symbolized the empire’s emperor slid easily from its sheath.

Cold, sharp light reflected off Celicia’s face.

And then—

Clang.

The King’s Sword fell to the ground.

Celicia’s beautiful eyes widened slightly in disbelief as she stared at her faintly trembling hand.

This was...

"Ha... hahaha..."

Albert froze for a moment. Then, as if he understood something, he burst out laughing.

"As the empire’s princess, you were rejected by the King’s Sword! Hahaha... I understand now. So that’s how it is—so that’s how it is!"