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Chapter 04
The sentry guarding the main gate of the Governor-General’s Office hurried over, running out to look Hemmel up and down as he stood there blankly.
“What are you?”
The soldier stepped closer and prodded Hemmel’s chest with the muzzle of his rifle.
The soldier’s sharp gaze raked over the unfamiliar face, but Hemmel, as though a mere sentry were beneath his notice, simply stared calmly at the gun barrel aimed at him.
He had briefly considered returning to the imperial palace. His entire life had been spent there, living for the sake of becoming the master of the continent.
Your younger brother inherited the throne. Strictly speaking, he’s still a regent, but he holds imperial authority in his hands. So don’t even think about returning to the Empire. Unless you want to throw away the new life you barely gained.
But if power truly had passed to his brother, Andrew Batyrenium, then just as the witch said, becoming governor and exacting revenge was the best option for Hemmel, who had been cast fifteen years into a twisted future.
Become the governor of Rosethea, Your Highness.
That dawn, the witch had told him to become Rosethea’s governor.
Governor?
You’ll need to hold enough power to kill that princess the moment you find her, no questions asked. A governor’s authority should be about right, don’t you think?
Hemmel agreed with that part. But a colonial governor could only be appointed by the Emperor. How was he supposed to attain such a position?
There was a new governor on his way to Rosethea…
The witch’s answer was simple.
There was?
He’s dead.
Dead?
It was utterly incomprehensible by Hemmel’s common sense.
Even so, there was no way the highest authority of the Rosethea Governor-General’s Office would have traveled without guards. Assassination attempts by resentful locals were not unheard of, but breaking through a platoon-sized escort and killing someone at that level was absurd.
…Well, things like that happen. There’s a liberation movement going on. From their perspective, it was terrorism.
Hemmel easily guessed that “their perspective” meant the Empire.
Anyway, the real one is dead. What matters is that no matter who takes the position, the Governor-General’s Office can’t verify their authenticity.
They can’t verify it?
The one who appoints a governor is the Emperor, not the office staff. The only proof is the letter of appointment from the Emperor. And in times when terrorist attacks happen all the time, what’s to stop someone from “losing” that document?
With those words, the witch vanished like smoke, leaving no trace, just as she had appeared. Hemmel stared at the empty space for a long while before frowning. Only then did he truly feel the weight of the fifteen years that had been stolen from him.
Had the Empire’s security really grown so lax in just fifteen years that even a governor could be replaced without anyone noticing?
When he had lived in the imperial palace as First Prince and designated Crown Prince, governing the state, such a thing would have been unthinkable.
Lost in thought, Hemmel naturally passed through the main gate leading to the Governor-General’s Office. His attention snapped back to reality only when a sentry jammed a rifle muzzle against his head.
“You bastard.”
The soldier on guard swaggered arrogantly.
“I told you to stop. You got a death wish or something?”
The rough hand tapping his head with the gun barrel was anything but gentle.
“Where’d you pick up that old-style uniform? Damn it. We’ll get chewed out again for not collecting them properly.”
Grumbling, the soldier then poked at the insignia on Hemmel’s chest.
“And where’d you get this?”
Following the witch’s advice and deciding to become governor, Hemmel had first stripped off his blood-soaked uniform. The marks where arrows had pierced his well-defined muscles were completely gone. From his pristine white commander’s uniform, he removed all the brilliant insignia.
If he were to command a colony as governor—especially Rosethea—he would at least hold the rank of lieutenant colonel or colonel. He selected only the usable insignia and affixed them to the dark blue uniform his aide had left behind as he lay dying.
“What are you, a half-blood? Or a kingdom native? You look like some kept pretty boy—your face alone is irritating. Either way, if you don’t want to die, strip and get lost.”
“Well now. I was thinking you might be the one eager to die.”
Hemmel’s lips curved upward, but his blue eyes were cold.
His appearance, faintly carrying the distinct aura of Rosethea’s people, was the reason he had lived behind a mask as First Prince of the Trahaput Empire. It was also a remnant of his mother—and something he wanted to discard, as it resembled the very source of his hatred.
The soldier flinched at the sudden shift in Hemmel’s presence, but Hemmel easily returned to himself, stepping out of his thoughts. Or perhaps he had grown sharper.
The soldier, staring at the black-haired man approaching step by step despite the gun still pressed to his head, let out a hollow laugh and opened his mouth.
“W-what the— Aagh!”
He had meant to speak. What came out instead was a scream.
It was the day the newly appointed governor was due to arrive—a day when everyone moved busily to welcome him.
Werner was no exception. He was fully occupied with preparations for the new governor’s arrival.
“Aaaagh! Aagh!”
Werner had just exited the military building, checking the security scale for the inaugural address that would be the new governor’s first official schedule. A tearing scream, followed by the blare of a loud whistle, shook the entire grounds of the Governor-General’s Office.
“Ghk!”
Walking behind Werner at a cautious distance—afraid of being beaten again for lagging—the attendant sucked in a sharp breath. As Werner frowned, the already fierce lines of his face twisted into something even more unpleasant.
“S-stop it!”
“Step back!”
An unexpected commotion. When they should have been running themselves ragged already, this chaos was the last thing they needed. Werner strode toward the center of the disturbance, where people had swarmed like angry bees.
“What’s all this first thing in the morning? Don’t you know Lieutenant Colonel Feron Edwin is arriving this afternoon?”
At Werner’s bark, the soldiers clustered in a circle backed away. Revealed was a man holding an Imperial rifle perfectly shouldered. The soldier who seemed to be the rifle’s original owner lay sprawled on the ground.
The man holding the rifle wore an old-style Imperial uniform, but his face was unfamiliar.
Werner shot a sharp glare at the soldier on the ground.
“I told you to collect all the old uniforms.”
“I-I’m sorry, Captain. I swear we collected them all. I don’t know where he got it…”
The soldier trembling on the ground rattled off excuses under Werner’s icy tone.
After the war ended and Rosethea was finally conquered, the uniform design had been changed to commemorate the victory. Though the changes were minor and both old and new styles were technically permitted, who wouldn’t want to wear the glorious new uniform? As a result, large quantities of old uniforms had been discarded haphazardly, becoming a constant nuisance.
There had been occasional attempts by people wearing old uniforms to enter the Governor-General’s Office. If a terrorist group dreaming of rebellion ever got hold of them, it would be disastrous—especially now, with attacks happening in quick succession.
“Tch. Enough excuses. Explain what happened.”
Still standing crookedly with the rifle shouldered, the man was ignored as Werner addressed the soldier shaking on the ground.
“H-he tried to enter the Governor-General’s Office. I didn’t recognize him, so I told him entry was forbidden, but he forced his way in, and… this happened.”
The soldier thrust out a visibly broken finger. Unable to bear looking at the rifle aimed directly at his head, he squeezed his eyes shut.
He had told him only once that entry was forbidden, and he couldn’t bring himself to admit that he’d drawn his gun first. Werner, easily guessing the rest, looked down at him with contempt.
“So you’re saying you were overpowered by an intruder and even had your weapon taken?”
“…Yes, sir.”
“And you’re proud of that? Calling yourself an Imperial soldier?”
Kicked by Werner’s boot, the soldier curled up, clutching his shin. Clicking his tongue, Werner approached the man.
“So who are you, that you’d boldly step into the Governor-General’s Office like this?”
At the metallic click, the man—who had been motionless with the rifle shouldered—turned his eyes to Werner.
“Earlier it was a rifle. Now it’s a revolver.”
Hemmel spoke with a dry chuckle. Werner was aiming a gun at his head.
“Is it regulation in this unit to point a gun first and ask questions later?”
Even for an Imperial prince who feared nothing, Hemmel—having lost fifteen years to injury—was not pleased to have a gun pointed at him for the second time already today.
“That’s how we deal with intruders.”
Werner replied with equal sarcasm.
“What were you thinking, picking up a uniform covered in insignia and shamelessly walking in through the front gate?”
At that, everyone’s gaze snapped to Hemmel’s uniform. Too finely crafted to be fake—yet if real…
Real?
Relaxing his grip on the rifle as if it might fire at any moment, Hemmel brushed aside the cold metal pressed to the side of his head.
“I heard there’ve been terrorist attacks, but your training is pathetic.”
His cool yet languid voice filled the snowy winter morning. The crowd, drawn by the commotion, fell into confusion.
Could an ordinary intruder comment on training standards like that? Then again—could an ordinary intruder boldly walk through the front gate?
Surely not.
As murmurs began to ripple through the crowd, Hemmel curled his lips into a smile.
“And the commander who made such useless regulations doesn’t look to be in great shape either.”
“……”
Hemmel’s icy gaze settled on the revolver Werner held awkwardly.
“By any chance, are you Lieutenant Colonel Feron Edwin, who was supposed to arrive today?”
“If you understood that much, then lower it.”
