Emperor's Alternate - Chapter 67
“Nobody, absolutely nobody did this intentionally. No one in this room intended for this to happen.”
The librarian locked eyes with Lecan.
“It’s the commonfolk who create and sing these songs of their own accord. Street bards are voluntarily writing and performing plays about you. It’s not someone intentionally manipulating public opinion. Do you really not understand what this means, my Lord?”
“…”
The silent stares from Lecan’s men conveyed a single sentiment.
“Let’s adjourn this meeting.”
“My Lord, how long will you keep avoiding this?”
“Yes, we can no longer step back. We have endured enough.”
Without another word, Lecan rose from his seat and stalked out of the meeting. His men were sympathetic as they watched him leave, but no one dared to stop him. The librarian stared at the note on the table for a long time. As if deciding something, he grabbed it again and clenched his fist hard.
***
“Father, after the misunderstandings today, won’t you at least show your face?”
Benedict’s question caused Alfred to spit out a colorful breath and slowly open his eyes. Benedict couldn’t see Alfred’s face as he was facing the wall.
Alfred had ruled like a dictator for decades, and had many enemies, but not even his most vicious rival could hate him more than Benedict.
“I’ve not yet given my ancestors their morning courtesy, so I don’t wish to see anyone yet.”
The Chancellor was a man who valued tradition and aristocratic etiquette above all else. Benedict’s heart sank as he listened to his father insist on performing the morning ritual of bowing to the portraits of his ancestors, even though they were all but dead.
Alfred had always asserted his dominance over all nobles, and his most frequently repeated statement was, ‘Humans are inherently different. Those who are not nobles are animals, not humans.’
“Father.”
Benedict’s expression was one of disdain.
“Please, let go of that formality. Aren’t you tired of it? Trying to act all dignified and noble—you’re dying, old man.”
“…Benedict.”
The aristocratic tone was deceptively refined for a sick man.
“You…”
The Chancellor sputtered, struggling to breathe. “You will spend the rest of your life regretting what you have done to this family.”
Benedict, momentarily devastated, stared at the air in disbelief.
“I, I mean, just look at this. Wishing for your own child’s spirit to be broken with a curse that might be passed down through generations. Is that how you pray to our ancestors?”
“…”
“And why would I have regrets, old man, when you’re on your deathbed, ruminating on all the sins you committed in life?”
The words that were said were bitter, even for Benedict. He sighed.
“Tsk.”
He turned around and left. His father, who ruled over all but treated his people like pigs and exploited them, was a tyrant. How many emperors had been ground under Alfred’s rule? Benedict’s wealth was built on the exploitation of the common people’s blood and sweat.
Alfred often claimed that if he had one more son, he would have killed him without hesitation. Despite that, Benedict was undeniably the most beloved heir. He always pointed out his father’s mistakes and never listened to a single word he had said, but the Chancellor was terribly protective of his son.
Even when the Crown Princess, Alfred’s granddaughter, killed her son and committed suicide, Alfred’s first concern was how this might traumatize Benedict. It wasn’t the kind of favor Benedict wanted, but Alfred had always taken care of Benedict in his own terrible way.
“…Don’t try to cut out the rotten part of an apple and eat the rest. Just get a new apple.”
Benedict walked through the corridor, looking at the portraits of his forebears hanging on the walls. Each was the epitome of corrupt aristocracy, yet each was treated with the utmost respect within the family.
Benedict, who would inherit all their positions upon the death of the Chancellor, sincerely wished for the downfall of this rotten Empire. For a very long time, he had followed Lecan, hoping that he would wash away the tainted legacy of his corrupt bloodline. Perhaps the time was at hand.
Benedict walked down the hall, his face cold and expressionless.
