WCMT 09

Episode 9 

“No — if you were going to forget, you could have just forgotten quietly. Why touch the records?”
Ilaneria sighed deeply and rubbed her face.

Even facing the troubled young princess, the historians kept talking.

“Paradon strictly controls history to the point of producing official histories for external consumption.”
“In fact, there’s almost nothing that people from other countries can verify.”
“Smaller states avoid close exchange with us because they’re wary of Letunia and Paradon.”
“And since Rembros Vamelmah II, who was a contemporary, seems to have erased references to Emperor Irane….”
“Perhaps it was a matter of character….”

Ilaneria snapped.

“What do you mean ‘character’!”

“Ahem. Sorry. Besides that, there are problems like some ink not seeming fully dried, or the paper quality not matching something a hundred years old, so it can’t be accepted as an official record.”

Ilaneria admitted her mistake.

‘…I didn’t think of that. For someone this meticulous, how could I make such a mistake?’

But it wasn’t impossible to explain. The preservation magic on the vault prevented oxidation and decay of objects.

“There’s magic on the vault… oh, never mind. It’s fine.”
Ilaneria sighed and waved her hand away before she could explain.

After beating her chest a few times, she returned to her seat with her lips tightly shut. Her cheeks, puffed out from the movement, looked cute enough, but the dark aura rippling behind her was extremely threatening.

No one could find their voice. Only Luxor moved to escort the scholars out.

“Steward. See that our guests are served.”

The steward bowed politely and led the scholars away.

Once their footsteps faded, the dining hall fell instantly into silence. It was so quiet you could even hear a mouse scurrying across the corridor to its hole.

Ilaneria stared briefly toward the sound, then stabbed at the dessert the servant brought with her fork.

Floretta leaned close and whispered to Ponent as she watched Ilaneria.

“She’s definitely possessed.”
Ponent nodded in agreement.
“By an evil spirit, too.”

Servants bustled around like ants carrying things. I propped my elbow on the window frame, rested my chin in my hand, and slouched, watching them.

Luxor had spent the money I gave him on sensible things — the decorations were in decent shape now. The plaster statues still only had footprints, but a few chandeliers were back in place.

‘So what. Nothing’s under my control anyway.’

Every attempt at attaining inner peace had failed; I’d even skipped meals, and the autobiography I’d written was branded a fake. They’d even attached a label to me.

I was no longer just a tyrant. I’d been dubbed a “self-absorbed” tyrant — apparently my autobiography contained too much self-praise.

Ha. Ridiculous.

They wouldn’t recognize the autobiography as history, but they slapped on the label ‘self-absorbed’?

Pouting, the door opened.

Dora was used to not being surprised by seeing me awake alone anymore.

“Princess, you must get ready to go out. Delegations from Paradon and Letunia will be arriving soon.”

‘Delegations my foot.’ They weren’t coming for friendship — they came to check each other’s strength from safe foreign soil.

Paradon, which had expanded eastward, had become an empire, and blasted Letunia had grown westward into an empire too. When two neighboring countries grow at the same time, friction is inevitable.

Given the balance of power, it was only natural — invasions, wars, the whole mess.

But Paradon and Letunia did not behave that way.

Officially, they claimed it was to maintain peace in the southeastern continent, but that was nonsense. Their reason for merely checking each other was geography.

Between the two empires lay the Remlock Mountains — the highest and most forbidding in the world. The only route between them was through Epiphanes, a narrow passage. Whoever swallowed Epiphanes would seize dominance of the continent.

Neither side wanted to hand it over, so they kept up a standoff, and Epiphanes’ status was left in limbo. During that process they must have endured various humiliations — for example, sending a leading heir as a hostage.

It would be unbearable to the prideful.

“I’m not going.”

Hearing the names Paradon and Letunia alone made me furious. A reception? No way. Back when I was emperor, I didn’t even have to bother — whether I received those who requested an audience depended on my mood. If I permitted it, they came to pay respects.

Letunia, maybe — but Paradon, those traitors? I’d rather die first… well, I already died once.

Ridiculous.

I crossed my arms stubbornly. Dora started to say something, then sighed.

“Fine. I’ll let them know you said no.”

She came and changed my clothes and fixed my hair, giving me a warning.

“But you must attend the ball. No need to complain then; you’ll have to be there.”

Who’s going to throw a tantrum? I turned around indignantly.

But Dora, who’d turned the great emperor into a sulky child, had already left.

I put on the uncomfortable clothes and watched the people in my rooms. After a while, a faint waltz leaked into the chamber.

‘What a bother.’

I don’t see the point of dancing. When I was emperor I attended balls for protocol; now I’m just the youngest princess. Why bother?

Tapping my raised toes, I weighed two annoyances: attending the ball, or enduring the descendants’ pestering if I didn’t attend.

The latter would be worse.

‘I’ll just make a brief appearance.’

Reluctantly, I rose.

I waved Dora away and entered the great hall.

“Ria’s come?” “What brings you here?” “I thought you hated balls.”

Why did I even come? They seemed surprised the Princess Ilaneria disliked the ball.

“Just because.”

“Well, then stay with us while you’re here.”

Floretta grabbed my hand. If I left it alone she’d probably hold on until the ball ended, so I slipped my hand free.

“I’ll just watch from over there.”

I pressed myself to the wall, away from the descendants.

Groups paired off and whirled, fans fluttered, laughter burst out.

‘How can a ball still be boring after a hundred years?’

When I was emperor at least I enjoyed receiving greetings. Now I felt like a scrap of bread lying on the street.

No wonder — scavengers and greedy worms started hanging around me, trying to snatch whatever they could.

“Princess, why are you alone? My son happens to be alone too — shall I introduce him? He’s very handsome.”

Look at this. Offering a ten-year-old as a husband.

I snorted, turned my body, and decided to get some fresh air. But even where the lights were on there were too many people.

The breeze was cool though, and my chest felt a bit freer. After watching people for a while I grew bored and moved to a quieter spot to rest.

I sat on a bench swinging my legs when a heavy thump came from between the trees. Mocking laughter followed, coarse and unpleasant.

‘What’s that?’

They sounded like children; the laughter grated on my ears. I stood up, about to swat them, and saw a familiar head collapsed on the ground.

A girl with shining blond hair — she bore my son’s likeness.

“Kynesia?”

Her golden eyes shimmered in the dim lamplight, wet with emotion.

I approached and asked, “Are you hurt?”

Kynesia lay on the ground, fists clenched as if clawing the soil. The grass was crushed in her hands.

Her nails had bent and were torn this way and that, but she seemed to feel more shame than pain.

Kynesia opened her bloodshot eyes and ground her teeth.

“Go away.”

I stood frozen when a boy’s voice sounded.

“Puhahaha! Go away, he says.”

One boy squatted in front of Kynesia and tapped her head with his index finger.

“You should have done as I told you. If I told you to fetch water, you fetch. If I told you to pick something up from the ground with your mouth, you’d pick it up.”

Kynesia remained stubbornly silent. The boy grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled.

“What did you think would change when you returned to your country?”

What on earth was he talking about?

My blood pressure rose and the back of my neck throbbed, but an emperor never loses composure. I breathed slowly and addressed the boy, who looked about fifteen.

“Are you from Paradon, by any chance?”

The boy curled his lip and snorted unpleasantly.

“So? What are you going to do about it?”

Do something? Of course I would.

I bit down as hard as I could on the Paradon boy’s hand that was yanking Kynesia’s hair.

A sickening crunch and a scream followed.

“AAAAHHH!!!”

The Paradon boy shoved me away and snatched his hand back.

He staggered, collected himself, and spat out a mouthful of fishy-smelling saliva.

Those kids were foolishly well-bred, but they were still descendants of the great Emperor of Epiphanes. They could belittle me and oppress me, but I had decided they would only ever humiliate me.

And yet a boy from Paradon dared block the will of the great emperor? In my country?

“Hey. Come here. I’ll tear both your hands to rags!”