1. The Young Fiancé
Liard Igvaltwyn, the thirty-fourth Emperor of the Ferson Empire — upholder of prophecy, guardian of the realm, and cultivator of the land upon which all people stand — was in a state of absolute chaos.
It was the day he would meet his fiancé for the first time in ten years, yet he hadn’t the faintest capacity to spare a single thought for it.
“Your Majesty, you’ll ruin your health at this rate. Please, have a meal, even if it’s late.”
Haiman, the head chamberlain, kept close to Liard’s side and spoke in a low murmur.
“Ah.”
Have I missed a meal? At Haiman’s words, Liard only now realized it.
“I’m not particularly hungry.”
He had just stepped out of the state council meeting, wound tight with tension. Having been thoroughly ground down by a pack of jackals who did nothing but watch for any opportunity to swallow the Empire whole, he hadn’t even registered the emptiness in his stomach.
“That won’t do. You’ll genuinely collapse, Your Majesty.”
“It’s never happened before, has it.”
“Your Majesty, please.”
Liard cast a brief glance toward Haiman with his clear blue eyes. Worry was written all over the old chamberlain’s face.
He must be anxious that his workaholic emperor will suddenly drop dead. I shouldn’t push the old man so hard — he’s lived his whole life with eyes only for me.
The rigid set of Liard’s expression slowly eased.
“Mm, then I’ll have something light.”
A faint smile touched the corner of Liard’s lips. The moment warmth crept into his sharp, resolute features, a gentle air spread around him in an instant.
The few who had ever stood before the Emperor face to face would invariably praise not only his towering dignity, but his beautiful face as well.
Such was the way of the Igvaltwyn bloodline. Exceptional in every regard.
“Please do, Your Majesty.”
Watching Haiman respond with a flush of relief, Liard gave a quiet laugh.
“Understood. Have a meal sent to the study.”
Haiman bowed his head deeply. As though afraid the Emperor might change his mind, he immediately relayed the order to another attendant and fell into step behind him.
As Liard walked toward the study, he swiftly composed his expression. His face became dry and unyielding once more.
An emperor must never show vulnerability, at any time, in any place. That was what Liard had been taught, and it was the life he had always lived.
Even if past emperors could afford otherwise, he least of all could allow it. Liard drove himself with an almost compulsive force.
A boy emperor who had ascended the throne at fourteen with no political backing whatsoever.
Liard’s parents had died suddenly, leaving behind only their young children. He had diligently undergone his training as heir, but he had never imagined he would rise to the throne this soon.
There were no senior members of the imperial family left to protect or guide him. The Igvaltwyn bloodline was rare.
The boy had to navigate everything alone. And so he had reached the age of thirty-two. Much had happened along the way. Some things had been taken from him; others, he had managed to hold on to.
He thought back to the ministers’ sharp, cutting gazes from the council chamber not long ago. Of all of them, the only one he could truly call an ally was the Minister of Justice — just the one.
Even so, he had not become a puppet. He still reigned as Emperor, as the guardian of the Empire.
To make that possible, Liard had quite literally poured his very life into it. Every day, he rose at half past four in the morning and buried himself in affairs of state until midnight. Fortunately, he had been born with a robust constitution, and despite having kept up this regimen for nearly twenty years, he had yet to die.
He had never once lamented the life that left him no room to breathe. This was simply the fate of one born as heir to the Igvaltwyn name. Was there anything more important than the Empire and its people?
Only duty moved Liard.
Mentally reviewing the rest of the day’s schedule one item at a time, Liard walked with impeccable posture. His neat, lustrous black hair never once fell out of place.
He was nearly at the study when it happened.
“Ugh.”
For the first time, Liard’s frame faltered. In an instant, he was overwhelmed by the sensation of his heart catching fire. It was the sign that a prophecy was coming.
“Your Majesty, are you all right?”
Haiman whispered quietly and moved to support him, but Liard steadied his breath and straightened himself before Haiman could reach him.
It was a pain that would have made an ordinary person faint outright. Even so, Liard barely held onto his senses and spoke.
“A prophecy has come. I must go to the temple first.”
At the word prophecy, Haiman said no more about the meal.
Liard turned and made his way toward the temple. The closer he drew, the more the splitting pain in his chest gradually faded.
“Haiman, what does the afternoon schedule look like?”
“The head of the Southern Merchant Association and the commander of the Northern Border Guard have both requested an audience with Your Majesty.”
Can those be pushed back? Liard gave an almost imperceptible squint of one eye.
“And… the young lord Erger Crowell will be entering the palace.”
“Ah.”
At the name Erger, Liard’s eyelids gave an involuntary twitch. Right. Has that much time already passed?
Erger Crowell. The fiancé he had seen for the first and last time ten years ago.
‘H— hello… Your, Your Majesty…’
The image surfaced of a terrified ten-year-old child. A small, scrawny body that couldn’t have been more than half Liard’s size. An impression so slight and delicate he could have been mistaken for a little girl.
Taking a child like that as his fiancé had not been a pleasant memory for Liard either. He had always carried a faint sense of guilt over it.
If only he hadn’t been an extreme-rare Omega, he would never have had to be engaged to that trembling little Alpha boy.
And yet of all things, I — someone who absolutely must produce an heir — happen to be extreme-rare. Even the gods are indifferent.
Extreme-rare was exceedingly uncommon. Across the entire continent, only one or two were born in a generation. What’s more, an extreme-rare could not reproduce no matter how many partners they took — not with anyone of a different designation. It had to be another extreme-rare.
In order to pass on the Igvaltwyn bloodline, Liard had searched for an extreme-rare Alpha from the moment of his coronation. Given just how rare extreme-rares were, he had made no distinctions of rank. After eight years, the one he had finally managed to find was a boy who was a full twelve years younger than himself.
An illegitimate son of the Crowell ducal house. The fact that the child belonged to the Prime Minister — Liard’s lifelong political adversary — left an unpleasant taste, but there had been no other option.
What fault could a child have in any of it? Liard had decided to wait until Erger came of age.
And ten years had passed. In the interim, he had never laid eyes on the boy, but every year on his birthday, he had sent a letter of well-wishes along with clothing as a gift.
They say he’s shown a talent for magic and has been making a name for himself at the Mage Tower. He had no intention of keeping such a capable individual tethered to himself indefinitely — once a child was born, he planned to send Erger back to the Mage Tower. It would be better for both of them to live their own lives, rather than have Erger sit in the palace as a politically powerless imperial consort.
That Erger was finally entering the palace today. To fulfill the next step after the engagement — marriage.
Liard arrived at the temple and gave Haiman one final instruction.
“You’ll handle rescheduling the audience appointments. As for that boy… see to it that he’s properly received so he isn’t left waiting alone too long.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Liard entered the temple alone. By now, the pain in his chest had faded entirely.
Once a year, the Emperor receives a prophecy from the gods. It is a power passed down exclusively through the direct bloodline of the Igvaltwyn imperial house, for generations without end.
The prophecies warned of threats that would befall the Empire.
“Heeding the call of the gods, a servant of Igvaltwyn has come.”
Liard prepared to receive the prophecy. He closed his eyes gently and breathed deep. He felt a thread of anxiety over what prophecy might descend.
More often than not, they spoke of rifts — warning of the time and place where demon beasts would come pouring through. Through the prophecies, the Emperor protected the Empire. This was the reason the Igvaltyns had reigned for centuries.
On rare occasions, a year would pass without a rift at all. Yes — that was how it should have been: rare. And yet it had now been five full years without a single rift.
The people, reveling in the long peace, were nothing but glad — but Liard felt something unsettled gnawing at him.
For an established pattern to break means change is coming. And can that change truly be good?
Just then, the candles lined up around the altar extinguished all at once. Liard felt a pain as though his skull was being cleaved open.
A prophecy always came with pain. Even so, as he had always done, he gritted his teeth and stayed on his feet without falling.
The vision of the future that surfaced in his mind was nothing but bare skin.
A platinum-haired man was mounted atop someone, completely naked. A broad back rippled with movement. Beads of sweat clung to shoulders set at a sharp, angular line.
“What… is this…”
The prophecy was showing him the act of intercourse between two people.
Liard’s tightly shut eyelids trembled. For a man who had devoted more than half his life to nothing but holding the imperial throne, it was a deeply unfamiliar sight.
Intercourse is nothing more than an act for reproduction. That was why he had never felt the need to share his body with anyone other than his fiancé — anyone who wasn’t also an extreme-rare. Pregnancy wouldn’t result regardless. Why would he pour effort into something inefficient that yielded no benefit whatsoever? It was a waste of time.
And so the Emperor of the Ferson Empire had reached thirty-two without any sexual experience. For him, the scene within the prophecy was not merely unpleasant — it stirred something close to a faint, unfamiliar dread.
Bare bodies tangled together like beasts, writhing muscles, breath laced with moans. All of it was repulsive.
Liard’s mouth went dry. Just who are these vulgar creatures?
[Erger…!]
Just then, a voice broke through in agony from the one pinned beneath.
Erger? Then was that enormous platinum-haired man Erger Crowell? The young Alpha who had entered the palace today in preparation for their wedding?
He couldn’t understand why the prophecy was showing him this. Is Erger keeping a lover?
But that had been something he’d anticipated. He had no particular intention of stopping it. All Erger needed to do was give him his seed on the appointed day. He already felt guilty enough for forcing a marriage on someone so much younger than himself — he had no desire to cage him.
Could it be that Erger is so besotted with this lover that he’s been avoiding his obligations to me? If no heir was produced, that would certainly pose a threat to the Empire.
Liard stared into the prophecy, biting his lip in quiet unease. I don’t have much time left. I don’t know how much longer I can live. I need to have a child soon.
If I could just find out who this lover is… I may have to eliminate him in advance.
Just then, Erger raised his upper body and swept his curling platinum hair back. Beyond his shoulder, the lover’s face was finally about to be revealed.
Beneath his closed eyelids, Liard’s eyes darted back and forth.
Surely not. That can’t be right.
[God, you’re so obscenely attractive… and here you were acting like sex was nothing more than something you put in and got over with. Your Majesty, don’t you think you don’t know yourself at all?]
The one pinned beneath Erger, moaning — was Liard Igvaltwyn himself.
He was clinging to the man in the most shameless fashion imaginable. Faced with an expression on his own face he had never once seen before, Liard’s legs gave out entirely. He — the man who had endured the sensation of his skull being split in two — sank down right there at the altar.
“……”
His dark lashes trembled, and his face flushed a deep red. Liard held his breath, the tips of his fingers twitching.
What is this? What am I looking at right now?
