Teresa stared blankly at the figure—she didn’t know where he’d come from, a would-be assassin who’d failed, his cloak shrouding a face that seemed normal at first, yet on closer look, was wooden, like a puppet.
Immortality, Blood Sacrifice, Elixirs of Eternal Life…
Impossible! Impossible!
Father—though deceived, and in a moment of misjudgment exiled me—he would never do something like this!
He was never a good emperor. Ever since he grew old, he’d been indecisive, no longer the wise ruler who once maneuvered deftly amid the clash of factions.
But at least he—he was a good father.
Teresa’s mind flooded with memories.
He’d ignored everyone’s objections, bestowed her mother the title of Empress Consort, and granted her the Inheritance Rights.
That gentle, kind gaze, always indulgent toward her, as he looked at her with pride and said, “You are the sole inheritor of the Pure Bloodline among this generation of the Royal Bloodline—the only one with violet eyes.”
A father like that—how could he possibly frame his own daughter, even sacrifice her, just to chase after some vague, unattainable immortality?
“You’re lying!” Teresa, burning with fury, raised the imperial sword in her hand. Her heart raged as she poured every ounce of strength into the peerless blade that had, through Green’s manipulation, been elevated to a Divine Sword.
Clang——
Teresa’s swordsmanship was superb.
Since childhood, praised by both her father and the nobles for “possessing the same violet eyes as the First Emperor,” she always took the First Emperor as her role model.
She diligently honed her swordsmanship, practiced horseback riding, and while other princes squandered their days in pleasure or busied themselves gathering followers, only she held fast to the ideals of the First Emperor, caring for the world and its people.
“My sword faces the enemy on one side—enemies within and without. On the other, it points to myself, to examine my own heart.”
This axiom left by the First Emperor had carried Teresa all the way to today.
Yet in this moment, the unwavering faith she’d always held was shattered by just a few seemingly ordinary words from the puppet-like man.
If Father—the very man who praised her as the heir in the First Emperor’s image—had come to see her as a discardable pawn, even a sacrifice at any moment…
Then, wasn’t everything she’d ever strived for nothing but a joke?
“Haha, Your Highness.”
The puppet man, whatever his purpose, simply stretched out a hand and summoned a swirl of black energy to block her desperate attack, not even bothering to strike back.
Instead, he spoke in a languid, leisurely tone, as if chatting with an old friend, “Actually, deep down, you already know the truth, don’t you? They all say the Seventh Princess is gifted—there’s no way you couldn’t see it.”
“The eldest prince, though granted the post of regent, never once earned the full trust of His Majesty the Emperor. On the contrary, though his Inheritance Rights take priority, he is constantly the target of suspicion and suppression.”
The puppet man blinked. The movement was distinctly artificial, yet in Teresa’s eyes, she felt as if she was truly conversing with a living soul.
“Your royal brother did plot against you. However…” The puppet’s stiff mouth twisted into an exaggerated, grotesque smile, “His goal was simply to eliminate a competitor. You’d already been stripped of your Inheritance Rights and exiled to the frontier—why would he bother to hound you further?”
“But, but, that Barbarian King just now, when he took out the magitek barrier, he said he got that device from royal brother…”
Though her mind rationally accepted the facts, the instincts of a daughter fought on, desperately refusing to accept the truth the puppet revealed, as though resisting a corrupting poison.
“Of course.” The puppet spoke in a muffled, hollow tone: “His Majesty the Emperor naturally wouldn’t want the world to know he personally schemed to kill his own daughter—that’s hardly something glorious. So borrowing the eldest prince’s name is only logical, isn’t it?”
“Besides.”
The puppet turned to look at Green, who held the purple magitek crystal, and chuckled, “Don’t you find it strange? With your royal brother’s current authority, though he could in theory mobilize such a trump card, using it on a princess who no longer poses a threat, risking being caught by other claimants—doesn’t the cost outweigh the benefit?”
Yes.
Teresa remembered her brother’s calculating face—always weighing advantages and disadvantages, never sparing a thought for kinship or principle.
With the eldest prince’s cunning, he’d never make such a loss-making move.
But in that case…
Did Father truly, truly want her dead?
“Why, why…” Tears welled in Teresa’s eyes as she muttered in confusion, “Is Father truly so afraid of death? Does he really believe that prophecy?!”
She recalled the words the lady magician once spoke.
“Great Emperor, you shall have everlasting youth, wielding imperial power eternally—unless…”
Teresa remembered the first time she heard the prophecy—Father’s face, aged but still composed.
“Unless what?” Father narrowed his eyes, gazing at the lady magician—brought by her brother from who-knows-where, her origins unknown but her predictions always accurate, her powers mysterious.
“There can be only one master of the empire.” The magician didn’t answer him directly. Her bewitching face overflowed with charm, and merely parting her lips set all the men present adrift in longing.
“One Pure Bloodline is enough for each generation of the Royal Bloodline.” She sighed deeply. “An emperor must not let family ties cloud judgment…”
“Nonsense.”
Father slapped the armrest hard, turning coldly to the handsome yet slightly sinister young man in ornate silk beside him. “Did you bring this charlatan here just to drive away your own sister?”
“Utterly ridiculous. I am ending this meeting.”
Bang.
Father swept his sleeves and left.
Back then, Teresa had thought little of it, taking the episode as yet another of her brother’s petty intrigues.
But…
As Father aged, as he once fell gravely ill—so close to death, only for the magician to somehow “control” the illness—everything changed.
The eyes that once adored her violet gaze as the symbol of the purest blood, now held only wariness, even a hint of fear.
So Teresa grew distant from Father, until she was finally exiled to the frontier.
“The lady magician’s prophecies have never missed.”
The puppet man slowly raised his hand, joints creaking, “One empire—one sovereign. Princess, didn’t you always claim to love your father? Now, two roads lie before you. The first: follow the prophecy, slay your beloved father, and seize the throne.”
“The other: obediently be sacrificed, become an elixir for your father’s immortality…”
The puppet man gave a casual, shallow bow, exactly like an actor on stage bidding the audience farewell at the curtain call.
Love Father?
Did Teresa love her father?
Of course she did.
But to sacrifice herself, become an immortal elixir?
Or commit patricide and usurp the throne?
The two paths pressed on Teresa, so heavy she could barely breathe.
“I… I…”
Confronted by the puppet’s question, the once steadfast princess wavered.
Clap, clap, clap.
A crisp applause rang out.
“What a story.”
Green, who’d been quietly observing, spoke up. “From the perspective of a bard like myself, it’s certainly a splendid little… tragicomedy.”
“Oh, Bard.” The puppet, unfazed by Green’s use of “tragic,” replied with unhurried, genuine curiosity: “Where do you think my story is lacking?”
“It does have a flaw.”
Green answered seriously, as if they were earnestly discussing narrative craft, “Your ethical dilemma was stirring indeed, but…”
Green shook his head, regretful.
“The logic of your story is fundamentally wrong. No matter how dramatic the conflict, it simply doesn’t hold up.”
He picked up his lyre, strumming the strings again.
Strum, strum, strum~
The clear, ethereal notes dispersed the grief and despair in Teresa’s heart.
“I once heard a story—in a certain city, there was a famously filial son.”
“Whenever his father scolded him, he accepted it humbly. But whenever his father actually raised a stick to beat him, the son would jump over the wall and flee.”
“Someone asked, ‘If you’re truly so filial, why do you always run away when he’s about to beat you?’”
“The son answered, ‘It’s precisely because I love my father so much that I run—to keep him from acting unjustly and beating me for no reason.’”
“Your Highness, if you truly love your father, how could you sacrifice yourself to ‘help’ him, and let your father fall into unrighteousness?”
“If your father is mistaken and you don’t correct him—letting him be deceived and corrupted by villains—pardon my bluntness, but that isn’t real love.”
Jingle, jingle~
Green’s song shattered the deadlock the puppet had constructed.
Crack.
The puppet’s smile froze.
So that was it! That was it!
Teresa jerked her head up, staring at the puppet man again. All the confusion and despair in her heart had vanished, replaced by a blazing fire of resolve.
“I will stop Father!” Teresa declared, “For the Empire, for the people, I can’t let him go astray any longer.”
“All monsters, demons, ghouls—come if you dare!”
So swore Teresa.
“Tch!” The puppet glared at Teresa, then at Green, who’d ruined his plan. “You were one step away from becoming a new member of my Puppet Troupe. Why must you refuse such an honor?”
The puppet raised his hands in anger, and the black aura he’d summoned spread at once.
“Fine. Even if a forced puppet is only a dead shell, that’s enough.”
A puppet?
Green mused.
So that’s why this fellow wasted time talking, weaving stories—just to break Teresa’s will, so she’d unknowingly become a string-bound puppet?
Hiss.
Green suddenly thought of the old emperor in the capital.
Could it be…
“Hmph, we’ll see soon enough.”
Green stepped in front of Teresa, facing the enemy directly.
“So it’s you? I admit you’re strong,” the puppet’s body creaked, “but before that supreme power, which even the gods fear, all resistance is—huh?”
The puppet’s rigid face suddenly showed a very human shock.
Buzz——
A soft silver light radiated from Green’s hand.
Holy Light.
But of course—not ordinary Holy Light.
“Oh, what’s wrong, Puppet? Weren’t you just boasting even the gods fear your supreme power?”
Green tilted his head.
“The God of Justice????”
The puppet let out a shrill, miserable scream.
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