154. Lovely Bollonico

2024.03.02.

The capital city Cielo, just entering autumn, was filled with the lively voices of people.

The golden carriage crossing the most complex and bustling commercial district of Euphris seemed, on the surface, to fit well with the surrounding scenery.

Except for the interior of the carriage, where a coldness flowed—utterly different from the cheerful voices of merchants and the excited chattering of customers.

Harol Companni stared at Bollonico’s thumb, now ragged and picked raw with no skin left to tear.

Bollonico, who always kept his appearance immaculate, had spent the entire journey to the capital muttering to himself like a madman, tearing at his fingernails.

Harol Companni, fully aware of the reason, wore a darkened expression.

Lorenzo, the parrot who敏锐ly sensed his master’s mood, remained silent and dozed quietly beside him.

Harol Companni’s gaze moved past the parrot and settled on the ornate sword that Bollonico clutched tightly against his chest.

Before heading south,

Emperor Igor had personally bestowed upon Bollonico one of his many ceremonial swords and entrusted him with a single mission:

to participate in the summer swordsmanship tournament held in the Companni Marquisate in the south and emerge victorious.

Bollonico, who preferred competing in tournaments over mere hunting, had eagerly accepted the task.

His plan was flawless—to win the tournament, crown Empress Marilyn with the victor’s wreath, return to the palace together, and earn his father’s favor.

Had there been no unforeseen variables, Bollonico might have earned great favor with the Emperor, who rarely stayed long in the capital.

The carriage passed through the palace’s main gate and stopped before the central fountain.

Throughout the entire escort by Solen Racha, captain of the Royal First Knights, with a terrifyingly rigid expression,

Bollonico sweated coldly like a man desperate to flee at any moment.

Only after passing through several layers of white marble outer walls did the Emperor’s Palace finally reveal its grandeur—its exterior entirely gilded in gold.

Past a corridor vast enough to make people seem like ants, the Emperor’s bedroom was guarded by members of the Royal First Knights, mostly recruited from the northern regions.

There, Bollonico was searched thoroughly, stripped not only of the Emperor’s sword but of every sharp object that could be used as a weapon, unable to resist in the slightest.

Eventually, they were informed that only Bollonico had been granted an audience.

Bollonico’s face rapidly turned pale.

He looked back and forth between the circling Lorenzo and Harol Companni’s anxious face, then knocked on the door to the Emperor’s bedroom.

***

Hot, damp air seeped through the crack of the opened door.

Bollonico stood frozen before it, his face pale, staring into the depths of the room toward the bed.

Inside the thickly draped golden canopy, silhouettes of a man and woman were entwined.

He closed the bedroom door with trembling hands and stood a few steps away from the bed.

Soon, the murmuring voices of the couple exchanging whispers continued, then Emperor Igor emerged from the canopy, hastily wrapping a white sheet around his lower body.

Behind him, a young woman lay on her stomach, watching Bollonico with languid eyes.

The Emperor’s mistress, who resembled the late Empress Eleonore.

Bollonico finally recognized the shadow cast upon him and immediately dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor.

Emperor Igor lazily kept brushing back his thick golden hair.

His sweat-glistened upper body bore terrible scars and the rippling muscles still strong despite middle age.

“I can smell the scent of the south on you.”

Bollonico sharply lifted his head.

Emperor Igor was smiling, eyes closed, deeply inhaling as if he could truly detect a scent.

Then his eyes snapped open, blazing with icy blue fire.

“I haven’t received any reports—I wanted to hear it from you directly.”

“A, Father…….”

“Hmm?”

Emperor Igor stretched his lips into a long, cruel smile as he looked down at his trembling son.

“A beautiful mouth like yours shouldn’t utter that the Emperor’s son failed to win a mere rural swordsmanship tournament. Now.”

The Emperor extended his thick, large hand.

“Did you bring the victor’s wreath you were supposed to present to your mother?”

Bollonico clutched his trembling knees and shook his head. He forced out a voice that refused to come.

“I, it’s just— I was obstructed. Eugene Kimfri! Eugene Kimfri, the Second Knight Captain, dared injure me and stole the victory! A Royal Knight Captain in such a tournament—this is going too far—”

“Did you lose?”

Igor cut him off sharply.

“Did you lose to Eugene Kimfri?”

Bollonico answered with silence. The heat that had filled the room instantly cooled.

Only after a deep, endless silence had settled over them did a voice emerge from within the thick golden beard.

“The son of Igor Euphris must be strong.”

Bollonico flinched violently.

It was a phrase he had heard throughout his entire life, yet each time it sent chills down his spine.

“If you are not strong, you are not my son.”

Emperor Igor did not rage, nor did he throw objects.

He did not even move his powerfully built body dramatically.

Yet his blazing blue eyes stared at his kneeling son as if to burn him alive.

“If you cannot even claim such a trivial prize, you are not my son.”

“Father…….”

“It should never have happened—that my son lost to the son of Kimfri.”

Footsteps receded from above Bollonico’s bowed head, then returned closer.

Bollonico suddenly snapped his head up, sensing a chilling presence.

“Is my judgment mistaken, or are you not truly my son?”

In the Emperor’s hand now was a whip—its cruel shape enough to make one’s heart freeze at the mere sight.

Bollonico had expected, as always, at most a kick or being crushed in some unseen way.

He had braced himself for at least one broken limb.

But seeing his father holding the very whip used to subdue beasts in his ‘Paradise,’ Bollonico’s mind went completely blank.

“Answer me. Lovely Bollonico.”

“F, Forgive me—”

“I shall personally teach you, then.”

“Just once. Just one more chance—”

“When the son of Igor fails to act like the son of Igor, Igor teaches this way.”

The Emperor Igor’s shadow crept ever closer to Bollonico.

Bollonico, still on his knees, felt his legs go numb. Knowing it was futile, he still pushed backward with both feet, trying to retreat.

The massive shadow slowly engulfed his doll-like face.

“Y-Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

A chilling, grating sound, one only heard in ‘Bollonico’s Paradise,’ echoed through the Emperor’s bedroom.

The mistress’s startled scream pierced the ears of the Royal First Knights guarding the room outside.

They stared silently at the empty corridor, pretending to hear nothing.

Harol Companni’s pale face stared blankly at the heavy golden door.

Even as Bollonico’s screams erupted like those of a beast, there was nothing he could do.

Lorenzo shrieked wildly.

***

As they entered the Kimfri Count’s territory, a chilly evening greeted the party, as if summer had never existed.

The sudden arrival of the Empress had the servants of the Kimfri Count’s manor rushing about, nearly running to prepare for the guests.

Empress Marilyn, who loved giving gifts wherever she went, would never come empty-handed to the Kimfri family, who might one day become her in-laws.

Wagons piled high with southern specialties of every kind passed through the garden path of the manor and were moved toward the rear storage.

Meanwhile, Yuan followed swiftly behind the steward’s quick guidance toward her assigned room.

Unlike in the south, Yuan and Tasha did not have to share a room, but this time, oddly, Tasha had suggested they stay together.

“What if you suddenly collapse? What if I go to wake you and you don’t get up?”

Her way of addressing Yuan had changed somehow. Though Yuan had always told her to call her casually, Tasha had never used her name directly before.

Yuan wanted to argue that she was always the one waking up first in the morning, but strangely, she didn’t mind seeing Tasha worried about her, so she simply nodded.

“How far do you intend to follow me, exactly?”

“Even the lamp’s base is dark.”

He meant to thoroughly inspect the room they’d be staying in before letting them in.

Tasha frowned, looking up and down at Eugene Kimfri as he inspected her room.

She had been slightly excited to show her room to Yuan, but her enthusiasm faded. When Noel peeked his head out and called her, she hurried off down the corridor.

Yuan looked around at the walls and ceiling painted with grapevines, apples, peaceful flocks of sheep, and shepherds.

It was her first time entering a peer noble girl’s room since Regina—she felt a little unfamiliar.

Then, beside her, a faint “Ahem, ahem” cough sounded.

Turning her head, she saw Eugene Kimfri, avoiding eye contact in a strange way, lightly covering his mouth with a fist as he spoke.

“The schedule in the east will be brief.”

“?”

“It will be difficult to see each other as often once we return to the capital.”

Yuan stared blankly at Eugene Kimfri, who was idly wandering around her younger sister’s room, unable to guess what he was trying to say.

It wasn’t Yuan who broke the silence, but Eugene.

After glancing at her, his eyes met hers—black and deep—and he flinched, quickly turning his gaze away before speaking.

“You said you would use me, didn’t you.”