Grandal II.
If his character could be summed up in a single phrase, it would be: “the emperor who feels like a friend.”
A lighthearted man who treated everyone without formality and often played mischievous pranks.
At times he would drink with commoners at inns in the city, or even get into fistfights with nobles—an amusing, if somewhat reckless, man.
That personality was nothing more than an expression of his confidence.
Nobody likes a stranger pretending to be close. If someone suddenly joined your gathering of friends, drinking and laughing as if they belonged, or interfered in your business as though they knew you well—how would you feel?
But if that “someone” happened to be the Emperor, the story was different. If he claimed to be your friend, then he was your friend. If he said he was your best friend, then he was your best friend.
In the end, he was just a man who did as he pleased.
Take what had just happened as an example.
Could anyone consider it appropriate to say “congratulations” to the son who hadn’t even finished mourning his father’s funeral, less than a month past, just because he was about to become the next Count?
But when this man smiled, that became something funny. It had to be funny. Because he was the Emperor.
That was why people called him the emperor who feels like a friend.
A “clean plague,” a “devout goblin,” a “bald man with thick hair,” and the “emperor who feels like a friend.”
It was one of the paradoxical expressions nobles of this world often used.
After all, the design motif for this character was the image of an old middle manager trying to act young and overly familiar.
The Emperor ended up riding in the same carriage with me.
I sat opposite him with Lucis in my arms, while beside the Emperor sat the Marchioness of Ishtar, who had accompanied him.
“……”
Moira Ishtar.
The current Marchioness, mother of Irina, gazed openly at Lucis without reserve.
She had surely heard of him and the situation through Irina, but this was her first time seeing him in person.
“Hm……”
The Emperor too let out a low sound as he looked at Lucis.
Because of the Mausoleum Treaty, dragons did not interfere with the affairs of men.
Even the Emperor would never have met one before.
“Hmph.”
But Lucis, despite being subjected to the stares of two of the greatest powers in the empire, showed not the slightest hint of fear.
He raised his chin proudly, as though declaring that heaven and earth alike knew he was greater than them.
“Tell me, Marchioness—should I be the one to show respect in this situation?”
The Emperor asked Moira Ishtar.
She blinked slowly, as if weighing her answer. Unlike her daughter, whose violet eyes sparkled like jewels, Moira’s purple gaze carried more of a cold, inhuman impression.
“No, Your Majesty. There is no need. Both are beings at the pinnacle of their own domains—you may consider them equals.”
“Is that so?”
The Emperor’s expression relaxed with relief.
“Hmph.”
Lucis snorted, clearly displeased, but showed no further reaction.
“Uh, well… Dragon, it is an honor to meet you.”
“……”
“……Could it be that you don’t know how to speak?”
“……”
“Ahem, ahem.”
For the first time, the emperor who liked to call everyone his friend was confronted with someone who did not wish to be his friend, and it left him flustered.
“Dragon.”
In contrast, the Marchioness bowed her head with graceful ease.
“I am Moira Ishtar, head of the family descended from the blood of the White Dragon.”
At the mention of White Dragon blood, Lucis turned his head.
A faint smile tugged at Moira’s lips.
“It is said that the same blood flows in your veins as in ours. May I ask, which White Dragon was your mother or father?”
It was an extremely polite question.
Lucis answered with a satisfied expression.
“Don’t know.”
“I see. You do not know.”
Moira accepted the non-answer without protest.
The Emperor looked back and forth between the two of them with keen interest.
And at that moment, a thought struck me.
Perhaps the reason the Emperor had come to the Count’s estate so early in the morning was because of the Marchioness’s urging.
The succession ceremony would last all day.
There would be plenty of opportunities for the Emperor to speak with me privately later.
In fact, it might even have been better for him to wait until after the ceremony, when the event had already established his authority.
So, was the purpose of this visit to let the Emperor know that Lucis also carried Ishtar blood?
That way, when the Emperor saw Lucis during the ceremony, he would be less likely to say something careless in front of the other nobles—things like, “The Mausoleums are blessed by the dragons,” or “That dragon belongs to the Mausoleums.”
Perhaps she wanted to plant the idea in the Emperor’s mind—and through him, in the nobility—that Lucis might one day come to the Ishtar family instead.
A faint, involuntary laugh slipped from me. The Emperor, seeing my face, also chuckled. He too seemed to have reached the same conclusion.
So this is politics…
To gauge each other’s intentions with only a few words, to quietly store that understanding without stating it aloud, to refrain from anxiously seeking confirmation.
Dignified, perhaps, but also frustrating.
No wonder only the sharpest minds could survive in the political arena.
Fortunately, I don’t plan on living in this world.
I would retire soon enough.
I had no desire to play political games—I’d focus instead on cleaning up the underworld and raising the protagonist.
The world of politics would suit clever Shia better than straightforward Simon. Once she graduated from the academy, I would push her straight into society.
“Uh, hmm, hmm.”
But it seemed the Emperor intended to continue this headache-inducing conversation.
Just as I suppressed a sigh of exasperation, Lucis cut him off.
“Sleepy.”
“…Hm? What was that, little dragon?”
“I’m going to sleep.”
He turned his body, nestled into my arms, and buried his head against my side to block the sunlight—a ferocious declaration that he would now take his morning nap.
The Emperor’s mouth fell open.
“What in the world…?”
Sensing the opportunity, I raised a finger to my lips toward the Emperor.
“Shhh.”
“……”
The Emperor’s eyes widened in disbelief at my irreverence, but in the end, he could only close his mouth with a quiet groan.
Until the carriage arrived at the site of the succession ceremony, not a single word was spoken. Only the sound of Lucis’s steady breathing filled the air.
At the plaza where the ceremony would take place, a massive crowd had already gathered.
To display the power of the imperial household, even the temporary stage had been built of marble. Countless nobles conversed there, while commoners crowded below to gawk at them.
Around the stage, imperial knights stood in formation against unforeseen incidents, while mages from the Tower and engineers from the Grand Workshop maintained protective spells and artifacts at all times.
The nobles gathered in small groups, chatting while waiting for the ceremony to begin.
“Have you heard? They say there’s a child in the Mausoleum family.”
“More than that, I heard they’ve sparked an enormous fashion craze.”
“I heard that the Mausoleum circuit foundry is going to unveil a new type of circuit—not an attack circuit this time.”
“Usually when a family head dies, things quiet down for a while, but the Mausoleums are the opposite. What could be more surprising than this?”
Irina let out a small sigh at the whispers carried on the wind.
The greatest surprise will actually be revealed today…
She had been told in advance, while still in Leticia, that Seymour planned to publicly reveal Lucis’s identity today.
She could hardly imagine how shocked these people would be once the ceremony began.
“Lady Ishtar, are you all right?”
The Empress asked gently.
Irina was sitting beside her, serving as her companion.
“Ah, forgive me, Your Majesty.”
Straightening her posture at once, Irina earned a soft laugh from the Empress, who covered her mouth with her hand.
“You always put such emphasis on proper posture.”
“Proper posture helps maintain a proper mind.”
“Fufufu… You may be the most upright knight I’ve ever met.”
The Empress had first seen Irina two years earlier, at a tournament. Since then, she had occasionally invited her to the palace for companionship.
At first Irina had been bewildered by the sudden summons and uncomfortable in the presence of such a high-ranking lady.
But out of knightly duty, she accepted, and before long the two had become close enough to be called friends.
“By the way, I hear the Mausoleum heir you’ll see ascend today is someone with whom you’ve had a rather bitter connection.”
“Ah…”
Irina’s face faltered with unease.
The Empress knew well that Irina’s strong sense of honor meant she never spoke ill of others behind their backs, even enemies.
“But it should be fine, shouldn’t it? On a day like this.”
“Hmm… perhaps so.”
Irina gave a faint smile.
“Even so, I don’t have much I can say.”
“Why not?”
“Because he has changed so very much recently.”
“The Mausoleum heir has?”
“Yes. Though truth be told, I’ve only seen him twice myself in recent days.”
“Hm… You mean I should judge with my own eyes.”
Irina simply smiled in response.
The Empress smiled back. She knew Irina was steering her away from prejudice, encouraging her to form her own judgment of the man from their rival family.
That thoughtfulness was precisely why the Empress was so fond of her.
“Truly, had I borne a son ten years earlier, I would have made you his wife.”
“I can only be grateful for Your Majesty’s kind view of me.”
“And because of that, I shall be very strict in choosing your future husband. Be prepared.”
“If it is someone chosen by Your Majesty, then I would surely be able to trust and rely on him.”
As their warm laughter echoed between them, the crowd’s attention turned in one direction.
“Ah, it seems they’ve arrived.”
The Empress and Irina looked toward the base of the stage.
The stars of the succession ceremony were ascending the steps.
Black hair, golden eyes, dazzling beauty.
It was the very symbol of the Mausoleum family.
And today, another impression was added.
“What’s with that…?”
“Their outfits look so plain.”
All of the Mausoleums wore the same attire:
White shirts with ties, black jackets, and black trousers.
Only Seymour, the acting head, differed slightly—over his black vest, he wore a gray coat made of animal fur instead of a jacket.
“…That’s…”
“Hm…”
“Well now…”
The nobles, used to glittering jewels and layers of lace, at first thought the Mausoleum attire dull, even shabby.
There were no jeweled ornaments, no lace or frills, not even golden buttons.
The only adornments were gold tie-pins and cufflinks.
But when they looked back at their own attire after seeing the Mausoleums, a strange thought arose.
…Aren’t our decorations a bit excessive?
It was the reversal effect of fashion.
Some nobles unconsciously clutched at their jeweled brooches, embarrassed by how gaudy they suddenly seemed.
Step. Step.
And above all—that stride.
The bold, unrestrained gait.
The eyes, brimming with confidence that bordered on arrogance.
The beauty that shone undimmed despite the simplicity of their clothes.
Those were adornments greater than any jewel.
“It’s as if we’re watching elegant beasts.”
Everyone agreed with the remark.
If the other nobles were lions, the Mausoleums were black panthers.
Not lions flaunting their glorious manes, but panthers who radiated lazy elegance and sharp presence with nothing more than their natural lines.
It was, in fact, the very first phrase the scriptures of the Church used to describe the Mausoleums:
“Elegant, arrogant beasts: the Mausoleums.”
And so, in that instant, this generation of Mausoleums carved a powerful image into everyone’s minds.
But it did not end there.
At the head of the Mausoleum procession, Seymour halted and looked skyward.
As he stopped, so too did every member of the family behind him.
A gentle smile spread across his sculpted face, and he lifted both hands toward the heavens.
“Lucis.”
Everyone followed his gesture upward.
Deng— Deng—
The tower bell tolled the hour, signaling the beginning of the succession ceremony.
And from that bell tower—
“Ah…”
“An angel…?”
A figure with pure white wings spread wide descended.
