The stench of blood filled the dungeon, sour and pungent, as a man staggered out, his heart hollow, his once splendid robes soaked in crimson.
That was Gerald, utterly broken, casually shedding his coat and tossing it to the ground.
His undershirt revealed a once-robust physique, now wasted away.
The words of those men still echoed in his ears, his jaw clenched as he struck the wall in bitter frustration.
He was wrong—utterly, completely wrong.
In the end, he leaned helplessly against the wall, sliding down.
Though he’d long suspected the evidence was false, hearing it confirmed felt like his heart was splitting apart.
Why?
Why did he have to endure such pain, such torment?
Though he’d made choices, they weren’t entirely his fault.
Why didn’t you explain, Emilia?
Why didn’t you fight back?
You just surrendered so calmly.
If you’d struggled even a little, said something…
The more he thought, the worse it felt, his chest tight with anguish.
He tried to summon memories of Emilia, their past, to ease the pain.
Without her, he was truly lost.
No guards, no surveillance. He walked the streets, heading toward the villa where Emilia once lived.
Perhaps because he’d shed his imperial robes, no one recognized him as the emperor.
The once-thriving streets were now desolate, filled with unrest and crime.
The harmony of old was gone, with no guards to maintain order.
The grand imperial statue, a symbol of authority, was defaced with insulting graffiti and words.
Voices of condemnation rang in his ears, accusing him of incompetence and inaction.
It stung.
He bowed his head lower, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.
Perhaps deep down, he still clung to a faint hope, a last shred of defiance to keep his spirit from breaking.
Maybe Emilia had her own motives.
She did all this at his behest, but no one’s perfect—surely she wasn’t doing it just for him.
There had to be some flaw, some selfishness…
“Dog emperor.”
“Worthless trash.”
The empire’s people vented their frustrations, masking their own guilt and regret, as if this absolved them of blame.
But it couldn’t change the truth: they deserved their fate.
Not everyone was indifferent, though.
Some sought a savior—the empire’s only savior, Emilia.
It seemed the plaza speech had stirred some awake, prompting them to search for Lady Emilia, embarking on a journey of redemption or following in her footsteps, hoping to save the empire through her ideals.
But most remained apathetic, content to wait for salvation as before.
“Have I finally arrived?”
Gerald didn’t know how long he’d walked before cautiously lifting his head to avoid recognition and trouble.
A route he once thought short now felt torturous and uneven.
After some inquiries, he learned the villa had long changed hands.
Come to think of it, he hadn’t cared about Emilia’s life or mental state in ages, only taking from her, demanding.
Beyond formal meetings, they hadn’t seen each other privately in years.
That was likely the root of all this.
If he’d been closer to her, shown her more love, understood her better, perhaps things wouldn’t have come to this.
His fists clenched, filled with regret, his face expressionless.
After much effort, he learned Emilia’s former residence was an abandoned monastery outside the capital.
Even if she wasn’t corrupt, her bishop’s salary could’ve afforded a comfortable life in the capital.
Wait—could there be some hidden scheme?
His earlier foolish suspicions grew stronger.
Could she really have had selfish motives?
Done something wrong?
It was the quickest way to ease his guilt and pain.
His steps quickened, moving with purpose.
It didn’t take long to reach his destination.
The monastery’s dean approached warily through the gate.
“Excuse me, stranger, what brings you here?”
“Me? Just passing by, curious. This looks like a monastery. Could you tell me about it?”
“Alright, but please leave soon. There are too many ill-intentioned people lately. This is an orphanage…”
As she spoke, children poured out of the plain building, brimming with innocence and joy, likely fresh from breakfast, rolling and playing on the grass.
This confirmed the dean’s words.
Gerald didn’t linger on pleasantries, cutting to the chase.
“Oh, is it? I heard this place is connected to Emilia. Don’t worry, I’m her…”
He paused briefly, then said without hesitation, his face steady, heart calm—it was bound to come out eventually.
He produced proof of their connection.
“Husband.”
“Oh, is that so? My apologies for being so cautious. Since Lady Emilia’s fall, we’ve been surviving in the cracks.”
The dean relaxed, respectfully inviting him in.
As Emilia’s husband, he posed no threat.
Everyone here had been touched by Emilia’s kindness, knew gratitude, and wouldn’t kick her while she was down.
The dean added, “Not just here—many nearby orphanages were funded by Lady Emilia. She said it was for someone, but never said who. Now it seems it was for you, her husband. Any news of her? We’re very worried. If we can help, please let us know.”
Gerald didn’t respond immediately.
His eyes widened in disbelief, his body trembling.
He only caught the first half of her words; the rest blurred, like childhood memories now vividly clear.
He remembered being an orphan, wandering, despised, until an old nun took him in.
He’d vowed to build a place for orphans when he grew up.
It was a casual remark, but Emilia had taken it to heart, going to such lengths.
He felt dizzy, stumbling.
Was he a fool?
Still doubting her, thinking she had selfish motives?
No, maybe… He wrestled with himself, trying to ease his pain and regret.
He grabbed the dean, as if clutching a lifeline.
“What else did Emilia do? Tell me, quick, tell me! There must be secrets, right?”
“Oh, yes, she did prepare something—a gift for atonement, but it’s a pity.”
They reached the orphanage’s backyard, a sea of silver flowers, pure and swaying in the breeze, each meticulously cultivated.
Gerald could no longer hold back.
He fell to his knees, hands weakly striking the ground, tears streaming from his eyes.
He knew these were Emilia’s atonement gift for him.
It was just a passing comment about liking her hair color… and she’d gone this far.
From start to finish, she’d done it all for him, without a trace of selfishness.
What was he still doubting?
Just lying to himself to feel better?
Damn it, damn it! Emilia, where are you?
I can’t do this without you.
I love you…
His countless thoughts converged into a single, choked cry of longing, tears unstoppable.
“I’ve accepted your atonement, Emilia. I forgive you. Please, come back.”
“Emilia, are you threatening me with orphans? That’s laughable. You know I’ll never forgive you, no matter what.”
In the flower field, Sig, resting at camp, set down his itinerary, arms crossed, tone odd.
He looked up at Emilia, angelic, holding a few dirty children, unbothered, her face full of tenderness.
“No, don’t you like kids? And picking up things? Look, I brought them back for you, to build the future of Demon King City. Why not take them, Sig?”
“Like kids? Oh, you mean last life? I almost forgot. Back then, I dreamed of running an orphanage. Now I’m destroying the world and going home… Keep them if you like, I don’t care.”
Something flickered in his eyes, and he waved dismissively.
She softly asked about preparing a suitable atonement gift in the future.
Those past atonements… forget it.
She didn’t want to return to the empire.
The orphanage had enough funds to last twenty years; no need to worry for now.
“Do you still like white flowers, Sig? You lingered in the flower field.”
“Not anymore. Just like I don’t like you.”
Man, Gerald needs to man up and take action—gather allies, play dirty politics, clean up the house, and etc. Better a tyrant than a feeble and weak emperor.
Readers can probably see comparisons which may be themes the author may have tried to put in. Not because there is necessarily deeper meaning in the text but the idea that reading calls for the reader’s personal interpretation and thoughts. Yes, I wrote this cope message so to not feel like I wasted time.
An isolated individual can’t accomplish much. However, the nobles, bureaucrats, or the bourgeoisie have strong networks of power and correspondingly act for their own interests. So the author might want readers to think about why.