Faced with Rocinel’s direct question, Ivyn hesitated.
What should I even say here? A hefty compensation, perhaps?
But she shook her head inwardly.
The Kinzell Duchy was already wealthy enough.
Then… what, exactly?
She reflected carefully on the situation she now found herself in.
According to the original story, after Ivyn died in the underground prison, the Kinzell family used her death as a pretext to declare an all-out war against the Holy Nation.
The Holy Nation declared it a holy war.
After half a year of conflict, the Necromancer family vanished from history, and the young emperor Rocinel was deposed simply because he had been on close terms with the Kinzells.
After that, Paladin Theodore and Saintess Pavella, having further cemented their prestige as war heroes, launched a massive “purification” campaign.
Under the guise of religious unification, they absorbed the empire, establishing a theocratic society…
But this time, everything went completely differently. First, Ivyn—no, I survived. Thanks to that, the Kinzell Duchy didn’t declare war.
So, how would the story’s logic unfold now?
What would become of the Necromancer family? Of my dad and my older brothers…
And even my own fate.
Could all of us survive until the end of the story without dying?
Based on the novels Ivyn had read throughout her past life, whenever the original story changed, corresponding new events always emerged to avoid any deviations from the original path.
In any tale, if Character A avoided their destined death due to some reason—possession, reincarnation, or the like—new dangers would inevitably arise, leading to death in some other form.
This was called “aftershock of narrative logic.”
Thus, there was only one conclusion she could reach.
If she wanted to protect her family and her own life…
I have to erase or alter any flags connected to death as much as possible.
Having reached this decision, Ivyn slowly parted her tightly pressed lips.
“What I want… is peace.”
“What? Peace?”
The Emperor shot up from the throne, his body springing to attention like laundry spread under the sun, and asked Ivyn again in a sharper, louder tone.
“Did you just say what you desire from me is peace, Young Lady Kinzell?”
“Yes, that’s right…”
At Ivyn’s answer, Rocinel burst out laughing.
He laughed so heartily that his voice echoed through the audience chamber, reverberating off the marble walls.
What’s gotten into him all of a sudden?
Ivyn’s earlobes tinted red, as if she were a child caught doing something foolish.
A wave of embarrassment washed over her; she felt as if she’d been mocked.
“For what I hear, Lady Kinzell is far too naïve to be asking for ‘peace’”—the young emperor said, tapping his temple lightly—“in this place, I mean.”
As if amused by some private joke, Rocinel started laughing again.
He didn’t seem to notice Ivyn standing before him, her expression as sour as if she’d bitten into something foul.
Well, it wasn’t exactly surprising.
In the original story, Rocinel’s character was like that: arrogant to the core, selfish, and utterly debauched.
“Did they brainwash you while they kept you as a prisoner or something?” he asked, smiling faintly.
Not brainwashed exactly, but more like transmigrated and changed into a whole new person, Ivyn thought dryly.
“Haaa.”
The emperor swept his hand over his face.
“Thanks to you, I had the best laugh I’ve had in a long time. My thanks, Lady Kinzell.”
Rocinel dabbed at the corners of his eyes, brushing away a trace of tears.
“Truly, you have a sense of humor. Everyone else in this palace is so dreadfully dull.”
You call that an explanation? After making fun of me like that?
Ivyn glared at him, silently cursing him in every creative way she knew.
“Very well, then. Let’s do this instead—as you heard in the conference hall, I don’t want either side sharpening their blades over this affair. So… I’d like to compensate you personally.”
Ivyn’s eyes trembled ever so slightly, curious about the emperor’s next words.
“From what I can see,” he said lightly, “you’re even prettier than Saintess Pavella. What do you think? Why don’t you become my empress instead?”
Is that supposed to be a joke? Or is he actually serious right now?
Ivyn was dumbfounded.
The emperor spoke as lightly as if the position of Empress of an entire empire were a prize you could win in a game.
“What? You’re so honored, you’re at a loss for words?”
Rocinel’s lips curved upward as Ivyn only stared at him in silence.
He clearly thought she was too flustered to speak.
Little did he know, she was quietly cursing him to hell and back.
Hah… This motherf—
Still, Ivyn calmly steadied her breath, thinking that it was her own fault for expecting any real compensation from such a ridiculous emperor.
After a pause, she finally parted her lips and spoke.
“I cannot accept Your Majesty’s proposal.”
“Hm?”
The atmosphere turned icy in an instant.
Among the courtiers, a faint tremor rippled like the subtle shiver of a barometer catching the pressure drop before a storm.
“Your Majesty…”
“Hm?”
“I-I’m terribly sorry, but…”
“…”
“You’re not really… my type…”
“…”
“…”
Silence.
A deadly, suffocating silence blanketed the audience chamber.
It felt as though someone had just dumped a bucket of cold, dung water straight through the ceiling.
The royal guards flanking the young emperor clenched their jaws tight, heads bowed so low they could’ve stared holes in the floor.
The chamberlain and attendants shifted awkwardly, suddenly finding the distant wall extremely fascinating.
The rest of the officials fidgeted, coughing into their fists as if that could fill the unbearable quiet.
“Ha…”
Rocinel finally let out a laugh, feigning nonchalance, but it was a brittle, off-key sound.
The faint tremor at the corner of his royal mouth betrayed him; her reply had caught him completely off guard.
“Me? Ha! How amusing.”
Though his words seemed like praise(?) for her witty reply, his expression was icy.
Then, Rocinel decided to add another jab.
“So, does that mean handsome men aren’t Milady’s type?”
“I like them, though?”
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
Rocinel shot back immediately, voice sharp as a whip.
“Pardon?”
“Didn’t you just say I’m not your type?”
“Ah…”
When Ivyn couldn’t bring herself to respond, another icy silence settled between them.
She honestly couldn’t think of an appropriate answer.
What could she possibly say to someone who had just called himself handsome?
What, should I applaud or something?
Ivyn glanced around, her eyes silently pleading for help, but no one met her gaze.
No one wanted to be involved in the matter.
“I was only joking, you know. You seemed far too tense, Lady Kinzell.”
“Yes.”
“Ahem. Right then. Let’s end this special audience for today.”
“…Yes?”
“Leave.”
“But we haven’t finished talking about compensation—”
“Leave.”
I can’t believe it.
Ivyn stood there dumbfounded as Rocinel flipped his attitude an entire 180 degrees and waved her off like she was a bothersome fly.
“Go.”
“Still about the compensation—”
“What are you all doing? Get that girl out of my sight!”
And with that, the emperor’s command to clear the chamber was issued.
TL Note:
Hello~ Elle here. I took my sweet time doing updates, I know.
Piaf, my baby princess kitten and soulmate, urgently needs surgery. The cost is far beyond what I can handle alone, so I’ve prepared some special challenges to turn every bit of support into hope for her.
💬 Challenge #1: Every 5 unique comments = 1 extra chapter
💖 Challenge #2: Every 10 NU votes = 2 extra chapters
☕ Challenge #3: Every $15 on my Ko-fi goal = 3 extra chapters
Every comment, vote, and donation brings us one step closer to her surgery.
Thank you, truly, for supporting us.
