The Price of Saving A Wicked Beast
Translator: Rae
“The atmosphere among the nobles is not good. Please do not show a lack of restraint like you did today.”
“I already know, so spare me the nagging.”
“No. Public opinion is worse than you think. I heard Duke Vilethym plans to propose the Emperor’s restoration as the next agenda in the council of nobles. There is widespread belief that the current regent lacks the ability to resolve this situation.”
Whatever the case, when the Emperor still held his seat, there had never been such chaos. Since Viscount Romeo had not yet made any move, many speculated that he might be leaving room for negotiation.
“Damn it! What is Count Afort doing?”
At Fabian’s tone, which seemed to blame Count Effort, Roem showed open displeasure.
“My father is also trying to calm public opinion. But if Your Highness turns the nobles into enemies like this, it will all be in vain.”
Silence passed between them. Roem sighed and sat beside Fabian.
“There is one method. Your Highness formally ascends the throne.”
There was only one reason the nobles would not unite: there existed an alternative to Fabian. Before, it had been Killian; now, it was the Emperor.
“Ascend the throne? You speak nonsense. If I do that in this situation, everyone will go mad.”
“Didn’t you entrust the Emperor’s safety to Marquis Brundel for precisely times like this?”
A smile rose to Roem’s lips.
“We should take advantage of the chaos. Put the blame appropriately on Marquis Brundell and announce the Emperor’s death. We would merely be declaring what was bound to happen a little earlier. Even if things don’t go as planned, it doesn’t matter. We can simply claim there was a misunderstanding due to the turmoil in the capital.”
Roem whispered cunningly that with no proper successor, they could not remove a new emperor once he had already been crowned.
“No matter how much the nobles protest, unless the dead Crown Prince returns, Your Highness alone holds the legitimacy to inherit the throne. In the end, everyone will have no choice but to accept it.”
However, Roem trailed off, saying there was one prerequisite.
“Of course, to make all this possible, we need the Emperor’s seal… it is the most symbolic item to justify the coronation publicly.”
At that moment, Fabian—who had been silently listening—spoke casually.
"The Emperor’s seal. Don't worry about that."
"What?"
“Yes. I found it in my uncle’s bedroom.”
Saying that, Fabian placed a leather pouch on the table. After checking its contents, Roem’s expression brightened visibly.
"That's a relief. Now we have a means to fend off Duke Vilethym’s attack. We can use this to fabricate the Emperor’s will, and once matters are settled, swiftly announce his death. At the next council, we can raise Your Highness’s coronation as the agenda.”
Roem rose with a lighter expression. After he left, Fabian picked up the golden seal left on the table and examined it.
A well-made fake. But now that the real one had vanished, no one would doubt its authenticity.
“…I’ll need to clean things up soon.”
Recalling the names of subordinates and confidants who knew of Milnyme, Fabian smacked his lips. They were valuable talents, but it was better to cleanly eliminate them than risk someone defecting and speaking nonsense after the coronation.
He set aside his regret. Once they were gone, new people would take their place—just as Roem Afort had replaced Marquis Brundell at his side.
That was how subordinates were. Knowing how to discard them without hesitation once they had served their use was a necessary skill for one who commanded others. In that sense, Fabian was born with the qualities of a superior.
***
A few days later, urgent news arrived in the capital. The Emperor, who had departed for recuperation under Marquis Brundell’s escort, had suddenly died.
The already chaotic capital erupted as if a bomb had fallen. Duke Vilethym’s faction, which had called for the Emperor’s restoration, insisted on verifying the death, but the tide had already turned.
After resolving matters in the council of nobles, Roem moved on to his next action—meeting Bertholdt.
After his request to accompany the Emperor was rejected, Bertholdt stepped down from his post and shut himself away in his estate.
“Bertholdt Siedel. He is someone we must bring over to our side.”
As the Emperor’s close aide, he had cared for the Crown Prince at the closest range. Even though he had stepped down, the symbolism he carried could not be taken lightly.
After deciding to side with Fabian, Roem requested meetings several times, but Bertholdt rejected them each time. Fabian also advised Roem to give up, saying that if anyone could not be persuaded, it would be Bertholdt.
However, there seemed to be no such thing as “absolute” in this world. Less than a day after the Emperor’s death was announced, Roem sent word—Bertholdt had agreed to meet.
“The situation is chaotic, but now only one direct bloodline of the imperial family remains—Your Highness the young grand duke. Please lend your strength.”
Roem appealed to Bertholdt’s loyalty to the imperial family, framing the stabilization of the chaotic situation as necessary for the empire’s peaceful future.
“Viscount. Trying to entice me with such words is useless. Stability of the empire? Peace? What do those have to do with me?”
Saying that, Bertholdt handed Roem a sheet of paper.
“It is true that I was loyal to His Majesty the Emperor and His Highness the Crown Prince. Because they promised me many things. But what about the grand duke?”
The paper stated that he be guaranteed the position of chief chamberlain to the Emperor, and upon retirement, granted a suitable fief along with the title of marquis.
Roem seemed startled by this unexpected side of Bertholdt, but Fabian felt relieved instead. Visible demands made the terms of exchange clear.
Without hesitation, he accepted Bertholdt’s conditions. At dawn the next day, Bertholdt returned to the palace and became Fabian’s attendant.
Roem had been right. The symbolism Bertholdt carried was powerful. The fact that the Crown Prince’s attendant now served Fabian signaled to the nobles that no other options remained.
Even amid the risk of war, preparations for Fabian’s coronation proceeded rapidly.
A new beginning naturally brought hope. Those who had fled their homes returned to the capital. Low-ranking nobles from nearby regions also came to celebrate the new emperor’s coronation.
The capital, once frozen in fear of war, buzzed like spring had returned. With crowds flooding in, the gate guards passed people through quickly, unable to check each one. No one noticed a few suspicious individuals among them.
Morning of the coronation dawned. The sky was clear without a single cloud. Fabian opened his mouth to call a subordinate, then blankly stared into space, remembering he had disposed of him days earlier.
“Have you woken up?”
"Bertholdt."
"Good morning, Lord Fabian."
“I still can’t believe you’re by my side.”
“You should get used to it quickly. I will be at your side for life.”
At Bertholdt’s blunt reply, Fabian let out a dry chuckle. Adapt, he thought. He had adapted so well that he could barely remember the faces of his former attendants.
"How do you feel?"
“Very good. My head feels clear, as if I’ve been reborn.”
"That's a relief."
Bertholdt answered with a faint smile. At his gesture, a servant Fabian had brought from the North hurried over.
“Attend to Lord Fabian’s attire.”
“And you?”
“I will go check the preparations in the banquet hall again.”
After the deal for the chief chamberlain’s post was established, Bertholdt devoted himself entirely to the coronation, ensuring nothing was lacking despite the rushed preparations. It would be his first achievement under the new emperor, and he would tolerate no flaws.
***
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