Chapter 99

Chapter 99
Chapter 99: Never Mind The Heir, I’ll Focus On Healing

At that moment, within the Imperial Palace.

Inside the chambers of the Emperor.

Emperor Tylius, celebrated as the radiant sun of the empire, remained seated upon his lounge sofa, staring blankly ahead into the open space.

“Give me your report.”

Following the Emperor’s prompt command, the head servant, who had maintained a quiet vigil nearby, began listing various administrative updates and intelligence items.

And finally.

“Lastly, concerning the Asteri household…”

The briefing concluded with the revelation that Lion Asteri, the primary heir of the Asteri family, had become the target of an assault.

“Hoo.”

The ruler of the empire drew in a long, heavy breath.

The identity of the instigator was glaringly obvious.

Most likely, his own flesh and blood.

The First Prince, Terus Sol Aionys.

It was undeniably the handiwork of that reckless scoundrel.

‘Such a thoroughly incompetent fool.’

Indeed, the First Prince was a spitting image of his own worst traits.

He possessed a cowardly disposition coupled with an excessive greed.

Furthermore, he suffered from a chronic lack of foresight and behaved with a frivolous levity entirely unsuited for imperial blood.

Ordinarily, even such flaws could be overlooked to a degree.

After all, he was the direct progeny of the Emperor.

Moreover, the Empress hailed as the daughter of the most influential faction among the Central Nobility.

No courtier dared voice a dissenting word, regardless of how outrageously the prince conducted himself.

However.

‘That rule held true everywhere—except when it came to provoking the Asteri family.’

The Emperor’s hand clenched into a tight, white-knuckled fist.

The fundamental distinction separating the Emperor from his eldest son lay in whether or not one truly understood the terrifying prestige commanded by the Asteri name.

More specifically, the absolute dominance of Petrick Asteri.

Gulp.

The sovereign swallowed hard against a sudden dryness in his throat.

The devastating war against the Demon Race had concluded before the current Emperor was even born.

Yet, even in those subsequent years, Petrick Asteri remained an overwhelmingly formidable presence.

Wherever lingering remnants of the Demon Race dared to surface, he would materialize to utterly eradicate them, sweeping away any corrupt nobles foolish enough to harbor them along the way.

“Never cross the Asteri family.”

Had not the previous Emperor repeated that exact warning time and time again?

Such was the peerless might wielded by the man known throughout the realm as the Archmage.

Even if that singular entity were to launch a sudden coup to overthrow the Imperial Family and claim the throne itself, the realm possessed no recourse to stop him; they would simply have to fall before him.

Naturally, during his own youth and reckless days, Tylius had also crossed lines and provoked the Asteri household without proper cause.

He had foolishly believed that the Imperial Family must stand unchallenged as the absolute apex of power under the heavens!

That delusion, however, had been brutally short-lived.

It happened on a night when the moonlight filtered through the clouds with a faint, ghostly pallor.

Tylius had jolted awake, gripped by a sudden, suffocating terror.

His bedchamber curtains fluttered in the draft as a pair of chilling, unhuman purple eyes glinted in the darkness.

Cold sweat drenched his skin, and though he desperately tried to scream, his vocal cords refused to cooperate.

His lips barely twitched, and as if even that minute movement annoyed the intruder, those luminous purple eyes simply observed him in chilling silence.

Indeed.

Petrick Asteri had effortlessly bypassed the palace’s impenetrable security to materialize directly within the prince’s private quarters!

“H-Hiiik!”

“Your Highness.”

“……”

“Simply remain safely protected beneath my watch while I deign to keep you. Do not attempt any foolish maneuvers.”

Petrick Asteri uttered no further threats beyond those words.

He maintained a veneer of formal courtesy toward the Imperial Family to the very end.

Yet, that single encounter was more than enough to plunge Tylius into a paralyzing abyss of fear, causing him to lose consciousness right after wetting his garments in absolute terror.

From that day onward, Tylius never again dared to cross paths with the Asteri family, choosing instead to live as quietly and unobtrusively as humanly possible.

His very survival had hung by a thread.

The dread inspired by Petrick Asteri was etched permanently into the marrow of his bones.

And yet.

His own son had completely lost his senses and committed such an egregious blunder.

The root cause undoubtedly traced back to the Second Prince, Kyle.

‘Tsk.’

The Emperor clicked his tongue in bitter frustration.

He had thoroughly eliminated every individual he had spent that fateful night with.

Or, at the very least, secured their eternal silence through ironclad means.

Yet, somehow, a single survivor had managed to slip through the cracks.

And that resilient pest had stubbornly crawled up from the absolute gutters to claim a position among the imperial princes.

Moreover, the glare that individual occasionally cast toward him…

Within those eyes—hued a striking, visceral crimson reminiscent of fresh blood rather than the sun-like brilliance of the imperial lineage—there burned an unquenchable hatred directed straight at him.

‘Even so, common blood flows in his veins.’

The Emperor rubbed his forearm involuntarily, trying to suppress a lingering shiver.

Regardless of his own feelings, if that youth was an eyesore to him, how much more infuriating must he be to the First Prince?

‘Still, I explicitly instructed him to bide his time.’

In any case, the Second Prince Kyle was destined for a short-lived existence.

A high-ranking priest had delivered a definitive prophecy on the very day the Second Prince was born.

He was afflicted by a profound curse.

Curses were, by their very nature, arcane arts originating from the Demon Race.

The boy would inevitably weaken day by day and perish before reaching maturity.

Yet, the First Prince had proven too impatient, rushing to make a public statement against the Asteri faction—who had thrown their support behind the Second Prince—resulting in this careless escalation.

“So then. Are all those involved truly eliminated?”

It felt as though valuable political pawns were about to be squandered over sheer incompetence.

“Negative. On the contrary, Your Majesty, they are all currently drawing breath.”

“Explain yourself.”

“According to intelligence reports reaching us…”

The Emperor finally grasped the troubling reality that the targets were presently entangled within the Lungen Territory.

It stood to reason that if Count Lungen or Duke Petrick Asteri expended even a modicum of effort, the identity of the true mastermind behind the plot would be dragged into the light.

That outcome could not be permitted to occur.

‘Whispers are already circulating that he lacks the competence of the Second Prince.’

The Second Prince’s administrative efficiency had proven remarkably acute, as if he had not clawed his way to this position through mere luck.

That was precisely why the Emperor could not afford to be exposed.

If, by some catastrophic twist of fate, the Second Prince rather than the First were to secure the designation of Crown Prince…

‘Without a doubt, my own life would reach its absolute terminus.’

The Emperor harbored no desire to embrace death.

Who among the living truly wished to perish?

‘If there is any silver lining to be found, it is that no direct harm befell the Asteri child.’

And the comforting fact that the boy possessed no claim to the headship of that formidable clan.

‘Word has it that he possesses zero affinity for magical arts.’

Under those circumstances, Petrick Asteri was unlikely to react with extreme hostility.

Observing the sovereign lost entirely in grim contemplation without issuing further commands, the head servant cautiously tested the waters of his mood.

“How shall I convey your instructions for handling this crisis?”

There remained only a single viable course of action.

Intervening decisively before any representative of the Asteri family could make their move.

“Inform the First Prince that he is to be placed under strict confinement until my upcoming birthday.”

“Understood, Your Majesty.”

“Furthermore, I shall travel to the Lungen Territory in person.”

Rising abruptly from his seat, the Emperor strode out through the shadowed chambers.

This journey was driven by no paternal fondness for his offspring.

He moved solely to avoid provoking Petrick Asteri while simultaneously blocking any potential political gains for the Second Prince.

The Emperor felt no genuine affection for his children.

To him, they served merely as convenient instruments to ensure his twilight years were spent in absolute comfort.

—

Carrying a sack of barley upon his shoulder, Lion made his way toward the communal well situated just outside the castle kitchens.

The designated well of the Asteri household.

It was an open area primarily maintained for the domestic staff to handle dishwashing and laundry duties.

Naturally, the nobility never frequented this sector.

They had no practical reason to draw water or scrub garments with their own hands.

“H-huh.”

“Could that possibly be… the Young Master?”

“It is indeed the Young Master!”

Furthermore, senior members of the household staff rarely performed manual labor outdoors in such a fashion.

Consequently, the majority of individuals gathered here consisted of apprentice servants or those occupying the lowest rungs of the estate.

A few young children were among them as well.

Naturally, lacking any regular opportunity to encounter or converse directly with their superiors, several present failed to recognize Lion’s facial features entirely.

‘Wait, is that the First Young Master? Or perhaps the Second?’

‘I cannot tell. But judging by the fine quality of his attire, he is undoubtedly one of our esteemed Young Masters.’

‘If he is wandering into a place like this, it must be the First Young Master, right? People whisper that he is rather eccentric.’

Regardless of their speculations, Lion had materialized in the exact center of this working area.

“……What should we do now?”

“Shouldn’t we offer some assistance?”

Hesitant and visibly flustered, the workers froze without knowing how to react.

Several individuals hastily scrambled to conceal their laundry piles from view.

High-born masters typically despised encountering such domestic chores up close.

Naturally.

‘My first priority is to sprout this barley.’

The central figure in question remained entirely oblivious to their nervous tension.

He had ventured here simply because the environment suited his immediate objective.

Paying no mind to their reactions, Lion positioned himself beside the stone well and effortlessly hoisted the water lever.

He then reclaimed his seat, tipped the sack of barley into a broad wooden basin, and began washing the grain with vigorous motions.

‘Let us examine the details…….’

While most commercial grains were thoroughly hulled, a select few retained their complete structural form.

『Two-rowed barley』

-High starch content.

-Plumper grains compared to standard six-rowed barley.

『Usage- Cooking』

『☞Click to view recipes.』

The variety commonly encountered in daily life was six-rowed barley.

Thus, while malt—the foundational ingredient required for traditional beverages like Sikhye—was traditionally derived from six-rowed barley…

‘It makes no functional difference.’

Any variations could be balanced later by carefully managing the settled sediment at the base of the malt liquid.

‘Before reaching that stage, however, I simply pray the sprouts emerge robustly from these grains.’

Lion thoroughly cleansed the batch, meticulously weeding out tiny whiskers and foreign particles.

Surprisingly enough, the craft of malt production demanded a considerable amount of labor.

Above all else, healthy sprouts needed to shoot forth vigorously from the barley kernel.

Short malt, where the sprout length matched the grain itself, was typically utilized in brewing, whereas malt twice that length served the familiar culinary purposes we recognize.

‘During my childhood, I genuinely believed malt was a literal form of cooking oil.’

Although Lion had experimented with preparing various dishes since a tender age, he had never once attempted brewing Sikhye within the estate.

Store-bought alternatives consistently delivered superior quality.

Consequently, he had only learned that “malt” derived its nomenclature from long barley sprouts through a casual conversation with a local grain merchant he frequented.

“Finished.”

Adding fresh water to the thoroughly rinsed barley, Lion carefully skimmed away the hollow kernels drifting lazily on the surface.

The floating grains were unusable and discarded.

“Peep.”

Just as Lion prepared to cast away the waste, Nature popped its head out from his pocket and eagerly pecked at the grains resting in his palm.

Despite possessing such a diminutive beak, the tiny creature managed to snap up the kernels with practiced ease.

“How does it taste?”

“Peep.”

Nature continued consuming the offering with a solemn, dedicated expression, as though leaving food behind constituted a grave offense.

‘Honestly speaking.’

His internal emotional responses had grown surprisingly rich of late.

Leaving Nature to its snack, Lion flushed the basin with clean water a few additional times until the liquid rose sufficiently to submerge the entire batch of barley.

Then…

“Where is the most heavily shaded spot around this vicinity?”

He directed his inquiry toward the apprentice servants who had been secretly watching him while pretending to work.

“Pardon?”

“Were you addressing us, sir?”

“What are you doing! Answer him immediately!”

“Hey, go on!”

Whispering anxiously among themselves, the apprentice group ultimately shoved the youngest boy forward.

They appeared to calculate that if the child accidentally mispoke, his youth might shield him from any severe repercussions.

“Um, well—the pathway leading toward the Knight Order grounds is extremely shady!”

Fortunately, the young servant managed to articulate a clear response.

“Is that so? Thank you for the information.”

“Ah, it is rather distant, shall I carry the basin for you….”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but please return to your assigned tasks.”

With those words, Lion retrieved a S’more Sandwich from his travel pouch, handed it directly to the boy, and then stood up with a slight grunt while lifting the heavy basin filled with water.

‘Toward the Knight Order area.’

Lion had rarely ventured into the territory claimed by the Knight Order.

Given that the knights engaged in rigorous and often hazardous training regimens, whenever his health had been frail in the past, Silvia or other attendants would actively steer him away from that sector.

‘Well, none of that matters presently.’

Lion strode forward with steady steps.

The young servant watched him depart while nibbling enthusiastically on the S’more Sandwich.

“Though, come to think of it, shouldn’t they be in the middle of training right now…?”

The training grounds utilized by the knights strictly prohibited entry to apprentice staff and regular servants alike.

This restriction existed because their drills involved high-intensity, near-combat scenarios.

“It will likely be fine, won’t it? He is an official Young Master, after all.”

“That is true.”

Murmuring amongst themselves, the apprentice servants finally turned back to resume their respective duties.