Chapter 189: The Final Resort
The crown prince’s faction crumbled swiftly, like reeds swept away in a storm. The emperor, armed with the truth, unraveled Frederick’s carefully concealed secrets with terrifying calm, each hour piling on new charges. Whether they had once been crown prince or high-ranking nobles, the rebels were all thrown into the underground dungeon. The harsh, unfamiliar conditions drew groans from every corner.
In the dark, cramped cells, the sound of weeping echoed daily.
“Sob, it’s over. Treason means my family and I will all lose our heads…”
“Oh, Mother, I should’ve listened when you warned me against greed. I’m so sorry.”
“Even exile to the north would be fine—just beg His Majesty to spare my life! Someone, please, deliver my plea!”
As the others foresaw death and shed tears of regret, Frederick alone sat motionless against the wall, on the damp dirt floor. In the pitch-black dungeon, untouched by even a sliver of moonlight, his ruby-red eyes gleamed vividly.
Unlike the dazed state in which he’d been arrested, the moment he was locked in the cell, his mind snapped into focus. Not yet… it’s not over. He repeated the mantra silently, and it wasn’t empty bravado. Frederick truly had one final resort left.
He waited patiently for it to arrive. The wails of the noble in the next cell, their curses aimed at him, or the frenzied prayers of a broken mind didn’t sway him. Two days after his imprisonment, the person he’d been waiting for finally came.
Creak.
In the stillness of dawn, someone cautiously opened the dungeon door. Holding a lamp, the figure who stepped forward was none other than Joseph Miller.
“Your Highness, it’s me. Joseph Miller,” he whispered, reaching the bars of Frederick’s cell.
“I’ve brought Her Majesty the Empress.”
Frederick’s half-closed eyes shot open, blazing with an eerie intensity. “Mother, you came?”
“Oh, my poor boy, look at you,” the empress said, her voice trembling with tears as she removed the hood of her robe. She had slipped in secretly with Joseph, and her hand tenderly brushed her son’s gaunt cheek.
But Frederick had no time for his mother’s tears. “You’ve made all the preparations, haven’t you?”
“Of course! How could I come empty-handed when your life is at stake?” she replied.
“Thank you. I knew I could count on you.” A radiant smile spread across Frederick’s face. The empress signaled Joseph to free her son.
Clank.
Joseph unlocked the cell with a stolen key and handed Frederick a black robe. The trio slipped out of the dungeon quietly. Their hurried footsteps, cloaked by the night’s veil, carried them swiftly. By dawn, they reached the outskirts of the capital, where knights in uniforms emblazoned with the Owl Corps’ emblem stood in tight formation.
“Ha, my legion is assembled!” Frederick murmured, his voice brimming with elation. Before entering the court meeting, he had instructed his mother to summon the Owl Corps if he were captured. His final resort was to stage a true rebellion.
When news of her son’s arrest reached her, the empress had acted swiftly, tasking Joseph Miller with gathering the Owl Corps and bribing guards to leave the capital’s northern gate unguarded. Neither she nor Joseph had yet been implicated in the treason, making the plan feasible—but they knew discovery was inevitable, so they moved with urgency.
“We are ready to follow Your Highness and change history,” Joseph declared, kneeling solemnly.
Frederick let out a hearty laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “Such loyalty and spirit—worthy of the next commander of the Royal Knights.”
“I am honored, Your Highness!” Joseph replied.
“Then, shall we claim the crown?” Frederick swung onto his horse. This was the moment he’d been collecting soldiers and weapons for. Though fear had once gripped him, now that the time had come, he felt exhilarated, almost buoyant. His grip tightened on the reins. He would storm through the northern gate, seize the palace, and reshape the imperial line.
It’s a pity the Lester Dukedom’s forces aren’t here… But they were likely in ruins, so he cast them aside without regret. His ruthlessness in abandoning his co-conspirators had bought him this chance. Trying to save them all would have risked exposure.
“Your Highness, your sword,” Joseph said, offering it.
“Thank you.” Frederick strapped the blade to his waist and took the lead, guiding the Owl Corps. Joseph rode at his side, a steadfast right hand. The empress, of little use in combat, would return to the palace to pressure it from within once the rebels attacked.
Before the sun fully rose, Frederick set out for the palace, the Owl Corps following silently, moving with stealth and precision. I’ll prove it myself—that I am the rightful heir to the throne! Gritting his teeth, he urged his horse faster. The emerging sun cast a sacred glow over his shoulders.
In the early morning light, the northern gate loomed ahead, empty of guards.
Frederick flashed a triumphant smile and issued his command. “Prepare for battle!”
“Yes, Your Highness!” The Owl Corps drew their swords, ready to charge through the gate and ignite a war for the throne.
Clatter, thud.
Suddenly, the northern gate swung open.
“…?!”
Frederick yanked the reins, startled, and his forces scrambled to a halt. A warm spring breeze swept through, stirring clouds of dust that obscured the view. Beyond the haze, menacing black silhouettes emerged.
Frederick’s expression hardened. As the dust settled, the figures became clear: Prince Lucas at the center, Damian Vandemir to his right, and Sir Ben Diark, commander of the Royal Knights, to his left. Behind them stood the Royal Knights and the Red Hawk Knights, their numbers dwarfing the Owl Corps.
“I never imagined you’d actually make such a foolish choice, Your Highness, the former Crown Prince,” Ben Diark declared, his booming voice echoing through the chaos. At the sight of his superior, Joseph Miller’s face drained of color.
“You… how did you…?” Frederick stammered, his voice trembling.
“Tch, Frederick. Did you think I wouldn’t see through your pathetic schemes?” Lucas clicked his tongue, his tone dripping with pity. Frederick’s final, desperate move was all too predictable. It was obvious that his last lifeline would be his mother, the empress, so Lucas had kept a close watch on her from the start. When she began acting suspiciously, he sensed a rebellion brewing and prepared accordingly.
“Surrender now, and I’ll spare your life,” Lucas offered, his chin raised as he extended a final act of mercy. “Of course, you’ll never set foot in this empire again.” Gone was the carefree demeanor of old; Lucas now carried himself with the dignity befitting the next crown prince. One could almost see him, crowned and commanding the empire as its future emperor.
Damn it, that was supposed to be my place! Frederick bit his lip hard, his heart seething with resentment. It was his role to look down on others, to bestow favors from on high. That was how it should have been, yet everything had gone so horribly wrong. Unable to contain himself, he shouted, “Don’t make me laugh, brother! You’re drunk on your own arrogance, but you’re not fit to bear the weight of the throne!”
“When did my dear brother become so adept at describing himself?” Lucas replied with a lazy smirk, glancing at Ben Diark and Damian on either side of him. “Isn’t he impressive, gentlemen?” A burst of hearty laughter erupted from their direction, mocking Frederick’s outburst.
His face flushed crimson with humiliation, Frederick felt the sting of their ridicule. “This is your last warning,” Lucas declared, his voice turning solemn as he addressed the Owl Legion. “Those who surrender now will be spared. Those who don’t will face immediate execution!”
A slow but palpable ripple of unease spread through the legion. Sensing their wavering resolve, Frederick’s expression twisted with fury. “Don’t falter!” he roared. “Treason means death anyway! Fight to defeat them and claim victory—that’s our only chance to survive!”
“He’s right!” Joseph chimed in, rallying the knights to bolster their discipline. “Stay strong!”
Watching this, Lucas muttered under his breath, “No matter how much they steel themselves, they’re doomed to lose. What futile effort.”
“Shall we wrap this up, Your Highness?” Damian suggested. “There’s another court meeting scheduled this morning, isn’t there?”
Lucas nodded, signaling permission to engage. At the command, the Imperial Knights and the Red Hawk Knights drew their swords, while the Owl Legion charged forward with a battle cry.
“Eradicate the rebels threatening the empire’s future and the safety of the imperial family!”
“Not a single one escapes!”
Ben Diark and Damian led their respective forces into the fray against the rebels. The clash of steel rang out sharply as blades met in a furious cacophony. Knights who had been fighting on horseback soon dismounted, engaging in close combat.
Frederick swung his sword wildly, shouting himself hoarse with cries of “Advance! Keep advancing!”
“Protect His Highness, the Crown Prince, and press forward!” Joseph commanded, guarding his flank. The Owl Legion roared, countering attacks and pushing toward the northern gate.
At first, the battle seemed evenly matched, but it wasn’t long before the tide turned. Outnumbered and outmatched, the recently formed Owl Legion was no match for the seasoned coordination and superior skill of their opponents.
“Don’t fall back! If you die, take at least one of them with you!” Frederick shouted, panic rising as he saw his knights being steadily overwhelmed. Desperate to rally their spirits and carve a path to survival, he pressed on. Then, through the chaos of clashing swords, a figure stood tall, staring directly at him.
A man of breathtaking beauty yet imposing stature, his sword radiating the aura of a sword master. As their eyes met, Frederick ground his teeth and growled, “Damian Vandemir!”
With a beastly roar, Frederick leapt from his horse and charged. Damian stood his ground, unmoving, his gaze calm and serene. That tranquil demeanor only fueled Frederick’s rage further.
Ever since Damian had appeared, Frederick’s life had veered off course. If only Damian hadn’t stolen his woman… The resentment boiling within him erupted like molten lava. With all his strength, Frederick swung his sword.
“Die…!”
“Too slow,” Damian remarked coolly.
To a sword master seasoned by countless battlefields, the polished but untested swordsmanship of a former crown prince raised in the sheltered halls of the palace was child’s play. Damian smirked, effortlessly sidestepping the attack. Frederick’s blade sliced through empty air, and, losing his balance, he tumbled forward with a crash.
“Argh!” he cried, sprawling in an undignified heap, his fury mounting. He felt as though he might die of apoplexy before treason could claim him. Scrambling to his feet, he charged at Damian with murderous intent, swinging his sword with gritted teeth. But not once did his blade land a meaningful blow, and he fell to the ground again.
“Hah! Hah!” Frederick gasped, panting heavily.
“Already tired?” Damian asked, his tone as casual as an uncle humoring a young nephew. Hands clasped behind his back, he was deliberately toying with Frederick, refraining from counterattacking to prolong the humiliation.
“Shut your mouth, you filthy—!” Frederick snarled, using his sword as a crutch to haul himself up, trembling with rage. But even he could sense the stark gap in their skill. If Damian chose to strike back, Frederick knew he’d be a dead man. That realization made him hesitate, unable to charge recklessly.
As he stood there, fuming and panting, a familiar figure caught his eye.
“It’ll be over soon,” Aracila remarked, standing beside Lucas on horseback, observing the battle. Dressed in the formal attire of the Magic Tower, her hair tied high, her face glowed with a serene radiance, untouched by worry or doubt.
All this, because of her… Frederick’s heart surged with bitterness as he called out her name. “Aracila Hugo!”
Aracila, who had been watching Damian, shifted her gaze to Frederick with ease. The man who had once been renowned for his wit and kindness—her friend—now lay debased, consumed by greed and pride, rolling in the dirt, barely human.
With graceful composure, she addressed him. “It’s Vandemir, Your Highness, the former Crown Prince.”
“…!”
Her words, cutting even in this moment, pushed Frederick past his breaking point. “This is all your fault, Aracila!” he bellowed, his voice thick with resentment.
“Your fault?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, you! If you’d only looked at me, I wouldn’t have gone this far!”
Aracila let out a hollow laugh, pointing at herself in disbelief. What fresh nonsense was this? But Frederick, seemingly earnest, pounded the ground as he poured out his grievances. “Back at the academy, you said you’d become the head of the Magic Tower and swore off relationships—what a stupid thing to say! If you hadn’t spouted that nonsense, I wouldn’t have chosen treason…!”
“…”
“I wanted to be emperor because I wanted you. I thought if I became emperor, I could have you!”
On the surface, he had respected Aracila’s resolve to remain single and lead the Magic Tower, but his true feelings were far different. Knowing that even as crown prince he couldn’t claim her if she became the Tower’s master, he had grown desperate to seize the throne as quickly as possible. That desperation had driven him down this ruinous path. Lifting his head, Frederick stared at Aracila with raw, anguished intensity. “I just loved you, that’s all!”
Aracila looked down at him, her eyes filled with undisguised pity. She was learning there was no bottom to human depravity. With a sigh, she dismounted and strode toward him. A glance silenced Damian’s attempt to intervene, and she stopped at a measured distance.
“I understand, Frederick,” she said softly, her voice carrying a gentleness he hadn’t heard in years. His shoulders twitched at the sound. She continued calmly, “But let me ask you this: if you and I were the last man and woman left in the world?”
“…”
“I’d rather die than be with you.”
“…!”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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