A Novel Concept - A death a day, MC will live anyway!-Chapter 343: Royal Decree
“Permission to execute, Your Majesty?”
A blade against her carotid artery, Esmée awaited her father’s judgment. Strange as it seemed, she was not caught off guard. The princess had always known that her betrayal would be discovered sooner or later. Anticipating this inevitability, she had laid the groundwork for survival. But even extensive preparation offered no guarantee; in the grand game of life, nothing was certain—and playing a king was a perilous gambit.
As the cold kiss of steel sent her heart into a frenzied rhythm, Esmée trembled. Sitting at her desk, orchestrating plans in the quiet safety of her chambers, it had been easy to stay composed. Facing her uncle’s brutality, however, was another matter entirely. Alone amidst a den of men whose lecherous gazes undressed her with every glance, she felt exposed. Fear fed her imagination. Would her father trade her body for a favor? Her soul for an alliance?
Those thoughts ignited a suffocating panic. To her shame, Esmée realized she was not as courageous as Jasmine. I don’t want to die…
“No.”
Air rushed back into her lungs. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm
“Father?” Aydan's voice carried his confusion.
“Look at this medallion, my son.”
Esmée opened her eyes, recognizing the platinum pendant adorning her father’s neck.
“A Save Token. The reward from the sixty-fifth wave of the Colosseum. It grants its bearer a resurrection.” The king tilted the trinket, watching the play of light upon its surface. “After witnessing the First's feat, I find myself appreciating it even more. Can you guess how it came into my possession?”
“I… One of your elite warriors must have claimed it from the Colosseum?”
“And how? You hold our sole Hearthstone.”
Originally, the artifact had been calibrated to open a temporary portal to one of the Empyrean moons. Esmée had spent a Minor Wish to add a second destination: Proxima. The return journey would be dictated by the laws of Elysium.
Once he was certain that every noble present had identified the artifact, the king let it rest against his chest. “Your sister gave it to me earlier. Can you tell me why?”
Aydan’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. “Because it rightfully belongs to you? You are our sovereign, and your safety is paramount—"
“Only sycophants mask their ignorance with excessive flattery. You are the crown prince. Act like it.” The king’s voice, cold with disdain, carried more weight than the fiercest fury. “My well-being is, of course, important, but a wise king invests in his weapons. Save for the eighty-fifth wave—I would not have had Cleanse Your Soul erase her geass—your sister is free to use her rewards as she sees fit. Esmée gifted me this medallion to prove her worth. A life for a life: she will live.”
The king’s word was absolute, and general Alexandre sheathed his sword.
“I understand,” Aydan conceded. “But without punishment, she may believe she is free to betray again…”
“When a warhorse stumbles, who is to blame?” The king shook his head. “For all her mastery of aether, your sister is a woman. While you were taught to think, to rule, and to wield a blade, she was taught to be silent, to obey, and to serve a man. I see in your eyes the hunger for retribution, but she is unworthy of it. And even if I permitted vengeance, what torment would you inflict? Physical scars would mar her value in marriage, and no psychological torment could ever compare to the absolute servitude imposed by her geass.”
“I understand, Father.”
“Good.” The king made a pause. “Still, I acknowledge your disappointment at losing your personal slave. Alceste?”
The royal chamberlain stepped forward and bowed. “My king?”
“Did she have any close kin?”
Though his memory was reputed to be excellent, and Myuri was one of his nieces, appearances mattered. A king did not lower himself to knowing the genealogy of a mere slave, even one of royal blood.
“Two sisters. One was given to Baron Athos eight years ago and served as bait in a panthera mega hunt. The other is completing her training and will be of age in two years. She is on Proxima and nubile.”
“A bit young,” the king murmured. “But twelve is old enough to serve. If you wish it, my son, she shall take her sister’s place.”
Esmée shivered as understanding dawned. This was no consolation prize for Aydan. Despite the king’s earlier words, this was her punishment. She had sought to save a woman, and her father was ruining her altruistic deed.
“I prefer my meat a little more seasoned,” Aydan cast a venomous glance at his sister. “But I shall make an exception this time.”
“Ah, do not make such a face, dear nephew,” Alexandre chuckled, slinging an arm around the prince's shoulders. “Women are scarce on Proxima. If the System saw fit to bring the girl here, she must have some merit.”
“The only merit I seek in a woman is an hourglass figure.”
“Then have her fitted with breast implants,” his uncle replied with a shrug. The suggestion seemed to amuse Aydan.
A murderous impulse surged within Esmée. Then, her geass crushed the traitorous thought beneath a tide of agony.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“These domestic affairs wear me,” the king declared. “Let us speak of military matters instead. Aydan, you have spent over a month in Elysium. What have you accomplished?”
“Our empire now holds an autonomous underground base, manned by locals. Our soldiers, and soon a sun wyrm, secure its defenses. I have also negotiated a non-aggression pact with the Var Elegis Champion and am in talks with the native tribes to have our claim to the land recognized. Despite the arrival of the Necromoon, I have gathered several tons of medicinal plants, some vital for body tempering. Lastly, I have minimized our losses despite Elysium’s many dangers.”
Alexandre grimaced as the king’s expression darkened like an approaching storm.
“So you tell me that while you cowered underground, my royal guards died harvesting weeds? That you await the blessing of savages to stake our claim?”
“I—” Aydan faltered as the king’s glare silenced him.
“I have heard enough. You have failed me.” He turned to his brother. “Alexandre, you will now lead our military operations in Elysium. I grant you five hundred of my royal guards. Use the resources of this so-called Spearhead World to elevate them. We will need them at the next Reunion.”
The general struck his chest with a clenched fist. “The empire shall prevail!”
“The empire shall prevail!” echoed the assembled nobles.
“Shall it?” The king swept his gaze over the court. “Each day, I grow less certain.”
A hush fell over the room, thick as a funeral shroud. Straightening, the king loomed over his court.
“I alone among you have faced a triple Tribulation. You hide behind your innate talents for divination, believing your gilded lives will persist unchanged. That time is over. With the System, power is no longer inherited. It is taken!” Maxime Lóthandorim gestured toward the hologram, where Priam’s image stood frozen. “If he marched upon our capital, who among you could stop him?”
The gathered nobles hesitated, well aware that a mundane army was powerless against a foe like the Juggernaut.
“Our forbidden rituals—” a Duke began.
“Would either raze half this continent or fail to track a man who can teleport at will.” The king spread his arms wide. “Gentlemen, we must change. We must evolve. From the next Reunion onward, this court will recognize only System-bestowed titles of nobility. Those who fail to rise to Baron before then shall be stripped of their rank.” The first murmurs of outrage died in their throats as the king unfurled his Concept. His presence swelled, his will pressing down upon the chamber with the weight of an empire. In that moment, all understood—he would not make himself an exception to this decree. Maxime Lóthandorim ruled because he was the most fit to do so.
“Furthermore,” the king continued, “every Empyrean who ascends to the rank of Earl shall be made the patriarch of a noble house. This is my will. Alceste, see to it that none remain ignorant of this by sundown.”
“As you command, Your Majesty.”
“Brother...” Alexandre met the king’s gaze, grimaced, but pressed on. “Most warriors are ill-suited to rule. I would know.”
The king stepped forward, resting a firm hand on his last brother’s shoulder. “I know. But the times ahead demand that our statesmen be warriors as well. Or do you believe a Tier 4 will take orders from a Tier 0?”
Alexandre pursed his lips with the exaggerated reluctance of a bad actor before reciting his line. “The System forces our hand, right?”
The king turned back to the nobles. “For three thousand years, the Zenith was denied to us. It was the tragedy of heroes and the fortune of nobles. Now, the tide turns. If we wish to remain at the pinnacle, we must adapt.” He placed a hand over his heart. “As sovereign, I am both the steward of our ancestors’ legacy and the guardian of our people's freedom. I will not allow our empire to crumble at the hands of blind traditionalists or cowards!” His words struck like hammer blows before he softened his stance, allowing a bright smile to play upon his lips. “My friends, see this not as a burden, but as an opportunity. You all wield immense resources and command formidable armies. Use them to push your growth, and in five centuries, we shall raise a toast to this very day.”
The court, wearied by the stick, warmed at the promise of a carrot. The king’s reasoning was sound, and it was easy to believe in a ruler whose deeds matched his words.
Soon, murmurs swelled into animated discussion. For all their faults, few of the nobles present were fools. They recognized the necessity of the king’s reforms. Besides, with their head start, none seriously believed that a common Empyrean could overtake them.
Esmée lifted her head as her father and uncle approached. The king erected a barrier around them to keep the conversation private.
“We need allies,” the king declared. “If you cannot secure the First’s hand, then ensnare the Hoplite Champion.”
“He is married,” Alexandre noted.
“Esmée has never been hindered by familiar obstacles,” the king remarked dryly. His daughter had undertaken the Impossible Trial alongside seven of her half brothers, and emerged alone. “When the Warrior is given a choice between widowerhood and a young woman of twenty, I am certain his lance will find its mark.”
Esmée doubted it. Her Hoplite rival had stricter morals than most Empyreans.
The king continued. “If that proves troublesome, seek alternative matches in Elysium. Waste no time in bearing a child as I want a new heir for our empire,” he commanded, with a scornful look towards the crown prince.
Esmée closed her eyes. Her father had seen the power of the First with his own eyes, and rather than invest in his only child capable of rivaling the Juggernaut, he confined her to the role of broodmare. Or does he believe that making me the mother of the future king would buy my loyalty?
“It shall be as you command, Father.”
Without another word, the king rejoined his son a few paces away. The barrier that shielded them could not impede Esmee’s magical senses.
“Aydan… Do not disappoint me again. With your uncle’s military expertise, you have until the next Reunion to establish a permanent outpost in Elysium, secure the Sun Shop resources I requested, and uncover information on skills compatible with my advancement. Fail, and the kingdom will lose its heir.”
Aydan’s eyes widened. “Father? I am your last son! The laws—”
“Dictate that only a man may ascend to the throne.” The king’s voice was iron. “Another failure, and you will undergo the transition ritual. This is your final chance.”
With a snap of his fingers, the silence barrier shattered, and his voice thundered across the hall. “I summon an expanded council to the throne room. The Arkanians must be struck down before they can rise again. Alexandre, can our spies taint their aquifers with corrupted blood?”
With that, the king strode from the hall, his court trailing in his wake. Only Aydan remained behind, pale as a ghost. His racial Talent was too valuable for him to be executed outright. His death would only be social—he would be turned into a woman and sold off in marriage for some political favor.
Swallowing her revulsion, Esmée schooled her features into a pleasant smile and approached her brother.
“I have a few ideas on securing our position in Elysium. I swear on my geass that they will be to your benefit.”
The prince turned to his sister, anger warring with fear in his gaze. In the end, fear won.
“I assume you want to help the girl?”
“Priam could buy back Myuri’s sister for a high price. After today, even Father would have to listen if he had a request…”
Each word felt like filth on her tongue, but in the Empyrean empire, females couldn’t be choosers. Between Father’s tyranny and my brother’s fear, I might yet weave my net…
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