CHAPTER 103…………………………………
Upon arriving at the Imperial Palace, Kyle went straight to find the Emperor.
He was told that ever since leaving the council chamber, the Emperor had not moved from his bedchamber.
Was the news that Marquis Jojoba could have died such a shocking thing to him?
A smirk curled at Kyle’s lips.
“Your Majesty, Grand Duke Kyle requests an audience.”
The Emperor had been suffering from insomnia.
It was unlikely he would be asleep in broad daylight, yet there was no answer from behind the closed doors.
Of course, he wouldn’t tell me to come in so easily.
Kyle handed a note he had prepared to a servant.
“Give this to His Majesty.”
It didn’t take long after the servant entered before the bedroom door opened again.
“Your Grace, His Majesty will see you.”
In Kyle’s vague memories remained the image of the Emperor’s bedchamber—
a room he once stayed in as a boy when his father took pity on the son who had lost his mother too early.
He couldn’t remember it well now, but back then the Emperor’s room had felt simple and warm.
What is that smell?
The moment Kyle stepped inside, his nose wrinkled in disgust.
It was a foul, acrid stench—nothing like the faint smell of burnt wood that lingered in a study.
The large windows, which should have flooded the room with sunlight, were blocked by something that allowed not even a sliver of light to pass through.
On the great bed in the middle of the dark, damp room, the Emperor lay motionless.
Even though he couldn’t see his face clearly, Kyle could feel the Emperor’s piercing gaze fixed on him.
“Your Majesty, it is Kyle.”
As he bowed deeply toward the darkness, a displeased snort broke the silence.
“I am… unwell. I cannot rise.”
“Are you greatly in pain, Your Majesty? Have you summoned your royal physician?”
“Physician, bah…”
At the Emperor’s muttered response, Kyle’s lips twisted faintly.
As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he began to see the glint of suspicion in the Emperor’s narrowed gaze.
“If you are too weak to rise, shouldn’t you receive treatment? Shall I summon him at once?”
The Emperor waved a hand dismissively.
“No, no. It will pass with rest. There is no need for concern.”
“I’m relieved to hear that. I came because I heard there was quite an incident at the council this morning. I was concerned for Your Majesty.”
The Emperor said nothing.
But even his silent stare revealed the storm of thoughts behind it.
“I imagine Your Majesty must be surprised that I’ve come to visit like this.”
“……”
“Still, am I not Your Majesty’s only blood relative?”
At those words—only blood relative—the Emperor’s mouth twitched faintly.
He gave no reply, only flung Kyle’s note onto the floor.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Kyle picked up the note and read it aloud.
“So that no one may dare act against Your Majesty, I will cut off the nobles’ hands and feet.”
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly as written. If Your Majesty permits it, I will do so for your sake.”
The Emperor let out a short laugh.
“For my sake? And how would you do that?”
It was as if Kyle could hear the unspoken mockery that followed:
The man who’s spent his life wandering the borders with a handful of knights at my command dares to say this?
Kyle waited in silence until the Emperor’s snorting laughter faded away.
Then he met his father’s eyes with a cold gaze and said:
“I will become the High Priest.”
For a moment, a silence heavier than the darkness itself filled the room.
“What did you just say?”
“I said I will become the High Priest.”
“You? The High Priest?”
“Yes. I will take that seat and cut off the nobles’ flow of money. Then they will no longer dare act arrogantly toward Your Majesty.”
“Hah… ha ha ha!”
The Emperor suddenly burst into laughter—so loud that, if overheard, one might think he and Kyle were sharing an amusing joke.
“Kyle, surely you know—the position of High Priest has belonged to House Fennaio ever since the temple was founded. It was built with their money.”
The Emperor abruptly sat up.
“Is this because you heard that the Saintess is to be your bride? If you marry her, you’ll have every reason to be appointed High Priest. Yes, the Saintess’s husband should hold that title, naturally.”
Kyle’s brow twitched, recalling his distaste for that topic.
“If I become High Priest only through the Saintess’s honor, it will not stop the nobles. I must do it alone, so I can sever their purse strings completely.”
The Emperor was suspicious and hot-tempered, but he wasn’t a fool.
Kyle knew better than anyone that one couldn’t simply decide to become High Priest.
What is he scheming?
The Emperor’s already troubled mind, unsettled by the Marquis Jojoba affair, grew even murkier.
Though it was a dubious proposal, it was one he couldn’t reject outright.
He himself had long despised the way the nobles used the temple to amass wealth—
and the way their growing coffers made them look down on the imperial family.
Especially the looks they had given him in the council chamber that morning—those, he could not forget.
“Your Majesty, what is the temple’s true purpose?”
Anish—the gifted prophetess.
The temple built in her honor was both Emperor Luber’s act of atonement and his hidden plan.
He had created the temple so that everyone would remember her.
For rebirth, one condition was to never be forgotten.
Luber, as the founder of Bartman, would always be remembered as long as the Empire stood—
but Anish would not.
Even if she had played a crucial role in unifying the continent, time would eventually erase her.
So Luber’s solution was to deify her—to build a temple that would enshrine her memory forever.
At that moment, the Fennaio family had offered their entire fortune to construct and manage it.
Thus, while the temple was important, it was never truly sacred.
If Luber had built it for his own purpose, Kyle now intended to use it in reverse.
“The temple is a holy place to honor Lady Anish and bring peace to people’s hearts.”
“……”
“Yet in Bartman, the most sacred place reeks worse than a sewer—because of the nobles’ filthy greed.”
Something had changed.
Kyle’s voice remained low and steady, but the Emperor felt a shift in his gaze—
a quiet intensity that made him swallow dryly.
He had sent Kyle away again and again, wishing he’d die in the borderlands.
If he had hated Kyle, surely Kyle harbored twisted feelings of his own.
The proposal was tempting—but the Emperor could not yet take his son’s hand.
“I understand your thoughts. Do you have a way to become High Priest?”
A faint, sharp smile crossed Kyle’s lips.
“There is a way—by returning to the original principle.”
“Principle?”
“Yes. Back to the beginning. The temple must once again become the holiest place in Bartman.”
“The holiest place, hmm…”
There was nothing wrong with his words—but would such lofty ideals move the nobles?
You’re still just a naive child, the Emperor thought with a short sigh.
“You speak so simply because you know nothing of politics.”
He clicked his tongue, but he couldn’t quite dismiss Kyle yet.
“Kyle, marry the Saintess. Then your words will carry weight.”
At those words—exactly the answer he’d been waiting for—Kyle’s eyes gleamed.
“Your Majesty, are you certain the Saintess is truly the incarnation of Lady Anish?”
“What are you saying? The High Priest himself confirmed her and brought her to me.”
“I’ve heard as much… but do you know what people outside the palace are saying about her?”
The question piqued the Emperor’s curiosity.
He called for the servant to bring tea to the drawing room and rose from the bed.
Since discovering the wrong culprit, he hadn’t visited the Saintess again.
Once suspicion took root, it tainted even the most beautiful face and honeyed words.
“Sit, Kyle. What do they say of the Saintess?”
The Emperor couldn’t hold back his curiosity and asked even before the tea arrived.
“Your Majesty, they say no one visits the temple anymore to see her.”
“No one? But the Saintess told me…”
She had claimed to meet nobles on his behalf, soothing them and urging their loyalty through divine prophecy.
Yet—
“Now that I think about it… none of them ever did stay loyal, did they?”
Kyle’s mouth curved faintly at the Emperor’s murmured realization.
“Your Majesty, have you ever met the Saintess privately?”
“Wh–why do you ask that?”
“If so, who introduced her to you? Was it High Priest Fennaio?”
The Emperor almost said Duke Bacard—but caught himself, lips snapping shut.
At that instant, a spark of suspicion flared into blazing fire.
Why had Duke Bacard been the one to suggest meeting the Saintess at his villa?
He had never questioned it before.
How did Duke Bacard know the Saintess?
As countless doubts collided and twisted in his mind, a shiver ran down the Emperor’s entire body.
