Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: The Emperor's End
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Ian ascended to the throne at a boy's age.
And before reaching adulthood, his head was severed.
The life of Emperor Ian Berosion would be remembered in those two sentences. Who would even remember the young emperor who came like the wind in an era of upheaval and vanished like the wind?
The man who entered the underground prison grabbed Ian by the hair. His face was a mess of blood-caked grime, but his eyes burned sharp and fierce.
"Ian, Uncle."
The man's name was Crony. Due to their convoluted family tree, he was a nephew twenty years Ian's senior. As he gently shook Ian's hair, blood-mixed saliva dripped from Ian's mouth.
"How did it come to this? I told you, didn't I? That you lacked the qualities to be emperor and should refuse the throne. If you'd listened back then, this wouldn't have happened."
Ian stared silently at Crony without responding. As if displeased by the glare, Crony slapped Ian's face hard.
Crack!
"No matter how thoughtless and immature a teenager you are, you should know where to lie before stretching your legs! That damn magic! What makes it so great!"
Ian sighed inwardly.
Magic—the sublime and mighty power left by the gods in this world. And it was precisely why Ian had been able to claim the throne.
"Look, Uncle! That precious magic of yours can't even block a single kick from me!"
Thud! Thud!
It was true. Thanks to the mana sealing stone shackles binding his limbs, he was now nothing more than an ordinary nineteen-year-old human. Even if the stones were removed, with death looming, his fate was sealed.
"Out of ten thousand, one in a million, the first noble mage in history! All worthless. In the face of this blade."
Swoosh.
Crony finally drew his sword. No matter that he was a fallen emperor branded a traitor, to end his life in this underground dungeon... Ian couldn't help but let out a ridiculous laugh.
"...Ha."
"You're laughing?"
"...Yeah. It's funny. Crony. I'm the same as ever, and so are you. Still jealous that I'm a mage?"
Crony's face hardened at Ian's words.
The rarer something was, the more precious—like mages. There were barely a hundred in the entire Variel Empire.
Naturally, a mage born into nobility was unprecedented in the great empire's history.
"I remember. Back when I was a kid, a mana user, you told innocent me: 'Mages are rare, but most come from commoner stock. If it's discovered, you'll be thrown out of the estate, so hide it.'"
"...Ian. Why bring up ancient history?"
"Isn't it ridiculous? Of course most mages are commoners—there are far more commoners than nobles."
"Shut your mouth!"
"Why? Embarrassed?"
"I said shut it!"
Thud!
Ian's vision went dark. Crony's fist had struck his eye squarely. His skull, sprawled on the floor, was ground underfoot.
"Who cares? I'm standing here, and you're kissing the dirt. That's what matters."
Crony aimed his blade at Ian's nape. Just as he moved to end it without hesitation, footsteps echoed from outside.
"Lord Crony. A letter from Duke Hiron has arrived."
"...Is it urgent?"
"Yes. My apologies."
Crony clicked his tongue, kicked Ian's head off his foot, and glanced at the motionless form before exiting the dungeon.
How much time passed?
Clink. Clank.
"Lord Ian..."
An unfamiliar metallic sound and a familiar voice. Ian barely regained consciousness and opened his eyes. He lacked the strength to turn his head. Shifting only his gaze, he saw Naum, the Magic Department Minister, fumbling tearfully with the shackles.
"Lord Ian. Please, just come to your senses."
"Naum... what are you doing here..."
"This isn't the time. Hurry and get your body out of here—you have to live. Lord Ian, please, just muster some strength..."
But the sealing stone shackles wouldn't budge easily. Moonlight filtered through a small window, illuminating Naum's hands—fingers raw and bloodied from rust.
"...Stop."
"Lord Ian?"
"...I want to give up."
"W-what are you saying?"
Ian smiled faintly and closed his eyes again. Memories flooded back of his first time entering the Magic Department.
"Thank you. Becoming a mage from a mana user, ascending to the throne—it was all thanks to you all. Even if my shortcomings led to this, you must survive and protect the Variel Empire."
"No. You can't. Without you, Lord Ian, the Magic Department has no meaning. So please, snap out of it and take my mana. If you die, it's all over..."
If he died, it would all be over. That was exactly what Ian desperately wanted. It had been too hard, too exhausting, too grueling. The past three years as emperor had destroyed everything about him.
"Lord Ian. Listen to me carefully."
But Naum didn't give up.
He gently gripped Ian's chin, forcing their eyes to meet.
"There's an annex directly under the Magic Department next to the central annex of the Second Imperial Palace. You know the place—the one you always went to when you first entered the palace and wanted to cry."
"...I only cried once."
"Right. Anyway."
Why had he cried?
Ian furrowed his brow, sifting through hazy memories like fog. Then Naum glanced toward the dungeon entrance, sensing something. Clearly, Crony was returning after finishing his business.
"...Disperse the barrier and hide quickly."
"I can't do that. Lord Ian, go that way. You'll find a breakthrough."
"What do you mean?"
Naum answered Ian's question with silence. Ian noticed his face darkening not from the dungeon's gloom, but from worry. Clutching Naum's sleeve with fading awareness, Ian pressed.
"Naum. I asked you."
"I mixed my blood into the spell."
"...Naum!"
"I sent word that if an answer came, it would open a path there. I don't know why that place specifically. Partly due to my lack of skill, too. Anyway, you must hurry."
Magic's power defied the laws of nature by its very existence. The slightest imbalance could plunge it into the abyss. The Papal Court called it hell; mages knew it as the eternal curse.
"You twisted space-time?"
"I had no choice. So, Lord Ian..."
"Why? Why!"
Creak.
"I knew you'd pull something like this. Even if I weed out the Magic Department rats, if the minister himself acts up, it's pointless."
It was Crony. Behind him stood the man slated to succeed Naum as Magic Department Minister. Naum gritted his teeth and chanted the magic circle. Ripples emanated from his fingertips, but the dizzying runes faltered, no longer shining as before. The sealing stone's power clamping Ian's wrists was too strong.
"Naum! Please! No!"
"Lord Ian. It's fine. Opportunities always, always come. The gods don't pose unsolvable problems."
Whoooong!
Naum's magic circle began to blaze red. But strangely, the flames didn't target Crony—they consumed Naum's hand instead.
"Arghhh!"
"...No! Naum, wait! Stop!"
Ian, collapsed on the ground, lifted his head and screamed.
He had no regrets about his own life, but he couldn't bear seeing precious people die because of him.
Only after becoming emperor did he realize: the crown's weight was the faith of those who followed him. And it was they, not he, who bore it.
Fwoosh!
"Urk!"
Crony blocked the surging flames with his left hand. Without the mage's shield behind him, his face would've been scorched.
'Ah. Damn it.'
Ian, meanwhile, felt his mind drifting amid the searing heat. As everything turned to blinding light and even pain faded, he suddenly heard a metallic ring in his ears.
Clang.
Crony's sword touched Ian's nape. The end of a three-year emperor—serving Variel to his utmost, yet devoured by the faithful and meeting the blade.
"Ian. Don't be born in your next life."
With Crony's cruel words, everything vanished. So this was death—surroundings so quiet. And soon, what appeared was...
'A fork and knife?'
Held backward in his own hand.
* * *
Ian slowly raised his head.
His body felt like a thousand pounds, but compared to the agonies of the past few days, it was feather-light.
"Ian."
An unfamiliar woman across from him gazed down.
Vast gardens, manicured flowerbeds, lavish foods before him. Coming to his senses, he realized everyone seated around was watching him.
"Ah."
Not hell, it seemed. Heaven, then?
But the scenery wasn't much different from where he'd lived. Compared to the imperial palace, it even seemed a bit shabby...
"What's wrong with him? Ian, it's rude to the guests."
"Guess that uncouth streak shows up anytime."
"Chel. Mind your words."
"Ian. Snap out of it."
The chubby boy beside the woman spat rough words, but Ian paid no mind. The food aromas teasing his stomach had his attention. He couldn't recall his last meal, even locked in that dungeon.
'...Whatever this is. Driving me mad.'
An instinctive reaction he couldn't suppress. Ian elegantly gripped the utensils properly, assumed perfect dining posture, and sliced into the steak—with more grace and speed than anyone.
"Mm."
No one would guess he'd just clutched the fork like a fist. His movements were refined, formal. Even the admiring murmur was brief, low, and free of vulgarity.
The Border Count and his stepmother the Countess across from him, along with his half-brother, watched in stunned silence.
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