Chapter 67: The End of an Era

"Is everything being prepared thoroughly?"

"Yes, of course."

"We are ready at any time, Your Excellency the Marquis."

In the secret chamber, the nobles gathered and exchanged words.

"Bron, how is the armor coming along? I heard before that it was hard to procure."

"Ah, the armor, you mean."

Among those present, Bron, the youngest and weakest junior baron, wiped sweat from his brow as he answered.

"The armor is scheduled to arrive tomorrow. Some merchant tried to buy up all the leather armor and trade it to the Kingdom of Cocoon. Fortunately, we found out in time and managed to buy it ourselves."

"Really?"

One of the marquis’s eyebrows twitched.

"Leather armor fetches a high price by default... It must be a bold and wealthy merchant guild. Next, then. How is the mustering of the soldiers coming along?"

At the marquis's musing, Bron thought to himself, 'Really? That place didn't look prosperous at all...'

A vision flashed before his eyes of the rundown, single-room office where the merchant guild had been.

'No need to stir up trouble for no reason.'

But Bron kept his mouth shut about it.

In truth, had the marquis discovered that it had cost ten million cron to buy the armor, Bron would have been severely scolded.

At the time, it had been urgent, so he'd just paid, but in hindsight, ten million cron for three hundred sets of leather armor was insanity.

Luckily, the marquis seemed too preoccupied with the upcoming war to pay attention to such details.

And besides, if everything succeeded, what did ten million cron matter anyway?

"...Good. It seems nearly all preparations are complete. One week remains until the plan is set in motion. Until then, no one is to let down their guard."

"Of course, Your Excellency!"

"We will maintain utmost secrecy."

The marquis grinned broadly.

"If this plan succeeds, the Empire will be in the palm of your hands. Not only will you rake in a fortune of astronomical sums, you'll be able to do anything you wish."

At his words, excitement filled everyone's faces.

Like those already clutching untold riches, they straightened their shoulders.

And then, at that moment—

"Your Excellency the Marquis!"

Someone burst into the secret chamber in a hurry.

"What is it? I told you never to set foot here unless it's urgent."

"Th-the thing is..."

The attendant, flustered and pale, hesitated before speaking.

"Th-the Emperor... h-has passed away!"

"What?"

Not just the marquis—everyone jumped to their feet.

"Th-the Emperor has passed away? What are you saying?"

"What is this all of a sudden...!"

The atmosphere in the secret chamber froze solid as ice.

The marquis's face turned pale, then swiftly contorted into a venomous smile.

"The Emperor... is dead? When, where, who told you this? Is the information certain?"

"Black banners of mourning are being hung all across the Imperial Capital right now."

"Ha, unbelievable!"

He clenched his fist and slammed it onto the table.

A heavy, dull sound reverberated beneath the table.

"Even the heavens aid us."

Still, I thought you’d linger a little longer, Your Majesty.

His eyes gleamed fiercely.

"The date of the uprising moves up."

"Excuse me? To when?"

"The day after the armor arrives."

The marquis's lips curled up.

"The day after tomorrow. On the very day of the Emperor's funeral."

---

The Empire was shrouded in wailing.

"His Majesty the Emperor has passed away...!"

The news spread across the Empire as swiftly as a biting winter wind.

Shock came before sorrow.

"His Majesty... truly?"

No one could believe it.

The Emperor had been present at council meetings until quite recently.

Though his illness was obvious, he maintained his dignity and composure to the end.

Black silk fluttered from the central spires of the capital, and instead of the noon bell, bells tolled every two hours.

Throughout the Imperial City, careful footsteps and hushed rumors intermingled.

"To pass away so suddenly?"

"He showed up at the recent state council vote, didn’t he!"

Merchants slowed their trade, and servants of noble houses waited with anxious eyes for their master's orders.

"Oh dear, what will become of the world now."

Yet the people, more than sorrowful, were first on guard for the changes to come.

The change of imperial authority.

That meant a storm of blood would sweep the Imperial City, and the people’s lives would be forgotten by those in power.

"Does this mean Crown Prince Rohan will take the throne...?"

"Not certain yet. The Marquis's side might move strongly. Remember the last Emperor's death? Back then, the imperial siblings fought brutally for three years over the throne."

The political world was less about mourning the Emperor's death than about calculating who would fill the void.

Merchant guilds watched the flow of goods with care, and telegrams and letters flew day and night.

The Empire seemed caught in the eye of a silent storm.

The Emperor’s death was an opportunity for some, a threat to others.

---

Meanwhile,

The Emperor’s bedchamber was filled with wailing.

The bed was hidden by curtains, and the crying from within was long and deep.

Attendants dressed in ceremonial robes moved in silence, and scattered incense candles still smoked on the floor.

The scent of medicine lingered thick in the room, but now it meant nothing to anyone there.

Rohan stood wordlessly by the Emperor's side, while beside him, Princess Isabel wept.

"Father... sob!"

"Father..."

Elliot clung tightly to Beltar's now-cold hand.

Empress Sherilda had just staggered out, supported by maids, and Lady Amanda stood behind Rohan, her face filled with sorrow.

Soon, other members of the imperial family, summoned from across the Empire, began to arrive.

Relatives of the royal family, elders, cousins from the provinces.

Even before the formal funeral rites began, direct descendants were already arriving to bid farewell to the Emperor.

"So the era of the Crown Prince truly begins now."

"The Marquis won’t stand by and do nothing..."

"There will be bloodshed in the Imperial City again."

Their faces showed sorrow on the surface, but some eyes flickered with calculation.

"Your Majesty..."

Emilia was there as well.

She dabbed her tears with a handkerchief and bowed her head low.

Just then, an attendant approached and whispered something to her, and she immediately set down her handkerchief and headed out of the chamber.

'The Marquis must have arrived.'

Of course, Rohan saw everything unfold.

---

"Father."

Emilia, having left the chamber, slipped into a nearby room with Marquis Fabian.

She no longer looked like someone who had been crying moments ago.

Her eyes were clear, and her gaze shone brighter than ever.

"What happened?"

"I heard it was some sort of treatment gone wrong."

"Treatment?"

"Yes. Some kind of poison treatment, apparently... He’d been hiding his condition for a long time. When none of the best medicines worked, they forced some strange remedy and this is how it ended."

"I see..."

The marquis let out a low sigh.

Somehow, it had felt too soon.

He’d already sensed something was off...

"You’ve confirmed he’s dead?"

"Of course. His hand was cold, and he seemed not to breathe. The imperial physician declared him dead as well."

"I see, then."

"Would you like to go in?"

At Emilia's suggestion, the marquis waved his hand.

"No need. There are many others present, not just you. If anything is amiss, it will quickly come to light."

"So what happens now?"

For Emilia, what mattered most was what came after the Emperor’s death.

"The last reform bill failed, so there’s no way to put Elliot on the throne. Are we just to sit and watch Rohan ascend as Emperor?"

Emilia’s hand trembled as she gripped her handkerchief.

She desperately wished for Elliot’s enthronement.

For a simple reason.

It was her only way to survive.

"No, of course not. Do you think I’d just watch that happen?"

"Pardon? Then...! You must have a plan!"

Emilia’s face brightened.

"Tomorrow at noon. When the funeral begins, you will be hidden away in a safe place."

"So that means..."

Emilia’s eyes widened, and the marquis nodded.

"It is as you suspect. From tomorrow, this Empire will be ours."

"Father...!"

Emilia could not calm her pounding heart.

"Truly a brilliant idea. All the nobles will gather in one place for the funeral. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."

"Yes. I will not let this chance slip by."

Kazin’s eyes gleamed cruelly.

The funeral would last an entire week.

It was to allow time for guests traveling from afar.

Of those days, the first would see the most powerful nobles gathered together.

He planned to strike when they least expected it, right at their backs.

He absolutely could not miss that day.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Why would you meddle in the affairs of men?"

She asked, just in case, but as expected, the marquis rejected Emilia’s goodwill outright.

"You just take care of Elliot. If anything happens to him, it’s all over."

He fixed her with a piercing gaze.

"And that would be the end of your life as well."

At his cold, sharp words, Emilia shrank back.

"…Yes, Father."

---

The next day arrived.

The Imperial City was busy with the Emperor’s funeral arrangements.

The decorations were grand, but the atmosphere was heavier than ever.

"Noon is almost here. The honored guests will be arriving soon—make sure everything is ready!"

Everywhere, the palace staff bustled.

Carriages were already starting to arrive one by one.

And so, noon came.

By then, the funeral hall was already crowded with people.

The Empress, the consorts, and the Emperor's three direct children were present.

"Let everyone be solemn!"

The funeral was presided over by Grimlan, the renowned sage of the Empire.

As his words ended, a massive coffin was borne toward the altar.

"Your Majesty..."

"Sob..."

At the coffin's arrival, the guests sighed in grief.

While all eyes were on the coffin, Rohan was watching the attendees.

'As expected, they haven't come.'

Those who should have attended were nowhere to be seen.

Among the crowd, Rohan nodded subtly at a certain man, who at once slipped away.

"Now, we shall begin the funeral of the 39th Emperor, Beltar Schubert."

With the sage's words, the official funeral rites commenced.