Chapter 603: The King of Pride (10)

"God-Given Crown? Holy shit—a Crown-Bearer!"

Somewhere in the palace, staring up at the dazzling crown descending from the sky, Pink Bear’s eyes went wide. He was so shocked his jaw almost hit the floor. "How old is she? Hell, not even twenty yet, right? Since ancient times, has there ever been a Crown-Bearer this young?"

"Probably... not," the former Saintess said.

She stood by the window with her arms folded, looking up as well. The radiance of the descending crown pierced the clouds and lit the horizon. Beneath that majestic authority, even ten thousand shifting colors couldn’t compare to its brilliance.

"But she should’ve forcibly broken through with the Empire’s boost. By normal logic, a direct leap across major tiers like that shouldn’t be possible—let alone jumping straight into the realm of a Crown-Bearer."

"But you can’t just pile up power and climb into being a Crown-Bearer, can you?" Pink Bear muttered, tilting his head, clearly still doubting reality. "A so-called God-Given Crown means you have to have a grand wish or will that heaven itself acknowledges before the crown descends. For warriors, that’s the hardest step. Countless geniuses get stuck right there, unable to take that last step their entire lives."

"So you’re one of those geniuses who got stuck?" The former Saintess glanced at him with a meaningful look.

"I’m not, okay!" Pink Bear slammed the table in outrage. "Back then I was already in—one foot in. Half! A! Foot! I only had to back out because of that damned Blood Surge Syndrome!"

"Overall you were just rubbing up against it, not actually inside, right?" The former Saintess covered her mouth and laughed.

"I— Forget it. I’m not arguing with you."

Pink Bear huffed, then rocked his head and shrank back, sighing. "It’s exactly because I made it halfway in that I know how hard that step really is. Honestly, to this day I still don’t understand what it even means for ‘heaven’ to acknowledge you... heaven, heaven—does something like that even exist? And compared to gods, what is it? Also, you were the Church’s former Saintess. You’re a Crown-Bearer too. Don’t you have any insider info on this?"

"So-called ‘heaven’..." The former Saintess shook her head. "Someone at His Holiness the Pope’s tier might be able to glimpse a thing or two. I’m not qualified."

"Tch."

"But no matter what, she did step into it. Even if she loses the support later and drops back down, that realm will be an open road for her. Maybe that’s exactly why she’s standing there."

"True." Pink Bear nodded.

"What, jealous?" the former Saintess teased, looking at him. "Looks like your title as the royal family’s number one genius in a thousand years is about to change hands."

"Hmph. What do I have to be jealous of?" Pink Bear wore a satisfied smile, but he still forced out an annoyed little huff. "The royal family’s curse is gone now. Once my Blood Surge Syndrome is cured, becoming a Crown-Bearer will be a matter of minutes. And with my level of talent? That’ll be like a bird set free into the sky. Who could possibly stop my glorious march toward freedom?"

"Oh? Once you’re a Crown-Bearer, you’ll do whatever you want?"

"What a joke. What do you mean ‘once I’m a Crown-Bearer’? Right now I can do whatever I—"

Pink Bear suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth.

But the current Saintess had already put on her knuckle-dusters and walked over with a gentle smile. "Heh heh... so you really did hide more pinups again, didn’t you? Talk. Which Saintess’ this time—"

...

...

"God-given... crown, huh?"

Beneath Saint Maria Academy, in the flower sea, the artificial sky was still a clear blue. A breeze blew like warm springtime. Mela tilted her head back, as if she could see that crown descending from the heavens.

"Heaven... heaven... heh... one day, I will..."

Mela murmured softly, then flicked her hand.

The sea of flowers split, revealing a cold mechanical structure. Countless massive gears meshed together, forming an intricate, vast artificial construct.

Mela floated above it, looking impossibly small—yet when she raised her hand, it was as if she meant to seize the entire sky in a brutal grip.

...

...

Light bathed the world. The dazzling crown was etched with the morning star and the sun and moon, surrounded by the phantom silhouettes of all living things. It looked like it had been carved from diamond, yet it carried no weight at all. As the clouds broke apart, the crown seemed to be held aloft by an invisible sacred hand, settling gently onto Celicia’s head.

Golden motes wove into a splendid coronation robe. The layered skirt blossomed like peonies. Celicia’s breathtaking profile was adorned by flowing light, her usual cool detachment transforming completely into a quiet, unangered majesty.

This was the majesty of an Empress.

Silver hair danced. Frost-flowers drifted down. Celicia merely stood there, and yet all the light and shadow around her seemed to narrow, as if bowing in submission to the new Empress.

"Long live Her Majesty the Empress...!"

Across the city, countless people stared at the scene and fell to their knees without even realizing it, offering heartfelt reverence and shouting in worship.

Celicia lifted a hand in a quiet pressing gesture. The cries instantly died down. She didn’t bask in the kneeling of ten thousand—she lowered her gaze and looked at what was in front of her.

"No..."

Albert’s eyes were empty. He shook his head and stumbled back, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Celicia now. Even as he clawed at his own eyeballs, he howled in disbelief.

"How can you... how can you... without my recognition, how could you possibly..."

"And that is exactly what’s pathetic about you."

Celicia’s ice-blue gaze shifted slightly. In the reflection of her pupils, Albert looked absurd. At this moment, just like back then, only their positions had switched—now it was Celicia looking down at Albert.

"You’ve stood up high for too long. You’ve forgotten where your roots are actually planted!"

Celicia gripped the sword in her hand, aimed it at Albert, and swept it lightly.

Rip—

In an instant, a crisp sound rang out like cloth tearing, and the world went dark.

Because blinding imperial radiance fell with that strike—like lightning spearing into a deep ravine. In the blink of an eye, Albert’s body was cut cleanly in two from top to bottom. The foul darkness that had been streaming from the former King’s Sword lasted only a moment before it was vaporized and purged.

Under imperial might, that filth looked utterly ridiculous.

"No... it’s not over yet."

Even so, Albert—no... it should be the former King’s Sword—didn’t seem willing to give up.

That sword, once so noble and exalted, wasn’t just shedding its gorgeous outer skin now. Along with a screech like iron being twisted, cracks split open across it. Countless root tendrils surged out again, drilling into Albert’s ruined body.

He twisted and struggled back to his feet, glaring at Celicia with venom.

"It’s not over!"

Boom!

The ground shook.

Celicia lifted her head. Her gaze left Albert for the moment and landed on the golden giant tree that had been standing there the entire time.

"So you’ve finally... gotten furious and embarrassed?"

It was a tree so enormous it was hard to believe. Its trunk was thick as a mountain peak. Its branches and leaves spread out, blotting the sky. All of Berland was covered beneath it.

You could say that this golden giant tree—quietly standing here all along—was the source of the former King’s Sword’s power. It was the crystallization of being fed by the Empire, of siphoning the Empire’s nourishment. It was its foundation.

And now, the tree that served as the source finally moved.

The shaking of the ground was because of it. Those massive, thick boughs writhed and tangled, moving like some gigantic living creature.

Celicia pressed one hand down lightly. Supreme radiance spread out, calming the tremors caused by the tree’s movement. Then she raised her other hand and swung the sword again—slash.

A horrifying wound ripped open across the giant tree at once. The tree shuddered, and the same foul, bloody darkness as the former King’s Sword poured out. Faintly, you could even hear cries like an infant wailing.

But the transformation continued. Enormous quantities of root tendrils drooped from the branches, growing wildly, as if they were about to sink into the ground again and start drinking nourishment.

"It’s trying to..." Celicia’s brows lifted slightly.

The connection between the former King’s Sword and the Empire had already been severed. In truth, that enormous golden tree could no longer influence “the Empire itself.” It wasn’t like it could just grow some new roots and re-root itself in the Empire again.

So... where was it planning to draw nourishment from?

...

...

In the dungeon.

As the ground trembled, sand and grit fell from the neglected ceiling again—dropping straight onto the bread in Sharpe’s hands.

It was black bread, mixed with husks and grit. It was already hard to swallow. Now it was dirty too. Sharpe finally snapped. He threw the bread to the floor and rushed to the cell door, roaring outside.

"Bastards! Who do you think I am? I’m a noble marquis! I’m the head of a great house bearing the name Dion! How dare you lock me in a place like this and make me eat that kind of garbage—you... you... how—"

"Shut up!" came a guard’s icy shout from outside the bars. "It’s only because you used to count as somebody that you even get bread. Prisoners who end up in here usually don’t even get black bread!"

"I’m not a prisoner. I’m a marquis of the Empire. I’m the Empire’s true master. I am—"

Bang!

Before he could finish, a black steel baton swung in from outside the cell and slammed brutally into Sharpe’s stomach.

All of Sharpe’s power had been sealed. His body was weak to begin with. Hit by the sudden blow, he was knocked straight into the back of the cell, doubling over like a shrimp in pain.

"Pah. ‘True master of the Empire.’ In here, there are only prisoners."

A filthy wad of spit landed on Sharpe. The guard gave a mocking snort, couldn’t be bothered to waste time on him, and turned away.

The filthy, stinking cell fell quiet again.

"Lowborn... trash!" Sharpe growled under his breath.

His neatly trimmed nails dug deep into the straw mat and dirt on the floor where insects bred. That contempt filled him with humiliation and fury he’d never felt before.

"Treating me like this... I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you sooner or later!"

He staggered to his feet and went to the other side of the cell.

High up on the wall there was a small hole.

And through that hole, he could clearly see a massive golden giant tree rising from the earth, covering the sky.

Sharpe understood the overall plan and quite a few internal details. So the moment he saw that golden giant tree, he already knew—Father’s plan had succeeded.

He had seized the King’s Sword and become the Empire’s Emperor.

Next... he would use the Emperor’s position to open the back door wide for House Dion and many other families that had contributed to this operation—letting them return to the status they deserved.

Yes. Let the glorious blood that had existed alongside the Empire return to where it belonged, and once again rule those shortsighted lowborn rats!

That was the proper path to guiding the Empire to greatness, wasn’t it?

Excitement gleamed in Sharpe’s eyes. He gradually rose onto his toes, grabbed the edge of the hole, and craned his neck farther, yearning to see more.

His mind was already plotting the steps after this—revive House Dion, wipe out House Campbell, deal with all those people who’d opposed him. The princess... the princess would be handled personally by Father; it wasn’t his place yet.

Right. And people like those lowborn trash just now—those filthy wretches who dared smear dust onto the noble blood of glory—had to die too.

They all had to die.

The more he thought, the more that future felt within arm’s reach. So ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ he craned his neck even harder, desperate to witness the moment with his own eyes.

And then, as if responding to his hunger, that light from the golden giant tree drew closer and closer in his delighted gaze—

Pff.

Flesh was pierced.

But there was no blood. Only a deep gulping sound—glug, glug—like something swallowing greedily, echoing through the filthy cell in a way that made your skin crawl.

"Huh...?"

Sharpe stared down in disbelief. He didn’t see a radiant future.

He only saw a tendril like a root driven into his flesh, greedily devouring the... priceless blood of glory inside his body.