TPGV Ch# 1

“This is the medicine, Duke.”

The Emperor’s eyes, as he placed the vial on the table, were filled with absolute arrogance—the gaze of a victor confident that his offer could never be refused.

Lexius stared coldly at the tiny glass vial, suppressing the rage boiling inside him.

It was barely the size of a finger, containing a thick, dark green liquid of unknown nature.

Yet that insignificant-looking vial held Awen’s life in its grasp—the life of his close friend and lieutenant of thirteen years.

“With just this one vial, Awen Skurd will rise from his bed instantly. Any mortal wound will be healed in a flash.”

The Emperor spoke leisurely, his blue eyes gleaming.

“What do you want in return? Land? A vow of loyalty?”

Lexius’s eyes burned red as he fought back his fury.

Countless nobles must have knelt before the Emperor in this exact way—torn between saving a beloved life and becoming a lapdog to a tyrant’s power.

“Hm. Tempting, but neither of those.”

The Emperor tapped the table with pale fingers and gave a wicked smile.

“Don’t tell me you want the heart of a dragon or something.”

Lexius glared at him in outrage, and the Emperor’s smile deepened.

Then, without a hint of hesitation, he said something utterly absurd.

“I’ll give you my daughter.”

“…What do you mean?”

“I mean marriage. You’re the most desirable bachelor in the Empire, after all.”

At those calmly spoken words, Lexius’s face went pale with shock.

He would’ve preferred being sent to slay a dragon. But to marry that vile man’s daughter?

“Take my land instead. What about Segretta?”

Lexius refused flatly, offering instead a prized territory rich in mining resources—certainly a tempting offer for any ruler.

But the Emperor merely shook his head with disinterest.

“I already have plenty of land. No marriage, no medicine.”

“Even if I throw in Akswenster?”

Akswenster was the Empire’s golden grain belt—coveted by the royal family for generations. Both lands combined were worth far more than any marriage alliance.

It was like carving the bones and flesh from the House of Ernheart, but Lexius was willing to give up anything to save Awen’s life.

Still, the Emperor only shrugged.

“No. What I want is you. The continent’s strongest Swordmaster, heir to the Empire’s most prestigious house—only someone of that caliber is worthy of marrying my daughter.”

Lexius’s fist trembled with suppressed rage.

There was no doubt the Emperor had planned this, waiting for the exact moment Awen was on the brink of death. Lexius had no other choice.

Should he just kill the Emperor right now?

It wouldn’t be difficult to take on the Emperor and his elite guards alone.

The real problem was the dark mages guarding the Emperor from the shadows. Breaking through their layers of magical barriers would take time, and by then, the Duke’s household would be in ruins.

“…Which princess do you wish me to marry?”

When Lexius finally spoke, his voice was cold and emotionless.

Sensing a crack in his resolve, the Emperor smiled in satisfaction.

“Fifth Princess Eliche. She’s my darling, the apple of my eye.”

“Have you lost your mind? The Fifth Princess?!”

“He’s trying to utterly humiliate you! How could he offer that foolish girl who tried to elope with a slave?!”

The Duke’s estate erupted in outrage. From butlers to foot soldiers, everyone was livid.

The Fifth Princess, known as the “Princess of the Golden Veil,” was so closely guarded by the Emperor that almost no one had seen her face.

Even within the palace, she always wore a golden veil. Rumors were rampant that despite the Emperor’s doting love, she had attempted to run off with a slave and was caught.

“This can’t be, Your Grace! We must find another way!”

Everyone protested with fierce indignation.

“Is there any other way?”

Lexius’s crimson eyes swept over them coldly, already settled in his decision, only fueling his knights’ frustration.

“Then let Awen die! He wouldn’t want this. If he knew what you were sacrificing…”

“He’d rather die than live bearing such disgrace!”

“But he’s the man who saved your life three times. Could you even imagine battle without Awen?”

While everyone fumed, the Duke’s knight commander, Simon, spoke calmly and reasonably.

“We must endure this for the future, Your Grace. Humiliation can be avenged—but Awen’s life cannot be restored.”

The air in the estate cooled. As much as they raged, this wasn’t something they could solve through fury alone.

“We hold the wedding, then have the princess leave of her own accord. No pampered royal could endure such cold treatment from the entire household. She’ll ask for a divorce before long.”

“Or maybe she’ll find another lover to run off with.”

Knight Teruel’s sarcasm sparked laughter mixed with rage around the room.

“Decide quickly, Duke. The medicine is already losing potency by the minute.”

Even as he left the estate, the Emperor made sure to issue that final threat. Every moment of hesitation was costly.

“Simon. Go yourself and fetch the medicine. We have no time left to waste.”

In the end, Lexius made his decision—one that felt like carving out his soul.

Simon bowed solemnly in the heavy silence.

Awen was on the brink of death.

His body, clawed open in dozens of places by a monster, was blackening with rot. The venom had swollen his form grotesquely, and foul-smelling pus seeped from his wounds.

Had it been any ordinary monster, the Empire’s most powerful priests might’ve healed him. But this was a Gshunt—one of the rarest, most toxic beasts forged in primordial magic.

Even after dozens of knights threw themselves at the creature and finally killed it, Awen had already suffered fatal injuries.

Any ordinary man would’ve died instantly. Only because Awen was a Swordmaster capable of wielding aura blades had he survived at all.

Lexius had summoned every healer and physician within reach. Every known herb was used, and even the Pope and seven high priests took turns pouring divine energy into him.

But Awen’s body only continued to decay. All they managed was to slow the inevitable.

“It’s a miracle he’s survived this long.”

That was the heartbreaking verdict from the Pope—after all the money and prayers, nothing more than that empty statement.

The Emperor arrived three days later—just as Awen was nearing his final breath.

Everyone had begun preparations for his passing. Lexius hadn’t left his side in days, barely eating, surrounded by the knights who had fought beside them since their mercenary days.

The medicine the Emperor offered was a sweet but cruel poison—something that could only be swallowed, no matter the cost.

In the end, it was just a marriage. A small price to pay for saving the far more precious life of Awen.

Lexius convinced himself of that. He had agreed to the marriage, not pledged loyalty. At the very least, he had salvaged a shred of pride.

A bitter excuse, perhaps—but the hope of saving Awen outweighed any shame.

“…Is that the Emperor’s medicine?”

Even with his breath fading, Awen still had the strength to ask. His faint voice was enough to tear at everyone’s hearts.

Lexius couldn’t answer.

Awen didn’t ask again—he thrashed violently, trying to smash the vial.

No one knew where he found such strength in his rotting body.

“This isn’t for you. It’s for me.”

Lexius’s voice was firm.

Yes—because he couldn’t live without Awen. He had already lost too many people to lose Awen too.

“Have you forgotten?! You are the last hope of the Empire! Will you cast that pride and hope away—for someone like me?! I’d rather—!”

Awen’s cloudy eyes filled with venomous resolve.

Struggling to move his stiffening arm, he reached for Nixon’s sword nearby.

But before he could grasp it, Lexius struck it aside. Awen could barely lift it, but Lexius couldn’t risk him trying to take his own life.

“Hold him down!”

At Lexius’s shout, five of the largest knights, including Ferol, pinned Awen down.

“I’d rather die!”

Awen’s desperate scream pierced everyone’s hearts.

Lexius clenched his jaw and forced the medicine into his mouth—breaking his lips open, pouring every drop down his throat.

The effect was immediate.

Awen’s large body convulsed violently, his limbs twisting grotesquely. His eyes rolled back, dark blood oozing from his ears and mouth. It was a horrific sight—he looked moments away from death.

“Is this really safe?!”

“Did the Emperor trick us?!”

Fear shot through the room. But then, black smoke began to rise from Awen’s entire body.

“Open the windows! The poison is escaping!”

Simon, grasping the situation, shouted.

Someone flung open the windows, and all covered their faces to ventilate the room.

Lexius didn’t move—watching every change in Awen like a statue.

The grotesque swelling of Awen’s body gradually subsided. The blackened flesh lost its deathly hue. Pus stopped flowing, and even the hastily stitched wounds vanished without a trace.

The recovery was terrifyingly fast. In less than fifteen minutes, color returned to his face, and his heart resumed its natural rhythm.

It was a miracle.

But tears of blood welled in Awen’s eyes. He had survived, but at the cost of his lord’s humiliation. Fury consumed him.

“Never forget, Awen. Your life does not belong to you alone.”

Lexius’s heavy voice left Awen bowing his head in bitter silence.

No one else spoke.

Awen’s recovery was a joyous miracle—but also a grim reminder of the Emperor’s power.

The news that Duke Ernheart had accepted the Emperor’s medicine spread like wildfire. The entire Empire was in an uproar.