In the imperial palace, within the chambers of emperors past, the high vaulted ceiling looms overhead, a massive crystal chandelier hanging down, its countless perfectly cut diamonds refracting dazzling light, illuminating the entire room, accompanied by the morning birdsong.
With a constipated expression, Gerald snaps awake, slowly rising from the emperor’s grand bed, lifting the silk covers, leaning against the headboard, instinctively calling out.
“Emilia, come help me…”
His words trail off, choked.
He quickly sobers up, letting out a sigh, his mood sinking low, his chest hollow and empty.
After all, the girl who filled his heart and eyes is long gone, and even after a year, he still can’t adjust.
For over twenty years, her figure, her memories, her beauty were always there—almost inseparable from him.
The more he recalls, the deeper the sorrow and regret.
Everything he once had within reach, he personally destroyed.
The pride he once felt now fuels his regret. In this empty chamber, cold and desolate, it’s a stark contrast to before when Emilia would already be here, waiting.
She’d check on him, chat about old times, or personally prepare breakfast—small, unremarkable details that now stir waves in his heart.
He clutches his forehead, trying to calm himself.
Why didn’t he notice before?
Probably because in his pride, he was surrounded by sycophants, their flattery and bootlicking drowning out everything else.
To him, her actions were just expected, taken for granted.
And now… after losing power, reduced to an emperor in name only, completely sidelined and deceived by those who once fawned over him, his so-called loyal vassals scattered like roaches.
All that’s left is him, a bitter clown, staring at the bedside table where the so-called irrefutable evidence against Emilia lies—riddled with holes, utterly illogical.
His heart hardens.
It’s all because of this so-called evidence, all these things’ fault.
As if finding an outlet for his grief and rage, he casts a spell, setting it all ablaze, the papers consumed by roaring flames.
His eyes reflect the fire, and the flames reflect his solitary shadow, cast on the wall—soresponsibly, so bleak and helpless.
Calming down, he clenches his fists, gritting his teeth.
If Emilia were still here, would those people dare treat him this way?
A maid brings in an exquisite breakfast, bows, and hurries out, wary of upsetting the emperor or becoming his punching bag.
He takes one bite and spits it out in disgust—it’s not good, not like her taste, the one that suited him.
His eyes drift to the window, as if seeing a silver-haired woman reflected there.
He murmurs to himself.
“Emilia, where are you? Had enough of your tantrum?”
“Not bad, pretty tasty. I’d give you a ten—out of a hundred, Emilia.”
Sieg, sitting at the table, eats the meal prepared by the girl, deliberately smacking his lips as he chews, offering his critique—whether praise or just mockery, it’s unclear.
In the small but cozy house, everything they need is there.
Small as a sparrow, but fully equipped.
They’ve lived together here for a year, always crossing paths.
Yet nothing out of the ordinary has happened—likely due to the unspoken barriers and hidden reservations between them.
As he eats, he looks at Emilia sitting across from him, her breathtaking beauty like a divine masterpiece, flawless, perfect, elegant in every move.
Years of otherworldly life and saintess etiquette have ingrained these behaviors into her very bones.
He sets down his chopsticks, looks up, pausing, lost in thought—maybe about what she said yesterday, about returning to her hometown?
Not the Blue Star, but the place where she was born.
A year ago, when she was first released, he went with her there.
The result wasn’t exactly pleasant.
It was downright absurd, and he couldn’t understand why she’d want to go back.
“Something happen?”
Sensing his gaze, Emilia puts down her chopsticks, looks up, and asks softly, tilting her head slightly, silver hair spilling over her shoulder, meeting his eyes.
Her delicate hand brushes stray hair from her ear as she sits upright.
“Nothing, just thinking about you.”
He stares at her, still pondering how to respond, without any ulterior motives.
“I want to know why you’d go back to that mess of a place. Even an outsider like me can see the villagers don’t exactly welcome you—even the dogs bark at you nonstop. Isn’t going back just asking for trouble? You’re not a masochist, are you?”
From Sieg’s perspective, he shouldn’t be saying this.
If she wants to suffer, that’s her problem.
But for some reason, he speaks up anyway.
“It’s not that. I have my reasons for going back, Sieg.”
She doesn’t elaborate, offering only a single sentence, her eyes revealing a trace of pleading and sorrow.
What more could he say?
With her like this, he could only go along.
“Fine, got it, my dear riddle-master. You can reveal your secrets when we get there. I won’t ask more. I must owe you from a past life, ugh. In exchange, I hope you’ll work for me seriously and not run back to your little boyfriend’s arms halfway. If you do, I’ll kill you—or if I can’t, I’ll glare at you forever.”
He pauses, rubbing his forehead, likely frustrated by recent events, especially his increasingly empty wallet, the most aggravating issue.
He mutters to himself, unsure if it’s for her or himself.
“The slave merchant needs a few days to prepare the goods anyway, so I’ve got nothing to do. Might as well treat it as a vacation.”
His words implicitly approve her request, a tacit agreement.
Soon, they quietly clean up the tableware together, like an old married couple.
With some free time after, Sieg grabs a chair, drags it to the courtyard, sits under the sunlight, legs crossed, leaning back, reading a cheap newspaper.
His eyes reflect news from various nations.
To stay ahead of the game, keeping tabs on global movements is crucial.
From years of observation, it seems humans haven’t even noticed that he, Demon King Hakimi, has returned—they’re too busy fighting among themselves.
Busy, busy… the busier, the better.
The war between demons and humans ended just ten years ago, yet human infighting has reached a boiling point.
Back then, he leveraged the demon race’s foundation to take on seven nations single-handedly, only to burn out the demons entirely.
Originally, he planned to play the role of a Qin Shi Huang, but ended up more like Empress Dowager Cixi, waging war against the empire, the Dawn Kingdom, the Sola Duchy…
The first step of Gerald owning up his mistake is letting go, and his second step is being ruthless to himself. They do say the price of power is your soul.