A faint tremor passed through the corner of Kachian’s eye. Subtle enough that no one else noticed—but Yuder did, easily reading what lay beneath.

He’s rattled. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

Yuder himself hadn’t known there was such a duty required of royalty. Kachian, during his time as Crown Prince, had never consistently checked his correspondence. Yuder had simply assumed an Emperor could act however he liked. But now that he thought about it, Kishiar had never neglected that duty—not once.

Except during his recent confinement, Kishiar checked messages every morning without fail...

Yuder had always thought it was just Kishiar being diligent, but now he realized it was more of a deeply ingrained habit, carved into him since his days as a prince. No wonder the Emperor had cut off all information from him when ordering his seclusion—there had been meaning behind it.

“Did you say the attendant received the letter? Then the fault lies with the servants who failed to report it to me daily. If they had done their jobs, I would have seen it. Rather than dragging me here, it would be more appropriate to interrogate them.”

Instead of admitting he hadn’t known, Kachian swiftly shifted blame to his attendants. His face bore the carefully calculated expression of a “noble, distressed young Crown Prince trying to remain composed.”

On a normal day, that might have worked. But this wasn’t a normal day.

“Indeed, I asked them first. According to the collective testimony of your attendants, the Crown Prince has never once fulfilled the daily obligation of checking incoming messages at Gwanghwi Palace.”

“......”

“Not just this time—never.”

The weight of that single line landed like a hammer.

Kachian clenched his jaw and asked quietly, “Who... gave that testimony?”

“The identity of the witness is protected in the name of the Emperor.”

“And how can Your Majesty be sure that person is truly one of my attendants? Are you saying you trust the words of those who seek to slander me, despite having no proof, and accuse me of failing in my duties as Crown Prince?”

“Are you implying you cannot trust the statement made directly by the Emperor of the Empire?”

Had it been Kishiar, he might have smiled faintly at such a moment. But Emperor Keillusa’s face remained blank, his tone calm—stating facts with not even a flicker of amusement.

That, frankly, made his words even heavier.

“......”

Kachian flinched and closed his mouth. He was smart enough to know that saying he didn’t trust the Emperor would immediately brand him a traitor. But the Emperor didn’t let his silence slide—he pounced without pause.

“Your silence implies you would still like to see evidence, then?”

“......”

“Very well. I hesitated to bring it forth, thinking it would only shame you—but it seems I must. Bring it in.”

With a courteous gesture, the head chamberlain brought out a tray stacked with documents. Lifting the pile high for all to see, he declared clearly:

“This is the reply log from Gwanghwi Palace, recording the days when the Crown Prince read and stamped official correspondence. For ease of comparison, it only includes letters sent by His Majesty the Emperor and Her Majesty the Empress.”

Kachian’s fingers twitched as if he wanted to clench his fist.

Letters from the Emperor and Empress were supposed to be treated with the utmost priority. But the Gwanghwi Palace reply logs showed responses arriving days later—consistently.

So many years without a single same-day reply—it was impossible to argue this had only started recently.

“As everyone here knows, all palaces are required to record the sending and receiving of official correspondence [N O V E L I G H T] in case of emergencies. These records were cross-checked across three palaces: the Solar Palace, the Dawn Palace, and Gwanghwi Palace. No single party could have altered them unilaterally.”

The current stack only included correspondence exchanged among the Emperor, Empress, and Crown Prince—but naturally, that wasn’t all. If Kachian had delayed replying to even these critical messages, what kind of chaos must the rest of his administration have been in?

It was clear, no matter how he argued, that he could not pin the blame for missing the invitation on his attendants or anyone else. This was the proof.

Kachian’s face went pale.

“Crown Prince. Do you require further explanation?”

“......”

“Your silence suggests you do. Chamberlain, continue—”

“That won’t be necessary!”

Kachian barely managed to choke the words out through a tight throat. It seemed he finally realized that remaining silent before Emperor Keillusa would only work against him.

The Emperor looked down at the trembling Kachian and gave a small nod.

“Very well. Then allow me to ask again: Crown Prince, can you explain why you were summoned here today?”

Back to the original question. But now, Kachian no longer had any justification to retort with “why should I?”

If this were a duel, he’d already lost the opening clash in spectacular fashion. And perhaps knowing that all too well, he looked around the room with hollow eyes. His gaze drifted toward Kiorne la Diarca behind him—almost pleading.

But Kiorne offered no reaction, only a blank expression. The aristocrats seated around him did the same.

Left with no options, Kachian finally parted his dry lips and forced the words out:

“...I don’t know.”

“Do you have any guesses?”

“Is this about the servant who was taken a few days ago?”

“Do you know why that servant was taken?”

“I do not.”

A blatant lie. But his expression was flawless—he looked like a truly innocent boy.

“A few days ago, near Mount Gwanamar in the southwestern region, a small village was attacked by a band of raiders. Fortunately, a Cavalry member from that village happened to be visiting on leave and was able to subdue the attackers before harm was done. But it turned out the attackers were not ordinary bandits—they’d been hired to destroy the village.”

The Emperor’s explanation was smooth and unhurried.

“A petition was submitted requesting the employer be found and punished. The investigation revealed that the employer was your servant, Osem Nuli. Osem Nuli, who entered the palace two years ago and began serving at Gwanghwi Palace three months ago, had no connection whatsoever to the village in question.”

“......”

“Nuli confessed that he hired the mercenaries on your orders. That he merely delivered your letters and arranged payment. Do you have anything to say?”

Kachian smiled faintly through his pale face.

“By Your Majesty’s account, it sounds as if I used a servant to harm innocent imperial citizens. But why would I do such a thing? Osem Nuli had only just become my attendant. Surely he was planted by someone to frame me.”

“Planted? Are you aware that Osem Nuli is a relative of the Nuli family, a cadet branch of the Diarca-affiliated Maltan family?”

“I’m not familiar with such details. What does bloodline matter to someone set on being a spy?”

Kachian remained unfazed, playing dumb with a straight face.

“The mercenaries were found to have received incredibly specific instructions. The exact village. The exact time. The route of approach. Do you think someone from the East, like Osem Nuli, could’ve known all that himself?”

“And why not? Are you saying I should have somehow detected his betrayal beforehand?”

So Kachian intended to deny everything—he knew nothing, ordered nothing, was not involved.

“Then let me ask once more. Do you truly not recognize the village that was targeted? Are you saying, without doubt, that you never gave such an order to Osem Nuli?”

A flicker of hesitation passed across Kachian’s otherwise impassive face.

But it wasn’t from a desire to tell the truth. It was a calculating pause—measuring how much the Emperor knew, what cards he held.

After a moment, Kachian furrowed his brow and let out a dramatic sigh.

“Could you tell me precisely which village you’re referring to? You only mentioned Mount Gwanamar. That’s too vague to be sure.”

“The official name is Gwanaman. The locals also called it Gwan Village.”

It wasn’t the Emperor who answered, but the head chamberlain.