Emperor's Alternate - Chapter 75
Lecan had been well-known since childhood.
By childhood, I mean the years before he ever set foot in the Persi Academy.
He rarely left the North and almost never descended to the Capital, yet the people remembered his name.
It helped, of course, that he held the border closest to the Abel Empire — the strongest known backer of the ‘reformist’ faction — with unmatched precision. But that alone wasn’t why they revered him. Any knight who had ever drawn a blade beside him, even once, spoke of him with the same steady conviction. That he was the finest lord a soldier could serve.
“My career as a knight splits cleanly into two parts — before I met Lecan, and after.”
“Just being near him makes you want to live better.”
“Even watching him from afar sharpens your discipline. Under Lecan’s command, deserters and idlers are a rarity.”
“We win battles. Not out of luck. Not by numbers. But because Lecan leads. And under him, achieving the greatest military feat of your life doesn’t feel impossible. He draws out potential not by force, but by existing.”
“Even with a band of misfits, he brings back victory.”
“He is a born leader.”
The testimonies came in droves, always from the mouths of young, reformist knights — all saying the same thing. What kind of man had to exist to earn such praise?
Without meaning to, the people of the Capital remembered Lecan. And when he finally appeared — not only matching but exceeding their expectations with his looks, his poise, his impossible talent — public favor grew even more fierce and fevered.
Now, that same Lecan had survived a volcanic eruption. He had defied even the Emperor’s envy to rescue his subordinates. He had been granted, at last and without shame, the ducal title he more than deserved.
The people cheered for him — a man who grew stronger through hardship, who kept rising where others would fall.
As for the current Emperor, Teiles II, he still reigned under the shadow of the Empress Dowager’s regency. And it did not help that the Dowager had once been a courtesan. Though the Empire was proud of its long and noble lineage, what did all that tradition mean now? When its throne sat beneath a woman they were too embarrassed to name?
In contrast, Lecan — with his bloodline and his deeds — had begun to stir whispers. The Emperor had no wife. No heir. And Lecan, after all, was in the line of succession. If fate aligned just right, wasn’t it possible…?
Of course, no one would dare speak it aloud. Not with the palace guard everywhere. But the thought had taken root, and most had already made up their minds.
“You’re really something else, Brother.”
At Benedict’s comment, Lecan did not stop silently surveying the view from the mountaintop and replied without turning his head.
“What are you going on about now?”
They had climbed nearly the entire way without rest, more a sprint than a hike, yet Lecan’s breathing remained steady. Benedict’s as well. Far below, the librarian was still doubled over, clutching the rock wall, gasping like a man about to expire.
“If it were me, and I’d nearly died in a volcanic eruption, I’d never want to see another mountain again, much less set foot on one. That’s all I’m saying. And you knew your men would follow you anyway. You even had that close call during the hunting tournament last time, didn’t you?”
“I never told them to follow.”
“But you knew they would.”
“…Look there. From up here, where you can see the palace and the entire Capital all at once. Doesn’t it feel like a revelation?”
Benedict, who had been grumbling softly at Lecan’s words, followed his gaze. It truly was a beautiful view.
It was early summer.
The trees, thick with life, stretched upward in full bloom, their branches weaving into the sky. Here and there, squirrels and rabbits darted through the underbrush, small, harmless flickers of motion. Beneath that forested slope, the imperial palace shimmered in the distance, surrounded by ornate estates steeped in history and pride.
“…Like you said, it does feel kind of… cleansing. But…wait, where are you going?”
Lecan was already seated in the pavilion, his expression composed. Attendants who had been waiting discreetly stepped into motion, setting a teacup before him and pouring without needing instruction. One attempted to place a light dessert tray, but Lecan shook his head, and they withdrew with practiced silence.
As expected, today’s gathering would no doubt involve yet another round of impassioned speeches about revolution and a new era. Most of his subordinates hadn’t planned to engage — but one by one, they followed him in, taking their seats without question. The pavilion’s shade brought a swift, cool relief.
The librarian arrived last, collapsing into the seat beside Lecan and gulping down the cold water with desperate gratitude. Benedict, meanwhile, slid into the seat on Lecan’s right, accepting the tea poured by the maidservant without a word.
The rest of those seated at the table were all from Lecan’s so-called “neutral faction” — seven of his subordinates who carried the most weight when they spoke.
