I Will Live for Your Death (20 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 3
Emperor Claudius had many epithets trailing behind his name. Among them, the most famous title was “the madman of war.”
One might wonder how many lunatics there could possibly be who dared call His Imperial Majesty the Emperor a “madman,” yet this nickname had spread far and wide—even beyond the capital, all the way to the borderlands.
In fact, Claudius himself seemed quite fond of the title. He harbored a grand ambition: to unify the surrounding small nations by annexing them into his empire.
After the peace treaty, the military forces shrank, and most of the disbanded soldiers became mercenaries.
Normally engaged in farming or other occupations, they would immediately flock toward the capital at the mere rumor of war, hunting for jobs.
Those who already had connections with the Imperial Army found contracts relatively easy to secure, but those without such ties had to prove their worth through skill alone.
Rumors of impending war spread silently. Already, mercenaries seeking contracts had gathered individually or in groups near the capital, loitering about.
“War again, huh? Sure are a lot of mercenaries around.”
‘Clover Tavern,’ one of the pubs outside the capital where commoners often gathered, was bustling with people.
Here and there, mercenaries quenched their thirst, while others cast furtive glances their way and lowered their voices discreetly.
“Keep it down. What if someone picks a fight with us for no reason?”
“If they cause trouble all the way here in the capital, it’ll only harm themselves. If His Imperial Majesty takes a disliking to them, they’ll never get another contract in their lives.”
“Besides, taxes will go up again. As usual, those high and mighty nobles will slip through untouched.”
“Isn’t that how it always goes? Why be surprised? They claim they’ll tax the nobles extra too, but rest assured—they’ll find a way out again. And we’ll foot the bill.”
“Can’t the Assembly do anything about this?”
“What good is it if we just complain and protest? The representatives we elect for commoners—do they ever actually have any power? Every time, it just gets blocked….”
“If only the Melphiram family were still around….”
The noisy tavern fell deathly silent in an instant. Though considerable time had passed since that noble house was exterminated, the name ‘Melphiram’ still carried immense weight.
A family that had dared oppose the Imperial House—a heretical presence among nobles who actually stood with the common folk. When they were accused of treason, everyone believed in Melphiram’s innocence but dared not utter a word.
The Emperor’s blade was fearsome, and no one in the Empire could stop him.
“Be careful what you say. What if you’re accused of treason just for mentioning the Melphiram family?”
“Don’t worry! The Imperial Family is too noble to ever set foot in a filthy place like this!”
“Who called this place filthy?!”
From behind the counter came the innkeeper’s roar, followed by a thunderous crash as someone slammed their table. Nothing paired better with mocking the highborn than a good drink.
The tavern quickly filled again with lively chatter. Amidst the clamor, a man quietly seated himself, scanning his surroundings. People spared him only a fleeting glance—hood pulled low—and showed little further interest.
“Captain, what do you think?”
“…Seems suitable enough. The clientele is varied, so rumors will spread quickly.”
“You’ve finished your assessment, then? Can we have a drink now?”
“Eddie. We’re still on duty.”
“Tch.”
The scolded man pouted and grumbled under his breath. The man who looked like a mercenary kept watch, carefully surveying his surroundings.
An unusual aura emanated from the hooded men—clearly seasoned veterans who had spent years on battlefields.
A heavily intoxicated man stumbled between tables and accidentally collided with one of them. The drunkard barely kept his balance, swaying unsteadily.
“Oops, excuse me.”
The stumbling man grabbed the hood of the seated man to steady himself. The hood flipped back abruptly, revealing his face in full.
Several patrons gasped in surprise upon seeing his face. Some already recognized him from rumors they’d heard.
“…You came from quite far away, didn’t you?”
A customer, glancing at the mercenary company’s emblem stitched inside the hood, muttered quietly.
He was Rivel, captain of the Licas Mercenary Company—more commonly known by his epithet, “the Beast of the North.”
Those who recognized him as Rivel stared with a mix of awe and curiosity.
Since few had actually seen him in person—despite the rampant rumors—a few even deliberately changed seats just to sit closer to him.
His gently wavy black hair and striking gray-blue eyes stood out vividly. Their color resembled the dawn sky that chases away the darkness—a rare sight indeed within the capital and the Empire.
The tavern’s conversation had quickly shifted to rumors about the Licas Mercenary Company.
“They say they’ll do anything for money. Supposedly, no one’s as ruthless on the battlefield. In the last war, they say they flayed living men alive.”
“But their work is solid, at least. They say their cleanup is flawless.”
Rivel silently observed the whispering crowd. He knew well that such people would never dare utter a word if confronted directly.
Contrary to his fierce gaze, his appearance was quite handsome—a fact that briefly stirred excitement among the tavern’s patrons. His tall stature added to his imposing presence, prompting a few guests to loiter near him, showing obvious interest.
Amidst the excited whispers praising his looks and physique, the regional prejudice kept resurfacing.
“He’s from the North, right? Aren’t northern mercenaries notoriously brutal?”
“Of course! I bet there are plenty of savages among them. Obviously, they’re here for a contract….”
“If I were hiring, I’d go with retired southern soldiers instead. At least they’d speak the same language. Northerners, I hear, draw their weapons the moment something displeases them. Such uncivilized brutes.”
The murmurs gradually permeated the tavern. Soon, dozens of eyes turned toward the two men.
Though they’d only come for preliminary reconnaissance, they hadn’t expected this level of attention. Rivel adjusted his hood and pulled it firmly back into place. Just as he signaled Eddie to slip out quietly, a loud voice rang out.
“Hey, you gentlemen there—your words are a bit too harsh.”
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Patrons, eyes glazed from drink, turned toward the source of the bold, cheerful voice.
Seated at a table was a strikingly handsome man—so delicately pretty he could almost be mistaken for a woman at first glance.
His short brown hair was tousled slightly as he scratched his head, his eyes sparkling with a luminous green hue. Though his eyes curved gently, an unwavering strength radiated from them.
“What era do you think we’re in? Still clinging to ‘North’ and ‘South’? Is southern blood red and northern blood blue? Where did you dig up such outdated prejudices and bring them here, ruining everyone’s drinks?”
“Who does that pretty-boy think he is, spouting nonsense like that?!”
The situation threatened to escalate into a full-blown argument. Eddie glanced nervously between his captain, the pretty man at the other table, and the grumbling drunkards.
Unlike the anxious Eddie, Rivel watched the commotion with calm detachment. If a brawl broke out, he planned to slip away unnoticed in the chaos.
“Everyone, quiet down!”
A loud bang echoed as someone slammed the counter. All eyes, dazed and confused, turned to the tavern’s owner. The innkeeper of Clover Tavern pressed hard on his deeply furrowed brow and glared toward the source of the disturbance.
“You five—please leave. All of you.”
“Huh? Boss, why me?!”
“Alan! You’re the biggest problem! You loudmouth troublemaker!”
“That’s unfair! I bring in a third of your daily revenue! Right, everyone?”
The pretty man called Alan turned toward the female patrons, seeking confirmation. Most nodded in agreement; in truth, many women came to the tavern just for a chance to see Alan or exchange a few words with him.
But so what? His tendency to furiously argue against any unjust remark meant he also drove away a third of the customers every day.
In the end, the two mercenaries, Alan, and two other brawlers had no choice but to listen to the tavern door slam shut behind them.
The two drunkards grumbled as they left, while the remaining man scratched his head sheepishly and apologized to the mercenaries.
“Uh… sorry about that. I just can’t stay silent when I hear things like that. If it’s not too much trouble, let me buy you a drink somewhere else.”
“No, thank you. We’re still on duty….”
Eddie said this while discreetly checking his captain’s expression—but seeing Rivel’s stern face, he knew there was no chance. Swallowing a quiet sigh, he extended his hand toward the pretty man.
“If fate allows, we’ll meet again. I’m Eddie. And you?”
“Alan.”
As they shook hands, Eddie instinctively assessed Alan’s build. His hands were notably small for a man.
“Well, curfew’s coming up, so I’d better go. I’m a rather cautious fellow, after all.”
A cautious man with a curfew? Eddie opened his mouth to ask more, but Alan had already turned away, waving leisurely as he walked off.
Rivel turned his head toward the center of the capital—likely where the Imperial Palace stood.
He barely managed to suppress the surge of emotion welling within him. Hadn’t he run, waited, and endured all this time just for that place?
His lips moved faintly, forming someone’s name. The whisper scattered on the wind, drifting toward its destination.
Rivel’s heart began to beat slowly yet powerfully. His final destination—and the person he missed most—was right there. Perhaps they’d meet soon.
“Let’s head back.”
He added curtly and started walking. This mission had to succeed.
Meanwhile, Alan hurried his steps. He’d need to rush if he wanted to get home before midnight. The moment he entered the shortcut alley, Alan plunged his hand into his hair and yanked something out.
“Phew! Thought I’d die from the heat.”
Long brown hair, previously hidden beneath his short style, tumbled down. In his hand was a tangled, messy wig.
Ruffling his disheveled hair into some semblance of order, Alan—no, Alice—grinned and strode briskly down the alley. Lingering any longer would surely get her caught by her father and earn a stern scolding.
**
“They say the festival schedule has been shortened.”
“Oh?”
“It was originally planned for five days, but now it’s been cut to three. I suspect it’s due to war preparations reducing the budget….”
Listening to Lynette, Ilyd tried to suppress her complicated feelings as she reviewed the newly delivered documents.
Claudius charged forward relentlessly—as if parched for blood and territory. Anyone who stood in his way was swept aside like a pebble on the roadside.
‘Even Melphiram… vanished so easily.’
Her grip tightened unconsciously around the pen in her hand. Despite being Empress, Ilyd felt utterly powerless.
By right, the Empress held the privilege of exercising three absolute vetoes. Yet Claudius had stripped Ilyd of even that authority while purging the Melphirams.
Now, she could only manage the Empress’s Palace and those directly under her. Normally, an Empress Consort would exist beneath her, but Claudius had never formally appointed Celina as such.
‘Does that mean he refuses to place her under my authority?’
Pushing aside her frustration, Ilyd refocused on her duties.
“If it’s because of the war, we’ll need to reduce the Empress’s Palace budget as well.”
“I suspect far more money goes directly to Celina herself than to the Empress’s Palace.”
“There’s nothing wrong with living modestly.”
“Even so, I won’t allow Her Imperial Majesty the Empress to fall behind Celina.”
Ignoring Lynette’s grumbling, Ilyd gathered a few documents and headed personally to the Emperor’s Palace. Only her chief maid Lynette accompanied her—a modest procession hardly worthy of the term “royal visit.”
As if deliberately ignoring her humble retinue, a large cargo wagon passed right beside Ilyd. With great noise, it headed straight toward the Emperor’s Palace.
“Could that be tribute for His Imperial Majesty?”
“…No.”
When Ilyd and Lynette arrived at the palace gates, servants were unloading elegantly wrapped gift boxes and several ornate trunks from the wagon.
Upon seeing the Empress, the servants hurriedly bowed their heads.
“Your Imperial Majesty.”
“What is all this?”
“These are items His Imperial Majesty… ordered for Lady Celina.”
“List them.”
At Ilyd’s firm command, the servants exchanged uneasy glances. Finally, she stepped forward herself and flung open one of the trunks.
Inside lay another box.
Within the velvet-lined case were jewels—necklaces, earrings, and other ornaments—that easily surpassed a month’s budget for the Empress’s Palace. Other boxes contained lavish luxuries, custom-tailored clothing, and fine footwear.
While the Empress planned to cut expenses for war preparations, the Emperor himself was lavishing extravagance and waste into the pockets of his favored consort.
Lynette, having inspected the contents, glanced at Ilyd. Surely she’d be furious by now—but how should she be calmed…?
Male lead says he’s pregnant — and it’s female lead’s child
Something seems a bit off about this world.
Wang Zhao thought as she watched a pregnant man walking towards her…
Intro
Female lead finds herself in a world where the men who possess the ability to bear children.
As she navigates this unfamiliar reality, she is caught off guard by the sudden appearance of her boyfriend, who reveals that he is pregnant.
Is this truly her boyfriend?
Why can’t she recall any details about their time together?
She begins to doubt whether the child her boyfriend is carrying is even hers.
Is there a hidden reason behind her amnesia, or could it be a side effect of her sudden arrival in this strange new world?
Just when it seems the protagonist’s life couldn’t become any more entangled, her ex-boyfriend makes an unexpected appearance, raising questions about the protagonist’s past.
__________
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