“Yes… Finally, someone has come to inherit this heavy burden.”
In a world that had been dulled to gray, it felt as if colour had returned. It was a sense of reality and joy, emotions not felt in a long time. Perhaps what he was feeling now was hope and passion. But the joy ended there. The faint smile that had briefly graced his lips faded quickly. In its place came a profound sense of helplessness. And with it, a phrase that lingered in his mind.
“Do not forget. You are the hope that sustains the empire.”
What had once been a request, perhaps an expectation, had now become a shackle. No, it was more than that. If it bound a person to endless torment, was it not a curse?
When he first heard those words, he believed he would be different. He thought he would overcome countless trials and achieve renown. He had resolved to stand firm, fighting with conviction unlike others.
He had vowed to drive out the infidels and restore the empire’s glory once more. It was a pledge born of the fervor of his younger days.
Even when that fervor cooled, he had not forgotten.
Now, though, that vow had weathered away completely.
“Enough… It’s enough now.”
He had suffered enough. He had struggled enough. Outnumbered, outmatched. In the face of overwhelming odds, passion and conviction proved meaningless.
The world was too harsh for determination to bridge the gap between the chosen and the unchosen. And he was not the chosen one. He was merely a pitiable loser, unable to overcome this crisis and hardship.
“I have done my duty… Please, let me go now.”
He had fought alone on this desolate land, relying solely on the walls, constantly anxious about the movements of the enemies that surrounded him for years. The gray streaks in his hair and the deep colour of resignation in his eyes told the story. This was as far as he could go.
He could only feel regret toward the father who had believed in him.
But now, he was exhausted. The title of emperor, devoid of any real power, only brought heavy responsibility. The empire’s situation had not improved since the moment he ascended the throne.
It was only now, after a long period of inactivity, that he had achieved notable results. All that remained was selfishness. The only thing left for a nominal emperor who ruled over a single ancient city was this.
“Forgive me, Constantine. Bear my burden as well.”
He wished to die as the third prince rather than as an emperor. If even that was impossible, then he would close his eyes as an ordinary citizen. He no longer harboured grand dreams of rebuilding the empire.
He only wanted to escape his duties as quickly as possible. The process did not matter. He just wanted to be free.
Even if it meant borrowing the form of death.
This was the Emperors desire.
Victory does not always bring the best outcome.
This was true for an empire teetering on the brink of ruin. Though much was gained thanks to Prince Constantine’s cleverness, much was also lost. The prince had turned a blind eye to the crisis of their allies for the sake of his country’s interests. As a result, it was natural that Serbia’s trust was lost. But there was an even greater issue: the division within the nation.
“…No. Damn it, even with his weakness in hand, there’s no way to harm him while he’s on the rise.”
The ruler of Selymbria, the second prince, Theodoros, had long been thrown into the fierce conflict between the two factions that had emerged in the capital.
The root of the conflict was, unsurprisingly, the prince. His extraordinary abilities, unmatched by his station, had now divided the country. Looking at the prince, who had restored central Greece, including Morea, people had begun to say:
“Isn’t the Crown Prince the most suitable person to be emperor?”
The popularity that had plummeted due to the recent broken engagement quickly recovered. The Crown Prince, long considered a leading contender for succession, had been shunned by those who accused him of tarnishing the empire’s pride and dignity.
Now, those same people were turning their opinions, arguing that he should inherit the throne to restore the empire’s prestige. Though his faction was still small, the rapidly growing support could not be ignored.
Naturally, this led to the rise of opposing forces.
Among the many causes of the empire’s downfall was a prolonged civil war. No matter how exceptional the individual, it was better to stabilize the current succession rather than incite a civil war to enthrone him.
That was the true path to saving the empire. This view was supported by Chancellor Notaras, who had long been concerned about John’s actions. Notaras’s arguments gained enough attention to strengthen John’s power.
Yet, the momentum of those supporting the Crown Prince remained undeterred. While others criticized his lack of ability, Theodoros exuded confidence in one aspect: his keen observational skills. He quickly discerned the subtle shift in power. Someone was deliberately nurturing a faction in the capital to empower the Crown Prince.
Avoiding the gaze of the co-emperor John while wielding such influence over the nobles left Theodoros with only one suspect. As expected. A bitter sigh filled the room.
“Have you turned your heart toward Constantine?”
Regretting his alliance with Constantine to counter John, Theodoros now realized that perhaps the entire succession process had been orchestrated to shield Constantine from other factions. Had the old emperor deceived him to the very end? The thought of it filled Theodoros with a searing sense of betrayal and rage.
Why?
Why go this far?
“You said the eldest must be chosen… Then why not me? Why Constantine instead of me… Why leave me aside for him…!”
If the heir didn’t have to be the eldest, he had hoped to be chosen. But he envied John, believing the eldest should be the successor, and sought to make himself the eldest by eliminating John.
Yet, now the old emperor claimed otherwise. There were no conditions for succession. It felt as if the emperor was calmly declaring that they had never been considered as heirs from the start.
There were no conditions for the successor.
The emperor had only ever considered Constantine as the heir.
“Aaah—! Aaah! Aaaah!”
A violent storm raged through the room. Delicately placed ornaments lay shattered on the floor. Red streaks of madness trickled down his veined arms. Was it the sorrow of not being chosen, or the despair of unmet ambitions that fuelled his fury? Wiping the tears streaming down his contorted face, Theodoros gritted his teeth.
Theodoros resolved.
He would no longer see him as his father.
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