The imperial envoy entered the castle with a calm, almost condescending gaze, as if looking down from above.
He carried something wrapped in red cloth, tied with golden thread—most likely a letter from the emperor himself.
Yuri greeted the envoy alongside his close aides and the lord of Bezos Castle.
“I bring a message from His Majesty the Emperor.”
“I see.”
Since Yuri was not a king, he simply slouched casually in his chair.
Around him stood knights, swords at their sides, watching the envoy intently.
The setting was far too modest for receiving a letter from the emperor.
The envoy blinked slowly, narrowing his eyes, then handed over the letter.
“Wait.”
Yuri didn’t take it.
“You should show some respect first.”
His tone was gentle, almost like soothing a child. The envoy hesitated, momentarily confused by the meaning behind the words.
When the envoy remained still, Yuri spoke again.
“Not going to do it?”
It wasn’t a scolding or an attempt to assert authority. It was more like returning a forgotten item, silently urging him to hurry up.
After a brief silence, the envoy spoke.
“The empire is preparing for war against Briol.”
“And?”
“It means they no longer recognize Briol’s royal authority.”
“Hm…”
Yuri nodded thoughtfully.
“I understand your courage.”
“My duty ends with delivering this letter.”
“You do know that refusing means death, right?”
The envoy blinked.
He seemed unused to such treatment. After all, imperial envoys were usually treated with great honor—especially when bearing the emperor’s own letter. Even a king would tread carefully.
But Yuri didn’t care.
Because he already knew just how wildly the empire would rampage.
“You said it yourself—we’re at war.”
The empire knew no compromise.
The more you yielded, the more they demanded, until the entire continent was engulfed in flames.
There was no benefit in treating envoys with courtesy.
On the contrary, it gave the enemy room to hesitate and lose focus in battle.
Just as he had rallied the allied forces by beheading orcs on the plains, Yuri was ready to kill this envoy if necessary.
He stood up.
“I hold no personal grudge. You do your duty, I do mine.”
He grabbed his sword, Guilty, which he had leaned beside him.
“I won’t make this long since I’m sorry. Either show respect, or die.”
The envoy’s eyes flickered faintly as Yuri tapped the sword’s hilt.
There was no bravado in Yuri’s stance.
This was a purely rational decision—to kill if needed.
“Uh…”
The envoy’s eyes darted around.
Usually, someone would intervene on his behalf. The empire’s prestige was immense.
But none of Briol’s knights stopped Yuri. Instead, they looked down on the envoy, silently urging him to submit.
“I heard Briol is a land of knights, but this is too cruel.”
He tried to speak calmly but stumbled over his words.
Yuri laughed.
“What does it mean to be a land of knights? Just that there are a lot of good swordsmen. Nothing special. Right?”
Laughter erupted around them.
They looked more like ruffians than noble knights.
The envoy closed his eyes, then opened them again.
He hadn’t come with solemn intent—just to deliver a letter and leave arrogantly, as always.
But here, his common sense didn’t apply.
“Jared.”
“Yes?”
“You don’t seem to understand. Bring him here.”
“Understood.”
Jared strode toward the envoy and, without hesitation, grabbed him as if handling a petty criminal.
The envoy was pulled forward by the collar.
“W-wait!”
“Hm?”
Everyone in the room stopped and stared at the envoy.
He hesitated briefly, then slowly bowed his head.
“As an envoy of the empire, I pay my respects to the Prince of Briol.”
He lowered his head.
It was a simple gesture.
“Ah, what a waste.”
Yuri said, pulling coins from his pocket.
Gold coins exchanged hands among the knights of Briol.
The envoy realized they had been betting on his reaction.
“T-this is…”
His face flushed with humiliation.
Yuri paid no mind.
“Leave that behind.”
“How rude of you. To think a small kingdom like yours would treat an imperial envoy so…”
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted.
Everyone’s smiles vanished as they fixed their gaze on the envoy.
Under the weight of all those eyes, the envoy held his breath.
Yuri stood.
“One bow doesn’t excuse rudeness.”
He drew Guilty.
The envoy took a step back.
“Why? Death comes in an instant. It’s no big deal.”
Yuri spoke from experience. In his past life, he had been beheaded by Roland and remembered that moment vividly.
It was a mere instant.
“Now then…”
“I got carried away.”
The envoy immediately bowed his head. He valued his life more than expected.
“I will take my leave.”
“Hmm…”
Yuri sheathed his sword.
“Alright, I won’t tolerate any more. Go.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
The envoy left without looking back.
The knights burst into laughter.
“That guy probably wet himself.”
“No wonder he was staggering as he walked.”
Their tone was like that of rowdy men in a tavern.
But all were nobles with titles.
Battle-hardened men tended to be rough around the edges.
They seemed pleased with Yuri’s handling of the situation.
“Third Prince, well done. Arrogant fools like that need to be put in their place.”
“We’re going to be shedding blood anyway. No need to hold back.”
“Truly the son of His Majesty.”
Roland and Jared looked uneasy, but the others showered Yuri with praise.
“Alright, for now…”
Yuri pulled the string from the letter.
He unfolded the cloth and read the contents.
It was truly nothing special.
Yuri let out a bitter chuckle.
“Is that all?”
“What is it?”
He showed them the letter.
Everyone’s expressions shifted subtly.
“Hmm…”
The message was brief.
“Surrender.”
That was all.
But the surprise wasn’t the message itself.
“The emperor…”
One knight nearby spoke.
“He must be in a lot of pain.”
The letter was wrapped in red cloth and sealed with golden thread, indicating it was a personal letter from the emperor.
But the handwriting was strange.
Some characters sprawled weakly and erratically, like a child’s scrawl; others were pressed down heavily, as if gripped tightly in anger.
Each character’s style shifted, giving an unsettling feeling.
It was the handwriting of a madman.
Yuri stared at the letter.
His eyes darkened, entering a somber state.
He could faintly see the lingering traces of dark magic—the blackened aura of sorcery.
He guessed the emperor had been completely consumed by dark magic.
Emperor Ivar.
The emperor Yuri had met in this life hadn’t seemed so bad.
He even showed a casual side, cracking silly jokes.
But that Ivar was gone.
Yuri inwardly expressed regret, then folded the letter again. He didn’t want to look at it any longer.
“He won’t last much longer.”
He muttered.
The next emperor would be Eugen, a powerful and malevolent dark sorcerer.
“Something did feel off.”
A knight standing behind spoke up.
He was Ainger Eustam, lord of Matterhorn.
Though a bit stout, he was large and experienced. The Eustam family was one of Briol’s most prestigious houses.
“I met the emperor before. He seemed decent then. When he suddenly started acting crazy, I wondered if he’d eaten something bad.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. They say he lost his mind from poisoning. Seems true.”
“Some things just happen.”
Yuri stood.
“Sometimes, things just happen.”
“That’s right.”
“Now, let’s prepare.”
Yuri’s tone brightened.
“We treated the envoy poorly, so they’ll respond. War could start any moment. Some of us here might not be seen again tomorrow. Has everyone notarized their wills?”
Laughter broke out.
Jared shook his head.
Their jokes were hard to understand.
Yuri’s ease in saying such things, and the old knights’ enjoyment of it, was strange.
Ainger responded to Yuri’s joke.
“No, Your Highness. No need for wills.”
“You must have a good relationship with your children.”
“No, quite the opposite.”
“But no need?”
“Because when I die, my heirs will fight over the inheritance. The loser will come to visit me early. That’s true filial piety!”
“You’re a wise father after all.”
They all laughed again.
Despite being on the brink of war, the mood was surprisingly light.
Jared, who had been quiet, wanted to join in.
“Looks like we’ll be eating more tomorrow.”
Everyone turned to him.
One knight asked,
“Why’s that?”
Jared grinned.
“Because there’ll be fewer mouths to feed. You can’t feed the dead, after all! Ha ha ha!”
He laughed alone.
His laughter slowly faded.
“Ha ha…”
It was chilling.
The knights’ cold stares pierced his chest like daggers.
“So, you’re saying we’ll all be dead tomorrow?”
“Ah, well…”
“If half of us are going to die, then you’ll be so excited tomorrow that you’ll eat twice as much, won’t you? Is that really true?”
“No, I was just—no, I was only joking…”
“You sound like you’re just waiting for us to die.”
“No, that’s not it…”
Jared’s face fell.
“I’m sorry if I offended anyone…”
At that moment, everyone burst out laughing.
“Wahahahaha!”
“Twice as much? This guy’s got quite the appetite!”
“When I’m dead, I’ll give up my special rations. Hahaha!”
“This young fellow’s got a big spirit. Whether we live or die, the drinks will be doubled, no matter what.”
One of the knights standing nearby slapped Jared on the back so hard it looked like he might break it, laughing heartily.
“I thought this guy was a spoiled noble, but he’s got some guts!”
It was all in good fun.
Jared let out a relieved smile and awkwardly joined in the laughter.
Honestly, these were difficult people to be around.
How did the young Third Prince manage to get along so well with them? Glancing sideways at the Third Prince, he quietly smiled and gave Jared a knowing look.
Yuri stood up.
“Alright, enough with the serious talk. Let’s joke around a bit. Everyone, please be careful tomorrow—not just you here, but the other troops as well. This war might drag on. Who knows? Maybe someday we’ll be drinking together under Briol’s banner in the palace. When that day comes, let’s all be alive to celebrate.”
“Yes, sir!”
Yuri’s words lifted everyone’s spirits.
The whole room buzzed with energy.
But leaning against the wall, lost in his own thoughts, was someone who didn’t share the mood.
“…”
It was Laurent.
Given the nature of the Flandre family, this kind of atmosphere felt unfamiliar to him, and he was still weighed down by worry over Cedric.
From an outsider’s perspective, it might seem like excessive concern.
If someone else had acted like that, Laurent would have told them not to worry so much.
But he couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at him.
“Lian, that guy’s lucky. To have such a handsome son. Me? I’m just worried if I’ll even get to see a grandson.”
One of the knights approached and spoke.
He was a close friend of Laurent’s father, Lian Flandre.
Laurent smiled.
“Thank you for your kind words.”
“How’s Lian doing?”
“He’s fine. No serious symptoms.”
“That’s good to hear. Laurent—Sir Laurent, I mean—please take care of yourself, too.”
“Yes, I will. Please, call me whatever’s easiest.”
“Right, Laurent. I remember seeing you often when you were little.”
“I have faint memories.”
As he spoke, Laurent suddenly looked out the window.
A single bird was flying by.