That day was the second day of the regular hunting festival opened by Claude’s father, Emperor Alexei.

The week-long monster hunting festival was held in winter to capture monsters and beasts that sporadically invaded the north.

It was a significant event of considerable scale, attended by the imperial couple, and nobles from all over gathered to prove their loyalty.

Huge rewards awaited those who proved how many monsters or beasts they had captured by stirring up the dangerous forests and canyons that attacked the people.

Depending on the occasion, one could gain not only gold but also fertile land owned by the imperial family, so the enthusiasm for the hunting festival was significant every year.

“Father!”

Emperor Alexei, with an arrow for hunting monsters embedded in him, was carried to the palace without even removing it. Claude saw his father, groaning in pain, among the gathered physicians from all over the country.

“Your Majesty.”

Viscount Leve firmly held his nephew’s shoulders and swallowed a sigh.

“Her Majesty…”

Claude stared at Viscount Leve, who bowed his head, watching him cry like a child.

“Her Majesty Eleanor has… passed away.”

If the emperor led the hunting festival, the empress, who waited for the participants with families and was active in the reception hall at the entrance, was also involved.

His mother, while sharing pastries with attending ladies, fainted and was being transferred to the palace when she succumbed to poison.

“For a while, Duke Igor, your father, will oversee state affairs, so don’t worry and close your eyes.”

Claude kept watch over his father after hearing the news of his mother’s death.

Matters of state were of no concern to a 14-year-old boy. Someone else could handle that.

But guarding his father was different.

“How can I sleep?”

Just like his mother, who left without even leaving a final testament for Apollini, his father couldn’t be sent off in such a way.

Claude stayed by his father’s side, wandering through the ordeal.

Unable to overcome the pouring sleep, he briefly dozed off, dreaming that his father was dying, and woke up.

At such times, he would listen to his father’s chest, which slept exhaustedly, and reassure himself with tears.

“Don’t worry, Claude. Duke Igor is here.”

It wasn’t until a week passed that Duke Igor, showing his face, said those words.

Claude nodded without saying anything. He had no room in his heart for leisure.

“…Incompetent brat.”

Then, unlike usual, Duke Igor’s voice sounded chilling as he scolded. Claude raised his head, surprised by the cold tone.

That night.

In the Emperor’s bedroom surrounded by court physicians and doctors from all over the country.

Emperor Alexei Yupris, who once was the Holy Prince, ended his short life.

“The hunting festival is over, right? But why haven’t Mother and Father come?”

“Go to sleep quickly, Apollini. I’ll sing you a lullaby.”
“Preventing me from going outside. It’s so suffocating, Oppa.”

“…I’ll show you the garden tomorrow.”

For Apollini, who is now barely 10 years old, the death of the imperial couple was kept a secret.

Claude left Apollini in the Imperial Princess Palace and, with the changed look in his eyes, conducted the funeral with the now transformed Duke Igor.

Duke Igor suggested to Claude that he could take a break at the Roksenhardt’s red-brick mansion as if granting him a vacation.

Putting Apollini, who still knew nothing, to sleep in the red-brick mansion and smiling reassuringly at the worried nanny Margarete, who had sorrow-filled eyes.

Young Claude finally returned to his own bedroom.

He held the rocking chair made by his father and carefully trimmed by his mother and wept bitterly.

A treasure of the Yupris loved by the people of the Empire.

It was the night, less than a week away, when Claude Yupris, at the tender age of 14, was scheduled to ascend to the imperial throne through the formal procedure.

The snow, which had been falling heavily since they began to arrange the body, piled up in the garden, and a fierce snowstorm knocked on the window as if his chest, suddenly pierced, was as numb as the piercing snowstorm.

A wave called the Rebel Army swept over the imperial palace in the capital city Ciel.

And that wave also struck the red-brick mansion where Claude was trying to console his heart.

The warmth disappeared from the face of the nanny Margarete, who was making hot cocoa for him.

“Your Majesty, Your Majesty, hurry!”

Claude, who had already cried until he was about to pass out, saw the blurry face of the nanny through his swollen eyes.

Despair. At the sight of the face of Margarete, who was like his another mother, showing such emotions, he was momentarily terrified.

“Nanny—”

Margarete quickly put on her cloak and picked him up.

Lifting Claude’s bulky body with superhuman strength, the middle-aged lady quickly flipped her cloak and got up, desperately leaving the mansion, hoping that Viscount Leve would find them upon hearing the news.