IRMP 13

Though Emperor Perdic claimed he was showing final courtesy to the late emperor and empress by handing his former ducal title to Rishid, everyone knew the truth.

Rishid — branded a false prince — had since been abandoned. Deprived of proper tutelage, he grew into a duke who excelled only at the sword.

Even now, he’s tormented by Emperor Perdic endless orders to slay monsters.

Could there be a more tragic tale?

The strained relationship between the Emperor and the fallen prince was an open secret throughout the Empire.
Thus, Perdic was the perfect candidate for a false villain — someone I could safely push the blame onto, even without concrete evidence.

Only one problem remained…

“Why stop halfway through, Lady?”

I swallowed hard.

Above Rishid’s questioning tone, I could still recall those piercing crimson eyes fixed on me.

“I hate lies more than anything.”

Yes. That was what he’d said.
Rishid hated lies—second only to tears.

But I…

I was already deceiving him, having kidnapped him in a desperate bid to escape my own death.
And I had no intention whatsoever of confessing with a cheerful:

“Ta-da! It was me all along!”

If I did, I’d lose my head on the spot.

I drew a slow breath and clenched my trembling hands.

…It’s fine.

My conscience screamed, but it was far too late for regret.
This was about my one and only life. Guilt had no place here.

Still… making the Emperor my target is risky.

If anything went wrong, I might die not by Rishid’s sword, but by the Emperor’s hand.
And Rishid himself could be dragged into danger as well.

So… I’ll have to approach this carefully.

I mentally added “the Emperor” to my growing list of potential fake villains and chose my words with care.

“Indeed… the circumstances fit together almost too neatly, as if someone planned it.”

“So that’s your thought, Lady?”

“Yes. But, Your Grace… perhaps it’s best to wait until the welcoming ceremony is over before taking any action.”

Rishid leaned forward slightly, puzzled.

“And why is that?”

“Because, if anything, His Majesty stands to lose from this—certainly not to gain.”

Today’s welcoming banquet was meant to celebrate the Emperor’s loyal nephew, Duke Rishid of Epentherion.
A show of imperial favor and obedience for all nobles to witness.

If one thought about it rationally, there was no benefit for the Emperor to have cursed me.

I waited nervously, gauging Rishid’s expression.
But his silence stretched long.

Did I overstep?

The longer it lasted, the more uneasy I grew. My palms were damp, but I fought to stay composed.

At last, his low voice broke the tension.

“You… may have a point, Lady.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It seems I’ve been too hasty.”

Strangely, there was a trace of self-mockery in his tone.

“Perhaps… I should’ve told Kassel about this first.”

Kassel?

That name—I recognized it.

Rishid’s adjutant?

Just then, the orchestra in the grand hall abruptly stopped.

The murmur of conversation faded as the herald by the door cried out:

“Sir Kassel Elbiens, representative of His Grace, Duke of Epentherion, now entering!”

Through the opened doors strode a man with ash-gray hair, gold-embroidered epaulettes gleaming on his formal uniform.

The nobles immediately bowed low.
I hurried from behind the pillar, caught my gown’s hem, and executed the curtsey I’d practiced for days.

Even if he was only the duke’s representative, etiquette required that one treat him with the same deference as the duke himself.

So that’s him…

I raised my gaze slightly to study the man ascending the platform.

Kassel Elbiens.

A supporting character I’d seen countless times in the original story—one I’d always liked for his wry humor and chemistry with Rishid.

First Seria, now Kassel… I can’t believe I’m seeing them in person.

My heart thudded.
The feeling was unmistakable.

Am I really crossing the point of no return?

Kassel Elbiens trudged across the glittering ballroom, climbing the steps to the dais.

Unbelievable. The ceremony’s started, and I still haven’t found His Grace.

Ever since his lord had vanished—leaving only a note that read, “Urgent business. Tell no one I’m gone.”—Kassel had scoured every corner of the palace.

No one had seen the Duke since.

How does a man vanish from a moving carriage?

He hadn’t leapt out mid-ride, nor used a teleport scroll.
Something was off.

But Kassel dared not voice suspicion—or even worry.

Technically speaking, this wasn’t a disappearance so much as a self-imposed exile.

Still, one thought tormented him:

“Your Grace, you’re awful… You know how much I hate crowds, and yet you leave me to handle this circus?!”

The poor man’s heart quivered. He was, by nature, a hopeless introvert.

If—no, when—his lord returned, Kassel swore he’d throw his resignation at that annoyingly handsome face and weep all the way home.

As he sniffled to himself, his gaze caught a group of nobles whispering at the far end of the hall.

The Westerners…

The smug faces of the Western lords, gathered around the Marquis of Langard, made his blood boil.

The Duke’s knights had risked their lives to subdue the monsters plaguing the western lands—by imperial order, no less.
And yet not one of those lords had offered help.

No supplies. No donations. Not even words of thanks.

They had simply fled to the capital, afraid Epentherion might fail.

Kassel ground his teeth.

While His Grace and the knights bled and starved, these bastards lounged in silk and wine.

He glared daggers at them, righteous fury drowning his earlier shyness—
when the herald’s booming voice rang out again from the staircase.

“His Majesty, the Radiant Sun of the Retinoa Empire, enters!”

The hall fell into reverent silence.
Every noble bowed deeply. Kassel too dropped to one knee.

Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed down the stairs as Emperor Perdik descended to the throne.

“Raise your heads.”

The assembly straightened.

“Tonight, I have gathered you to honor Duke Rishid of Epentherion, who has returned victorious from the western monster campaign.”

The Emperor’s solemn tone filled the air.

“However, the Duke himself sent word this morning that he would not attend—without offering any reason.”

A murmur rippled through the hall.
But the Emperor only smiled gently and rose from his seat.

“High Priest.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Clad in ceremonial vestments, Erkael stepped forward, offering the Emperor the sacred sword.

Perdik approached Kassel.

“Welcome home safely, Sir Elbiens. May divine grace also fall upon my beloved nephew, Rishid.”

He lifted the sword, tracing a slow, shining cross over Kassel’s shoulders.

The nobles looked on, touched by the Emperor’s benevolence.

Even without clear proof of blood, the Emperor had bestowed a ducal title upon a mere adopted nephew and now even forgave his absence.

To them, it was an image of kindness—of a ruler’s mercy toward an ungrateful relative.

“Now, raise your glasses.”

The Emperor took a crystal flute of champagne.

“Sir Elbiens has brought a message on behalf of tonight’s guest of honor, the Duke of Epentherion. Let us hear it.”

“Y–Your Majesty?”

Kassel blinked, frozen.

This hadn’t been in the script.

He looked around, panic rising as the eyes of the entire court turned toward him.