Clodine gazed quietly at the lake that stretched out before her its smooth horizon resembling the vastness of the sea.

She had only ever seen the sea in paintings.

In the Van Helsing Empire, whose capital lay at the center of the continent, it was no simple matter for an ordinary citizen to see the ocean in person.

One would have to ride for at least two months from the capital to lay eyes upon it.

‘Clodine, this is what the sea looks like. In my homeland, they even call it the sky of the land.’

‘Did Your Majesty see such a beautiful sea every day?’

‘Of course. I could see it even from my room without stepping outside.’

When she was young, the late Empress Elizabeth von Lernando Ahazan’s stepmother would often paint the sea and show it to her.

Some days, the sea in those paintings resembled the sky.

Other days, it looked like the colors of sunset.

At night, it turned completely black save for the moonlight.

At dawn, it burned red like a blooming rose under the rising sun.

To Clodine, it had always been beyond imagination—

an endless expanse of water that changed colors by the moment.

As mysterious as the fairies of legend.

“It’s beautiful… truly.”

She murmured softly.

Though it was not the sea, this lake that resembled it so closely made the real ocean feel less like a distant myth.

Thinking of the late Empress Elizabeth, who had always longed for both the sea and her homeland, Clodine felt a quiet ache in her chest but she did not try to push the feeling away.

“There are people waiting ahead, Your Majesty.”

Cal Regerson rode up beside them and spoke to Ahazan, who still held Clodine from behind.

At his words, Clodine turned her gaze toward the lakeside where, just like the Tylutan people in Aselda, the people of Desalon had gathered to meet the imperial procession.

Before long, the procession reached them.

The difference between the people of Tylutan and those of Desalon was immediately clear in their attitude, in their atmosphere.

The people of Desalon did not even bother to show forced courtesy to the imperial couple.

Nor did they approach the horses as if to offer feed.

Instead, they merely cast wary glances at the imperial soldiers as if they had been given orders to remain on guard.

More striking still Hamon Desalon, the prince of Desalon and their apparent leader, was nowhere to be seen among them.

Amid uneasy gazes and an unsettling silence, a cold voice broke through filled with unmistakable hostility.

“He is waiting.”

Before Ahazan and Clodine, who had just dismounted, could even catch their breath a young man stepped forward from the crowd.

His dark hair was tightly braided on both sides, his skin sun-browned.

Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and began walking toward the village, cutting through the crowd.

The one he spoke of was surely Prince Hamon.

“How dare that bastard—”

Rekri Alexia, the youngest knight of the Pantheon Knights, could not contain his temper.

He moved to stride past the Emperor, intent on catching up to the man ahead.

At the sight of the blade at Rekri’s waist and the hostility in his voice the surrounding civilians paled and instinctively stepped back.

“Rekri.”

Ahazan simply called his name.

Just once.

But that alone was enough.

Rekri stopped abruptly, as if suddenly realizing his mistake.

He turned, dropped to one knee, and bowed his head deeply.

Clodine, still holding Ahazan’s hand after dismounting, instinctively tightened her grip.

Though Rekri had grown into a young man, she still saw the boy from the forge in him and she did not want Ahazan to be too harsh.

Ahazan glanced at her at the touch.

Rekri, too, seemed to notice her silent plea.

For a brief moment, a flicker of resentment crossed his flushed face but it vanished before Ahazan’s gaze returned to him.

After a pause uncharacteristically long Ahazan spoke in a calm, indifferent voice.

“This is not a battlefield.”

The only place a subordinate could move ahead of the Emperor was the battlefield.

His words carried a clear warning:

Never overstep again.

Rekri understood immediately.

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty.”

As the atmosphere grew colder, silence settled heavily over the surroundings.

Ahazan stepped past him, as if to end the matter.

“That is enough. Stand down.”

Still holding Clodine’s hand, he walked forward and she had no choice but to follow.

Because of that, she never noticed the dark dissatisfaction lingering in Rekri’s eyes as he watched her retreating figure.

***

Prince Hamon Desalon awaited them inside a tent its ceiling and walls enclosed in white cloth like a fortress.

Seated within, he did not rise to greet them.

Nor did he show even the most basic courtesy.

He merely extended a hand toward Ahazan wordlessly indicating the chair across from him.

There was only one chair.

And none was offered to Clodine.

Ahazan looked from Hamon’s face to the single chair placed before him and let out a quiet, unreadable laugh.

Having already witnessed what happened with Rekri, Cal Regerson had tried to hold himself back.

But in the end, he couldn’t.

“Stand and show proper respect, Prince of Desalon.”

“Cal.”

Just before Cal could finish speaking, Ahazan called his name.

Cal stiffened slightly, worried he might have made the same mistake as Rekri.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Escort the Empress outside.”

The unexpected command made Cal hesitate.

“Then I will call for the Pantheon Knights first.”

“It’s unnecessary. Leave.”

“But I cannot leave Your Majesty alone here.”

When facing more than one opponent, a knight could never leave the Emperor unguarded.

It was not only duty it was law.

Inside the tent were two enemies: Prince Hamon and the subordinate who had shown arrogance from the start.

Even with Ahazan’s order, Cal could not disregard that principle.

“There are two of them, Your Majesty. Therefore—”

“Ugh—!”

“Ahazan—!”

Cal’s voice was cut off followed by a man’s dying groan and Clodine’s sharp cry.

In an instant, Ahazan had kicked aside the chair and closed the distance.

The blade already in his hand flashednand the Desalon knight, who had just begun to react, was cut down without mercy.

The man collapsed violently to the ground, clutching his torn abdomen blood pouring through both armor and flesh.

Though he had been strong enough to stand as the prince’s guard, his skill was nothing before Ahazan who had led a war no one believed he could win.

Ahazan wiped the blood splattered across his face with his sleeve.

Then, glancing between the pale-faced prince, the fallen knight at his feet, and Cal standing frozen in shock, he spoke calmly.

“Well. Now there is only one opponent. That should suffice.”

As if time had already been wasted enough, he gave Cal a silent command take Clodine outside.

Even then he did not forget to smile gently at Clodine, who stood trembling, her hand covering her lips.

“I’m sorry for startling you.”

Then, as though nothing had happened, Ahazan pulled the lone chair the one never offered to Clodine and dragged it directly in front of Hamon.

He sat down leisurely, crossing his legs.

“It seems you wished for a private audience with me. I can hardly refuse.”

Hamon Desalon looked at him his expression twisted with fear and fury, utterly mismatched with the boldness of what he had tried to do.

Only then did Cal move.

He wrapped an arm around Clodine’s shoulders and guided her stiff, unmoving body out of the tent.

Ahazan cast a disinterested glance at the knight bleeding out on the ground.

Then, in a chilling voice, he said—

“Let’s think of it as an hourglass.”

His lips curved into a faint smile.

“It would be best to finish our conversation before your man bleeds out and dies.”

Then, as if amused by his own thought, he snapped his fingers lightly.

“Ah… perhaps not an hourglass.”

His smile deepened.

“A blood clock would be more fitting.”

Hamon stared at him at the Emperor’s face, both grotesque and breathtakingly beautiful and only then did he fully understand.

He had provoked something he never should have touched the madness of an absolute ruler.

And now he could do nothing but face it.