The Emperor's Shadow
Hendrick received the imperial letter from his subordinate and returned to his quarters, loosening the buttons of his uniform all the way down to his chest.
“Huu.”
Today had brought far too many things, and a faint weariness had settled over him.
Among them, the envelope stamped with the black panther seal looked the heaviest. Hendrick glanced at it once, then ignored the letter opener his subordinate had offered and tore the seal open with a rough hand.
As expected, the letter asked for an update on the progress of deciphering the rune.
“Rune…”
Hendrick set the letter aside and unfolded the memo Lisbel had copied for him.
What could have caused the rune to appear so suddenly?
This anomaly had never been part of his plan, and the thought stirred restlessly in his mind.
[Poet’s teeth, howled. The age of despair.
Baldor, prostrating himself, begged for the dew of mercy.
The great breath lulled it to sleep.
The great breath, six of them, nailed it down.
The children who inherited his blood swore to submit before the great breath forever.
The chain of oath.]
That was everything Lisbel had written. Yet Hendrick already knew this metaphor-laden passage was the true founding history of the Barboska Empire, exactly as she had suspected.
*I’m sorry to burden you with this at such a young age. This is the empire’s hidden shame that even your father never knew. You must keep it locked away in your heart.*
He had learned the truth at five years old, when he began receiving formal training as heir.
The current emperor—Yulian Leonhardt Barboska IV, Hendrick’s brother and father—had taken him to the imperial palace’s secret chamber and shown him a single painting.
“How is it, Hendrick? Do you understand what this painting depicts?”
“…It appears to show the founding father, Baldor.”
“That’s right. He holds the empire’s treasure, Drakenfell. It seems the young one has already mastered the empire’s history.”
Admiring the answer, Yulian had ruffled Hendrick’s hair, then suddenly changed. He seized Hendrick’s face with brutal force and spoke in a voice thick with madness.
“But look, Hendrick. Is Baldor really the great pioneer history claims? No. He knelt before God, prostrated himself, begged for mercy to spare his life, begged for land to settle. He begged like a beggar for divine compassion.”
The emperor’s eyes burned with something feral.
“God pitied him like a beggar and created six ruins, sealing monsters inside. In exchange, he forced Baldor to swear eternal submission to God. This—this is the true beginning of our glorious empire.”
Even after all these years, the memory of that childhood grip on his jaw remained vivid.
At the time he had not understood. Why the true history of the empire—one that even his own father did not know—had been entrusted only to him.
“Haah…”
Everything has its reason.
The true history the imperial family had concealed so thoroughly had suddenly appeared inside the ruins where God had sealed it. Was this the will of the divine, or merely a cruel coincidence?
The answer felt impossibly far away.
***
Lisbel had suffered through deep, heavy nightmares all night.
“Hah…!”
She woke with a sharp gasp, as though something had burst from the air. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but instead of crying out she drew a slow, steady breath until her breathing evened. Only the horror of the dream lingered, like a bruise.
When her eyes finally adjusted to the dimness, the barren tent used for camping came into view. The memory of how she had ended up here felt hazy and distant.
A vicious headache struck, and fragments flashed through her mind like lightning.
*Whew… Rick. Ah, good. Uhm… Hendrick…!*
The sight of her own naked body clinging to the man, the way she had begged, was burned into her memory with unnatural clarity. Even the cold, merciless gaze of Hendrick von Hautman as he looked down on her.
Lisbel squeezed her eyes shut, unable to believe what she had done. She wanted to scream, but instead she bit her lip and swallowed the rising shame.
The tent flap was lifted. The guard who had been standing watch entered, his face cold.
“You’ve finally woken. The commander personally carried you here. Without knowing your place, you troubled the one who will become Grand Duke… If you’re awake, prepare at once. We move to the next ruin today.”
The knight left after delivering the warning, then departed.
Even though she had been caught trespassing in a woman’s private space, only one thought kept circling in Lisbel’s mind: that Hendrick had brought her himself.
“Ha…”
What had she been bewitched by? The ruin? Or the rune?
The only certainty was that yesterday’s Lisbel had lost her mind under the influence of some unknown power.
“Hey.”
While she was still trying to analyze the impossible cause, the same guard who had barged into the tent earlier lifted the flap again.
“The commander is looking for you.”
Why now?
Lisbel frowned at the unwelcome summons. Yet the knight’s tone made it clear he cared nothing for her feelings. Lisbel rose from the bed without a word and followed him.
“Commander, Lisbel Belloc has been brought.”
“Send her in.”
A firm voice answered. The guard prodded her back as if she were wasting time, and Lisbel reluctantly lifted the tent flap and stepped inside.
The commander’s quarters were nothing like the prison tent she had woken in. Artifacts filled the spacious, comfortable space, casting warm light everywhere. Unlike the bare prison bed, the room held carpets, tables, and chairs arranged like a high-class inn.
“Sit.”
Hendrick pointed to the chair with his chin. His usual indifferent manner made it clear he remembered nothing of last night, leaving Lisbel’s emotions tangled.
“This is the memo you wrote yesterday. Do you remember?”
A neatly written sheet lay on the table, filled with her handwriting.
“Ah…”
The final lines of the memo had been left unfinished, the pen strokes breaking off in a messy trail.
“Forget last night. It was nothing more than being swept away by the ruin’s curse.”
The truth settled over her like cold water. The bare, clinging body, the endless hunger for pleasure—it had all been real, not a nightmare.
“I will.”
The words came out stiffly. Even thinking about it made her face burn with shame, but since he had already decided to bury it, she accepted the courtesy. She still could not understand why relief felt so distant and misery closer.
“Regarding the rune you copied.”
To Lisbel it had been a cataclysm. To Hendrick it was nothing more than a minor matter. He rested his large palm on the memo and asked.
“How did you interpret this record?”
Lisbel folded her hands on her knees, suppressing the urge to speak. Though the metaphors were heavy, as an archaeologist she found the meaning clear.
“In copying the rune I only skimmed it lightly, but it seemed to contain the empire’s founding history.”
When she spoke in her usual dry tone, Hendrick rose, crossed his arms, and met her gaze with cool eyes.
“Yet the history recorded here differs from what the empire knows. In the rune, Baldor is not the heroic slayer of monsters but a defeated man who prostrated himself before God, begging for mercy and land to settle.”
The words struck at the empire’s core, which worshipped both strength and wisdom. Perhaps he had only interpreted the text, but this could still brand him a heretic.
“Last night His Majesty sent a letter urging us to report the rune’s contents.”
Lisbel lowered her head.
She had finally escaped the sanctuary and found a chance to clear her name. Having already told Hendrick everything, she could not send a false report. Worry for the future kept her from hiding her despair.
“It would be better if His Majesty never learns such content that denies the empire’s founding history. Please write that the rune contains the empire’s history that everyone already knows.”
“…Huh?”
“I didn’t say anything difficult.”
“Ah, I understand…”
It was unexpected. Hendrick never made exceptions to his principles. Yet he had suggested covering the rune’s truth first.
“You leave soon. Write it quickly.”
Probably he judged that revealing the rune’s true meaning would only cause trouble. Hendrick von Hautman knew better than anyone that sometimes efficiency mattered more than rigid principle. From that viewpoint, his decision was both reasonable and wise.
“…That’s fortunate.”
Lisbel, the biggest beneficiary of his thorough calculation, quickly pulled a blank sheet and began scribbling the empire’s standard founding chronicle.
The first rune had been deciphered. The journey to the next ruin was about to begin.