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Chapter 25.
Will You Take My Hand?
2023.08.25.
Peter’s voice didn’t feel sharp merely because of perception.
A chilling current was indeed flowing from him. And it was rapidly corroding everything around him. The only things left intact were those in direct contact with Peter himself.
The furious emperor’s magic began to blanket the surroundings like the shadow of death.
The only other time he had ever revealed his magic so openly before others—was the day he killed his own father and ascended the throne.
Slaughtering his father’s closest confidants and those who had aided in the downfall of the House of Hessen, he earned the title of tyrant.
Everyone who had been present that day—and had been fortunate enough to keep their heads—remembered it well.
The gruesome scene where a man who had been alive just moments before suddenly had his throat ripped out and rolled across the floor at nothing more than the emperor’s word.
Terrified nobles shrank away from the emperor like a receding tide. One, braver than most, dared to speak.
“Y-Your Majesty! Please, calm yourself—aghhh!”
“I told you to shut up.”
The one who had spoken looked down and saw the raw severed edge of his own wrist. If he dared open his mouth again, he might well see the severed edge of his own neck next.
In an instant, the once-peaceful banquet hall reeked of blood. And through it strode the emperor.
“Did I appear so very patient? To dare commit such insolence before me… it seems I’ve shown far too much leniency.”
“Y-Your Majesty, I didn’t mean… I-I… sob…”
The one standing closest to Peter now was Monique. While others fled in panic, she was frozen like stone, paralyzed with terror. If she could have moved, she would have backed away like the rest, but no matter how she willed it, her legs refused to obey. Her knees trembled so violently it felt like they were locked in place.
At last, her body gave way—not to flight, but to collapse. Her legs simply buckled beneath her, dropping her wretchedly to the floor. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed uncontrollably.
The tip of the emperor’s boot nudged her chin.
“Dowager Empress. I distinctly recall telling you that day…”
With the press of his boot, her tear-streaked face was forced upward to meet the emperor’s eyes—eyes that blazed with a cold, ruthless fury.
“If you wish to live pretending to be my mother, then know your place.”
“Sob… hic… sob…”
“Was my warning insufficient? Or was the death you witnessed that day not warning enough?”
Her whole body shook as an old memory resurfaced.
The day the emperor took the throne. Monique had been certain she would share the same fate as her husband. But she had not wanted to die.
Her husband had long been obsessed with his true consort, leaving her utterly neglected in the palace for over ten years. And now, was she to die for that?
She had neither shame nor honor left.
As those loyal to the late emperor were slaughtered one by one, when her turn came, Monique had begged the young man—her son’s age—for mercy. She had sobbed, groveling on the floor like a dog.
Thus she survived. The face Peter wore that day returned vividly to her mind.
Those inhuman, inorganic eyes that did not even see her as a person. Those icy blue pupils, that chilling face that would not flinch even after shattering her skull.
How could such a being be human? He wore the same flesh as men, but he was no man. In that moment, Monique had felt genuine gratitude toward the late emperor for never laying a hand on her. If she had borne Von der Leyen’s child, it would have had that same face. And she knew she could never have loved such a child.
Von der Leyen’s bloodline was like that. A lineage only ever revered with awe, never loved. They killed the inhuman and pretended to be men, but at their core, they could never be human.
In the end, when Peter told her that he would at least spare her life, Monique fainted on the spot.
But three years had dulled that terror, and she had forgotten.
She should never have.
“I thought I left you with just enough to live on. Yet seeing you still capable of scheming like this, I must have been too generous. The funding for the Dowager Empress’s palace will be halved.”
“Y-Your Majesty! Please, anything but that!”
Even now, the allowance had been meager. She barely managed to patch up old gowns rather than buy new ones. To cut it further… impossible!
Her desperate wails changed nothing.
“Take her away. If she has objections, let her pay for them with that tongue.”
“……!”
The deadly warning sealed her lips. Armored guards hurried to drag her away.
Even in that brief moment, the hem of her dress was already rotting, and rust spread across the soldiers’ armor.
The emperor’s magic still gnawed at the surroundings, expanding further and further.
And those who witnessed it all thought the same thing.
If His Majesty cannot even control his magic to this extent…
…does this mean his condition has worsened?
Even if it was merely uncontrolled fury, it was enough to instill dread. Many here had only heard of the massacre three years ago. Few had ever truly seen his power.
And now terror mingled with awe in their eyes. If they could, they would erase the memory of this day entirely. For what else was a creature wearing human skin yet so far removed from humanity but a monster? Better to forget than to remember such a nightmare.
Yet the emperor’s figure was seared into their minds, and unconsciously, disgust crept into their expressions. They themselves did not even notice it. But one among them saw it clearly.
Peter.
He saw their eyes filled with loathing and rejection, recoiling from what was not human. And silently, he spoke.
“The banquet is over. Leave.”
With that, Peter walked the way he had come and disappeared deeper into the palace.
Even he could feel it.
His magic had long since slipped beyond his control. And he knew exactly what that meant.
That he was losing his mind.
But there was one thing Peter had not realized.
That man was right.
As Karim Groteor left the ruined banquet hall, he recalled the words of a man he had once met.
[Whatever Monique Montmorency schemes, she will fail. I advise you not to board the same ship as her.]
A man with a gentleman’s manner and a soft smile, yet one who always felt somehow dangerous—like a serpent. Considering his background, such an impression was hardly surprising.
That man was René Martinec, steward of Opérta.
“We happened to find a relic belonging to Lowell Hessen. My younger brother is in the palace, so I sent it there… but it seems to have been misplaced. Well, they do say there are more stray cats in the palace than anywhere else in the capital. Ha ha.”
“…What exactly are you trying to say?”
“No need to be so wary. Can’t you tell I’m giving you advice? I’m here to help you, Karim Groteor.”
His words flowed velvety smooth, refined and seductive. A naive man might have been swayed at once. But Karim was not so easily fooled.
“Someone like you wouldn’t help me without reason.”
“Ah, of course I have my own purposes.”
“Then—”
“But I don’t think you need to know what they are.”
In that instant, the man’s atmosphere grew heavy—oppressive. Though René’s face still wore a smile, Karim suddenly felt as though he were not smiling at all. No, he was looking straight at him, openly radiating contempt.
“When I extend my hand like charity, all you need to do is take it. What purpose lies behind this hand, what awaits at its end… that isn’t your concern. Does it matter? Refuse it, and you’ll sink immediately.”
“What the hell are you—ugh!”
Karim tried to spring up in anger, but hands seized him from behind and forced him back into his seat.
René’s attendant, who had stood motionless at his back the entire time. Karim had seen him there moments ago—when had he moved behind him?
A blade at his throat would have been less terrifying. The man’s grip was so crushingly strong, resisting him felt like trying to shatter stone with bare hands.
Struggling for breath like a dog on a leash, Karim saw René extend a gloved hand toward him.
René’s eyes gleamed with false sympathy.
“You look exhausted. Will you take my hand?”
“Damn you…!”
“My, my. I always try to be kind to everyone, but people are always so cold to me. Isn’t that right, Ruben?”
“You speak the truth, sir.”
“Ha ha.”
From behind Karim came the crisp reply of the attendant. René’s lips curved into a razor-sharp smile.
Once more, his hand reached forward—not empty this time, but holding a small vial.
“Karim Groteor. There won’t be a second chance.”
Will you take my hand?
