🔊 TTS Settings
CHAPTER 2:
Heaven Above Heaven
The emperor was assassinated by a woman in his own bedchamber.
As news spread, the imperial palace was thrown into chaos.
It was already shocking enough that the emperor had died—but even more appalling was the fact that his assassin was none other than the infamous Celia Brillion.
Celia Brillion.
There was no one in the Empire of Abelon who didn’t know her name.
She was the woman who had turned a struggling viscount household into one overflowing with wealth.
Everyone praised her in unison, calling her a woman crafted from all the beauty in the world.
There was even a famous tale about a devout priest—renowned for his vow of celibacy—who fell for her beauty, cast off his robes, and fervently proposed to her.
With hair like strands of silver galaxies, skin more radiant than fresh snow, eyes wide and gentle like a deer’s, and a warm, kind temperament, she had been the first love of countless men.
The ministers in the imperial court were well aware that the emperor had long set his sights on Celia.
It was strange that a lustful ruler like him had restrained himself from touching someone like her, who could even seduce men with no interest in women.
But the Brillion household had adamantly refused to send her to the emperor. Though she wasn’t of their blood, they claimed they cherished their adopted daughter too dearly to offer her up so easily.
The emperor had ground his teeth in frustration, but couldn’t speak up. Celia’s fame was far too great. She had too many admirers—more than the grains of sand in the desert.
If rumors spread that he had taken her by force, his already shaky authority would be reduced to nothing.
Then, quite suddenly, the Brillion family—who had previously refused to yield—sent word they could no longer defy the imperial decree and would finally send Celia to him. This happened not long ago.
The emperor had rejoiced, rewarding the viscount family with enough riches to live in luxury for generations.
He had no idea he would die at the hands of the woman he had longed for.
The deceased emperor, Sekruth Basileus, couldn’t be called a good ruler by any stretch of the imagination.
He was the very embodiment of incompetence—uninterested in duty, infertile, and obsessed with women. Naturally, his support base was as weak as a handful of dust.
The real problem was that someone so unfit had become emperor in the first place. But no one dared question it.
Because it was the Three Grand Dukes, hailed as Heaven Above Heaven, who had put him on the throne.
A small frontier kingdom like Abelon had only grown into a great empire thanks to the existence of these three powerful ducal houses.
The House of Cervantes, which governed the northern and western territories;
The House of Portman, which ruled the eastern territories;
And the House of Grederic, which oversaw the vast and temperate southern lands.
These three families were the brain, the sword, and the true emperors of Abelon.
More than the emperor’s death itself, the ministers worried about how the three dukes—who had backed him—would respond. They would surely have heard the news by now.
However, not all saw the emperor’s death as a tragedy. Some viewed it as an opportunity.
With varied thoughts and motives, the imperial ministers convened for an emergency council.
An oppressive silence blanketed the room. Seated around a long table, the eldest official finally spoke.
“Now that His Majesty has passed… what should we do?”
Despite his sorrowful tone, not a shred of genuine grief was visible on the man’s face.
His eyes gleamed with the sharp cunning of an opportunist.
“And what was Sir Dietrich doing while all this happened? He was supposed to be His Majesty’s closest aide! How is it that the emperor’s death was only discovered afterward?”
The elder minister raised his voice in well-practiced outrage. His sorrowful eye wrinkles and trembling white beard made it look like he was genuinely furious.
The other ministers, caught off guard, exchanged glances without a word.
But they weren’t surprised by the elder’s anger—they were shocked by what he said.
Sir Dietrich?
It was an extremely disrespectful term. If they truly respected him, they would have addressed him as Duke Calypso.
But they dared to speak that way only because Dietrich Calypso was not present.
A month ago, Dietrich had become a duke—the only one aside from the Three Grand Dukes.
Yet no one dared defend him, largely due to his lowly origins.
Years ago, Dietrich had nearly been sold to a slave trader. The emperor, on a whim, had taken him in.
Everyone thought him slow-witted and predicted he wouldn’t last a year in the palace.
But Dietrich had shattered those expectations. Crushing anyone who tried to undermine him, he clawed his way up from the bottom.
Gifted in swordsmanship, he became the only living Swordmaster in the empire aside from Balt Portman, head of the House of Portman.
The emperor had begged the Three Grand Dukes to bestow a ducal title upon Dietrich, and so a man once destined to be a slave had risen to nobility.
The ministers both feared and resented Dietrich, known for his volatile temper.
They already disliked the emperor for giving the lowborn man the position of commander of the imperial knights, and now he had gone and handed him a duchy before dying.
“Don’t you find it odd? Just after Sir Dietrich became a duke, His Majesty died. Can anyone here say with certainty that Dietrich wasn’t involved?”
Silence.
Some ministers nodded in agreement. Manipulating public opinion was the elder’s specialty.
Though he hadn’t directly accused Dietrich, the implication was obvious—and Dietrich would find it hard to escape this situation.
Dietrich had been so loyal to the emperor that he was called the emperor’s mad dog, but now the elder minister, Marquis Taylore, intended to subtly lay the blame at his feet.
No one in that chamber liked Dietrich. To them, giving a former slave a dukedom was simply outrageous.
He had taken a prize none of them thought he deserved. Now, they were prepared to rip him apart.
Marquis Taylore smirked.
He had taken the lead and, sure enough, everyone else began to follow.
“I agree with Marquis Taylore. Isn’t it suspicious? The emperor’s closest knight becomes a duke, and soon after, such a disgraceful incident occurs.”
Count Nathan, a known ally of Taylore, added his voice.
“Dietrich was the head of the imperial knights and the emperor’s most trusted aide. He knew His Majesty better than anyone. We can’t rule out the possibility that he was involved.”
He boldly said what others had only been thinking. No one objected—only nodded in agreement.
“Of course, a thorough investigation will be needed.”
They hadn’t officially declared him the culprit, but they had opened the door for that conclusion.
Had one of Dietrich’s loyal subordinates witnessed this scene, blood might have been spilled right then.
But the ministers remained cold. They had confidence.
Suddenly, the black curtain over the window—supposedly closed—flapped violently.
The ministers froze. Had someone overheard them?
One minister leapt up and yanked the curtain open—but no one was there.
“It seems… the window was open after all.”
The meeting room was on the fifth floor. Who in their right mind would jump from such a height?
Assuming they were being paranoid, the ministers resumed their discussion—unaware that Dietrich’s adjutant had been listening and had already left.
“Speaking of which… what happened to the woman who killed His Majesty?”
“D-Duke! You summoned me?”
The royal physician’s heart pounded as he was summoned by the fearsome commander of the imperial knights.
Dietrich glanced at him and began walking. The physician hurried after him, careful not to make any sound. The man’s legs were so long that just keeping up made sweat pour down his back.
Eventually, they arrived at the underground prison, where only the most heinous criminals were kept.
“Go in.”
The physician wondered what he’d done wrong. No memory came to mind.
“Move.”
The duke’s tone left no room for questions. Swallowing hard, the physician stepped into the prison.
“Ugh!”
The stench hit him instantly, making him gag. The dark corridor was lined with cages barely big enough for a person to lie down. Inside, prisoners slumped in despair, awaiting death.
“Keep going.”
Obeying Dietrich’s command, the physician pushed on, using the wall torches as a guide.
When they reached the deepest part of the prison, something strange happened—there was no stench at all.
Inside the last cell lay a breathtakingly beautiful woman.
The physician’s eyes widened.
He had never seen her before, but he recognized her instantly.
“Examine her.”
Dietrich opened the cell with a key and pushed the physician inside.
That’s her… Celia Brillion.
The most famous beauty in all of Abelon.
There were even jokes that the wealth of men who had fallen in love with her could feed the capital’s citizens for a lifetime.
Seeing her in person, the physician instantly understood the sentiment.
Silvery hair that shimmered like mist. Skin so pale and clear, it seemed translucent. Lips red as a crescent moon.
Celia was unconscious. The physician, unable to stop himself, stared openly at her collarbone and legs through her thin dress.
“What are you doing? Examine her.”
Dietrich’s cold voice brought the man back to his senses.
“Y-Yes, Your Grace!”
Flustered, the physician moved to examine her. Gently, he lifted her sleeve and checked her pulse.
Then his face turned deathly pale.
“Y-Your Grace…!”
