His heart pounded fiercely. Unlike before, when it had always gasped painfully for breath, it now proclaimed its existence with powerful beats, as though proving that he was alive.
Karl observed his own body with detached awareness and thought that, at this rate, he might die.
A searing, hellish heat burned through his entire body, yet at the same time, a chill so intense that he could not move a muscle froze him solid.
Karl’s frail, feeble body, which had only grown less healthy rather than gaining any muscle from going back and forth between his room and the Imperial Archives, could not withstand the tremendous torrent of power.
Everything was collapsing rapidly and helplessly.
And amid it all, his heart continued to sing of life. Innocent, as though it knew nothing, it pounded away alone like an oblivious child.
Karl realized that he had reached a crossroads.
In the story, the person who had suffered from the same illness as Karl had been in comparatively decent health. Even with the same disease, there had been a clear difference in the severity of their conditions.
Without treatment, Karl would have died before he was even a month old. Meanwhile, the person who had been saved by Aingir and sworn loyalty to him had survived until the age of ten without any treatment at all. Even after the illness worsened, he had managed to survive well past twenty with only minimal treatment.
And because he had worked all the harder to maintain his health precisely because of his illness, after eating the Frostwind Corpse Flower, he had immediately shaken off his condition, risen to his feet, and spread his wings.
Karl, on the other hand, had been far too gravely ill and had barely managed to cling to life with a body weaker than that of a three-year-old child.
He did not even possess the physical strength necessary to endure this torrent of power.
The heat and cold mingled together, destroying Karl’s body.
And Karl was certain that, if he wished, he could cast that power out of his body, difficult though it would be.
Now Karl had to choose.
Would he cast this torrent of power out of his body in order to survive here and now?
Or would he risk his life by keeping it within himself and making it his own?
The reason Karl could not simply expel the power was because he desperately needed it.
The character in the story who had cured his illness and then gone on to fight while unleashing astonishing quantities of Mana had been capable of doing so entirely because of this power.
The author had gone on about the harmony of yin and yang or something of that sort, but Karl did not care. What mattered was that this would grant him tremendous power.
Karl should originally have died.
But he would survive, defying everyone’s expectations.
There was no chance he would escape the notice of Emperor Madius or the protagonist, Aingir.
Karl had devoted himself to curing his illness because his immediate priority had been survival, but even if he survived like this, without any power of his own, he would simply be pushed around from one side to another until he eventually died without accomplishing anything.
Madius was one thing, but after becoming emperor, Aingir resolved to kill all of his siblings with his own hands in order to eliminate any future threats. No matter what happened, no matter how far Karl fled, Aingir’s scythe would ultimately come to harvest his neck.
He was the sort of man who even killed infants who had yet to take their first steps.
There was no possibility that he would spare Karl.
So if Karl gave up this power here, then even if he survived, he would merely return to living on borrowed time.
Karl made his decision.
He would take the power.
Risking his life in order to survive was a contradiction.
But if stopping here only meant that he would fall behind and die, then he would not stop.
He would keep running.
Karl did everything he could to control the two clashing forces.
Like two serpents tangled together, biting and constricting each other, the heat and cold attacked one another while tearing Karl’s body apart.
His blood vessels swelled grotesquely until the thin vessels could endure no more and burst one after another.
Karl could not breathe. The greatest torrent raged through his chest, leaving his lungs in ruins.
But before Karl could suffocate to death, something entered his chest and began healing the damage.
‘Milton.’
Barely kept alive by Milton’s magic, Karl realized that he could feel Mana.
He abandoned his attempt to control the power for the moment and instead observed how Milton’s Mana moved, how it functioned, and how it healed him.
Karl slowly began guiding the force destroying his body in the same way Milton’s Mana moved.
Unlike before, when he had blindly struggled to seize and pull at it, Karl read the movement of the power and, somewhat clumsily, gave it slight tugs, guiding it in the direction it already wished to go.
There was progress.
But the power was still destroying his body.
It was merely a little less violent than before.
Milton’s Mana gradually began to fade.
Milton had already consumed far too much Mana before Ias arrived. He could no longer continue healing Karl.
‘Is this the end? Am I going to disappear like this, unable to accomplish anything, dying such a meaningless death?’
Karl fell into deep despair.
He had struggled so desperately to survive, only to die like this without even overcoming his illness?
Was he ultimately destined to vanish as nothing more than a single brief sentence in Aingir’s memories, forgotten forever?
He wanted to live.
With a desperation so overwhelming that there was nothing he could do to suppress it, he wanted to live.
Then, suddenly, Karl felt something caress his forehead.
It was an extraordinarily tender, gentle hand, one even more desperate than Karl himself.
The trembling hand stroked his forehead, carefully wiped around his eyes, then moved down along his cheek.
Karl heard a whisper.
“Karl…….”
He heard Cecile praying.
At that moment, Karl realized that every effort he had made to control the power had been meaningless.
Everything had been given to him from the very beginning.
Karl stopped focusing on the power. He stopped trying to seize it by force and entrusted everything to the beating of his heart, which alone continued singing of life.
Even as the rest of his body shattered, his heart alone had continued beating unharmed. It brought the two forces, which had been canceling out and amplifying each other, together into one harmonious flow.
The power that passed through his heart soon circulated quietly throughout Karl’s body like a deep, stately river.
And the power did more than simply circulate through him.
Perhaps because Karl had sensed Milton’s Mana and imitated its movement, the power caressed Karl’s ravaged body just as Milton’s Healing Magic had.
The immense power dissolved into every single cell in Karl’s body.
In the end, not even a handful of it remained.
But Karl’s body had been completely healed, and even his gaunt frame, which looked like skin stretched over bone, overflowed with vitality.
He had survived.
The moment that thought crossed his mind, Karl finally fell into a true sleep.
Amid his profound relief, he heard Cecile crying.
It was unmistakably the sound of a mother.
***
When Karl opened his eyes, the first thing that greeted him was, as expected, Cecile’s wide, startled eyes.
“Shh, Cecile. I’m all right.”
When Karl saw Cecile draw a great breath to call Milton, the imperial physician, he grabbed her arm.
And then both Karl and Cecile froze in shock.
Karl’s emaciated hand, which had once been incapable of lifting anything heavier than a pen and a few sheets of paper, had seized Cecile with such unimaginable strength that it pulled her firmly back into her seat.
“…Ah!”
Karl hurriedly released her.
Cecile had rolled up her sleeves while wiping Karl’s body, and he could see the skin of her forearm rapidly turning red.
Karl hastily rose to examine her arm, but before he could, Cecile stroked her reddened, aching arm and suddenly burst into tears.
“You have become healthy, Lord Karl….”
Her arm had nearly been crushed moments ago, yet she said those words as tears streamed down her face.
Karl remained frozen in an awkward posture, watching Cecile bury her face in her hands and cry.
Then he slowly opened his arms and carefully embraced her.
He felt Cecile stiffen in surprise.
“Thank you, Cecile. I was able to come this far because of you.”
At those words, Cecile bit her lip hard and struggled to suppress her sobs.
In the end, she could not.
She wrapped her arms around Karl.
Cecile buried her face against Karl’s small, narrow shoulder, which stood more than a handspan below her own, and wept uncontrollably.
Karl awkwardly patted her back, then desperately blinked at Milton, who opened the door after hearing the crying, silently pleading for help with every ounce of his being.
Milton, the perceptive imperial physician, was a man who knew precisely what he ought to do in any situation.
Demonstrating that remarkable perception, Milton quietly closed the door and left.
Karl did everything he could to soothe Cecile as she sobbed like a child, while firmly engraving his fury toward Milton deep within his heart.
Karl—or rather, Han Changin—had absolutely no memory of ever comforting a crying woman.
Perhaps Han Changin had once comforted his mother.
But Karl could recall nothing about Han Changin’s family.
Cold sweat poured down his back.
He had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do.
Fortunately, Cecile soon calmed down.
However, an awkward atmosphere inevitably settled between the two of them.
They were a little too distant to be called mother and son, yet far too close to be called strangers.
To dispel the awkwardness, they talked at length.
Karl became so engrossed in his conversation with Cecile that he did not even take the time to examine his own condition.
It was only for a single day—and even then, merely a brief portion of the late night—but Karl was able to spend that time in peace, free from the fear of death.
***
News spread that Karl’s body had undergone a miraculous recovery.
It became an even greater sensation because everyone had naturally assumed that he would die, only for him to survive.
And from a broader perspective, the news was extremely bad.
For Karl.
For the other imperial princes.
And for the nobles who had aligned themselves with them.
The sole exception was Ias, who wanted nothing more than to leave the Imperial Palace as soon as possible and travel the world.
He did not care who became emperor.
In fact, unlikely though it seemed, he thought it might actually be preferable if Karl became emperor.
At the very least, it would be better than having the rigid First Prince Balos take the throne.
If Balos became emperor, Ias might find himself captured, granted a territory, and forced to work.
Balos apparently wanted to establish Ias in the eastern reaches of the empire so that he could repel attacks from the east, but there was no chance of that happening.
Absolutely not.
As for Aingir, Ias could not tell what he was truly thinking.
Still, something about him gave Ias an uneasy feeling, so Ias found Aingir somewhat difficult to be around.
Balos would be better than Aingir, and Karl would probably be better than Balos.
But Karl had neither power nor a foundation of his own.
Supporting Balos would most likely be the best choice.
The reason Ias had to give himself such a headache over the right of succession was that Madius had still not appointed a Crown Prince.
The Fifth Prince and those younger than him were too young for it to matter, but the first four princes had already reached adulthood, and there was not a significant age difference among them.
If a struggle for the throne broke out, the authority of the Imperial Family would weaken.
Thus, the proper course would have been to appoint a Crown Prince as quickly as possible and consolidate power behind him.
Yet whatever Madius was thinking, he continued to remain silent.
Ias, along with most of the other nobles, believed that the First Prince Balos naturally ought to become emperor.
Aingir was publicly known as a lazy playboy who cared only for amusement. Ias’s abilities were acknowledged by everyone, but he had no interest in power or politics. Karl was sickly and possessed no political foundation whatsoever.
Balos, meanwhile, had already governed state affairs as Madius’s representative and even toured distant borderlands to reinforce the influence of the Imperial Family.
“So do not do anything foolish either. Understood? As soon as Brother Balos returns, go straight to him and make it absolutely clear that you believe he should become emperor.”
Ias had come to see Karl before anyone else, worried that Karl might do something reckless and create a troublesome situation, and had immediately warned him.
“His Majesty will test you. Whatever you do, do not even meet his eyes. Keep your mouth shut and insist that you cannot do it, that you want to leave and live freely. Only say things like that. Ah, and be careful when it comes to women. If you have a child, the right of succession will pass on to them, and there is no telling how you might get dragged into this.”
Ias warned him repeatedly.
It was partly for his own sake, but fundamentally, Ias was a good-hearted and straightforward man, and genuine concern for Karl could be heard in his words.
But he could only say such things because he did not know that Karl had already stared Madius directly in the eyes and endured his gaze.
Madius had arranged everything in order to force the imperial princes to compete.
He had even gone so far as to assassinate Consort Minerva and manipulate events so that Aingir could uncover the truth, all to force Aingir—the most outstanding of all the imperial princes despite having no interest in power—to take action.
Madius might already have seen potential in Karl.
If so, he would try to prevent Karl from withdrawing now.
Just as he had taken Ias’s mother, Adne, effectively hostage so that Ias could never truly leave the Imperial Palace.
“Yes, Brother. Thank you for the advice.”
Karl smiled politely and thanked Ias for his warning.
If Karl tried to escape, what horrifying move would Madius make to spin a web around him?
Karl glanced toward Cecile, who stood a short distance away, watching him warmly with reddened eyes.
That morning, merely seeing Karl rise from bed and stand on his own had been enough to make her cry.
She had burst into tears over so many trivial things throughout the morning that Karl had nearly begun worrying about her becoming dehydrated.
Karl steeled himself.
Before Madius could personally make a move, Karl had to act first and show him his intentions.
But before Karl could do anything, Madius, the great emperor of the thousand-year empire, made the first move.
Madius declared that he was overjoyed by Karl’s recovery from his long illness and would hold a party to celebrate it.
Officially, at least.
Madius was not a man capable of something like paternal affection.
Madius remembered the look Karl had shown him that day.
The eyes of a starving beast.
The burning desire to live.
The unwavering will.
And just like Aingir, Madius had also read what Karl had written while researching materials to establish his alibi.
It had been written by an ignorant and incompetent child who should never have learned anything, yet it was clear, orderly, and logically consistent from beginning to end.
Madius already knew.
Even if he did nothing to manipulate him, Karl would enter the struggle for the throne.
But if it was going to happen anyway, it was better to make absolutely certain of it.
From the throne built for him, the emperor of the thousand-year empire looked down upon everything.
And he was watching Karl.