Chapter 68

 

Ch-68

In the dim and shadowed recesses of the imperial grounds, hidden behind the towering presence of the Mage Tower, a foreboding stone tower stood. Composed of coarse black bricks stacked one upon another, the structure stretched to a height of twenty floors—slightly less than the Mage Tower—but its subterranean depths extended so far below ground that it easily surpassed its rival in scale.

Beneath the stone tower lay a dank, oppressive prison where all manner of criminals were confined. If one ascended past the first-floor entrance to the second floor, they would find a space used to detain suspects awaiting trial. While the air there was marginally less stifling, the surroundings were no less grim. Beyond that, successive levels served little purpose beyond facilitating the climb to the top floor. Each step up the seemingly endless staircase sapped the strength of even the most resolute, making the summit feel all the more unreachable.

At the pinnacle, one would find solitary confinement rooms devoid of cuffs or chains. Yet, due to their position, cloaked in the shadow of the Mage Tower, and with narrow windows barely admitting light, these cells exuded an oppressive atmosphere. Sethian stood alone in one such room, an empty expanse sparsely furnished with only a large, solitary bed. He, however, seemed utterly indifferent to his surroundings.

Stationed by the minuscule window, which scarcely spanned half the breadth of his face, Sethian gazed outward. The height made it impossible to see the ground below, but as his sharp eyes roamed, he caught a glimpse of Zair’s palace in the distance.

It was clear to Sethian that Zair was behind all of this. There was no other plausible explanation for the events that had unfolded. Most likely, Zair had employed the same soul-binding technique he had once used on a raven, this time upon humans, compelling them to fabricate evidence and frame Sethian for the murder of the first imperial prince, Mendel.

“The Imperial Knights would only act under direct orders from His Majesty…”

Sethian’s thoughts drifted to his last audience with the emperor. He had visited with gifts to request the position of crown prince. At the time, the emperor, bedridden and frail, had revealed a different demeanor than usual.

At their last meeting, the emperor, who typically struggled even to breathe or keep his eyes open, had greeted Sethian’s sudden request for the Crown Prince title with a faint, sardonic smile.

"So you waited for me to open my eyes, not to check on my health, but to make such a bold demand?" he chuckled weakly.

"Would inquiring about your health improve your condition, Your Majesty?" Sethian retorted, his tone as dry as his expression.

As if anticipating his response, the aging emperor simply let out a raspy cough, his expression unchanging.

"Leave. I have no intention of giving the Crown Prince title to anyone," he declared firmly.

"I expected as much," Sethian replied evenly, his voice devoid of disappointment.

He had never truly believed the emperor would grant his request.

"Knowing this, I prepared a small gift that I believe you will find most pleasing."

Sethian took a step closer to the emperor’s bedside, presenting him with an ornate, jewel-encrusted box. Its subtle weight settled on the emperor's lap, and he cast him an unreadable look before slowly opening the box.

The moment the lid was lifted, the emperor’s breath hitched. For a brief moment, Sethian feared he might collapse entirely, robbing his of the chance to speak. Thankfully, he remained conscious, though his bloodshot eyes widened in shock as he stared at the contents of the box.

The metallic tang of blood wafted through the room as he gazed down at the severed hand inside, its cut surface still glistening with fresh warmth.

"You always held this hand so dearly. Now you can touch it whenever you like," Sethian said, his tone devoid of remorse. "If this doesn't suffice, I can prepare a larger box for the rest."

Despite the grotesque display, Sethian’s expression remained impassive. The emperor, trembling with a mix of rage and despair, merely stared at the bloodied hand, his lips trembling as he bit down hard enough to turn them pale.

"Why... Why would you go so far, just for a meaningless title?" the emperor whispered, his voice cracking.

"Because, Your Majesty, a meaningless title should be easy enough to grant. Unless, of course, you want an even grander gesture to convince you," Sethian replied coldly, his unflinching eyes gleaming with a chilling determination.

The emperor met her gaze, his own filled with a strange mix of pity and faded affection. Sighing heavily, he relented.

"Very well. I will grant you the title of Crown Prince. But tell me—why now? What has changed? Do you suddenly desire the throne?"

His voice softened, almost pleading, as if hoping to understand the enigma before him.

Sethian’s lips curved into an enigmatic smile as she replied, "No, Your Majesty. The throne doesn't interest me. My interest lies elsewhere."

For a fleeting moment, his cold expression softened, as though recalling something—or someone—he found truly captivating.

"There's someone who piques my interest," he finally admitted. "And the only way to hold them, even temporarily, is through the forbidden art of soul alchemy."

Hearing this, the emperor's expression darkened. The weight of his words struck him harder than the sight of the severed hand.

"Soul alchemy... That path is fraught with peril, Sethian. It will drain your life force. Sustaining another’s form requires a constant sacrifice of your vitality."

"I am aware of the cost," Sethian replied without hesitation. "And I have already decided it is a price worth paying."

But the emperor shook his head, his gaze filled with despair.

"It is not your life I fear for, child," he said softly, his trembling hand gripping the edge of the box. "It is the soul you bind to your own. When your time ends, theirs will vanish with it. Have you considered the cost of their annihilation?"

The emperor’s voice carried a rare emotion—desperation. Yet in Sethian’s eyes, there was no doubt, no hesitation—only resolve.

END OF THE CHAPTER