Picked Up a Beast, Turns Out He's an Emperor (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 4
Maxwell de Fonte Auguste, the 27th Emperor of Helterd—the continent’s strongest empire—was no villain.
Nor was he a saint. He was even less the kind of man who would stake his life on convictions or grand ideals. His worldview was divided not by good and evil, but by strength and weakness, rulers and the ruled.
And the seat of this world’s ruler belonged to him. That was not a matter of faith or hope, but an immutable truth.
During the twenty-five years of his life, there had been fifteen assassination attempts against Emperor Maxwell. On the morning following each attempt, the assassin’s head—and often that of the mastermind behind it—was found hanging before the imperial palace gates.
Only after he ascended the throne was it revealed that it was the Crown Prince himself who had slain every would-be killer. Orphaned as a child, the young prince had been like a rudderless ship in a storm.
To his grandmother the Empress—who shared not a drop of his blood—and to his paternal uncle, who had now become second-in-command, as well as to his aunt’s husband, Grand Duke Lecain, the boy prince was someone who ought to have vanished.
For seventeen years, Maxwell had hidden his claws completely—pretending to be a bookish prince who grew dizzy merely from riding a horse and dreaded appearing before crowds.
“You’ve worked hard all this time.”
Those were the first words he spoke upon returning to the capital after three long years of war—addressed to his uncle, Regent Emperor Gustav, seated upon the throne.
Maxwell, then only a year old, had lost his father—the Crown Prince—to a brutal death at the hands of a beast.
His grandfather, the previous emperor, who had named Maxwell as Crown Prince, passed away when the boy turned nine. Gustav, his younger uncle, then assumed the throne as regent on behalf of the young heir.
He had sworn an oath, however, to the late emperor’s dying decree: to return the throne to Maxwell once he reached twenty.
As with all such tales, Regent Emperor Gustav had not the slightest intention of relinquishing the throne to his nephew Maxwell.
The great war against the Southern Alliance presented the perfect opportunity to eliminate the future emperor. At seventeen, Maxwell was appointed supreme commander of the army—sent straight into the jaws of death.
He had never seen battle before—just a library-dwelling prince who read books all day. Sending him against the Alliance, famed for its savage and formidable legions, was essentially sentencing him to die.
Ignoring the pleas of his few remaining loyalists—who urged him to flee the country—Maxwell silently accepted the emperor’s command. He led seasoned officers and knights who openly disrespected and defied him to the battlefield.
Exactly on the day he turned twenty, the Crown Prince returned to the imperial palace—after leading the empire’s armies to a resounding victory over the Southern Alliance and doubling the empire’s territory.
“Oh, but the Crown Prince is still far too young and inexperienced to rule the empire. Let us reconsider the succession… in, in three years.”
Those were the words of the emperor—the same man who, the moment Maxwell departed for war, had named his own only son as acting Crown Prince.
For the first time, Crown Prince Maxwell burst into laughter—genuinely amused. His ruby-like crimson eyes darkened to blood-red, and those present that day later claimed their knees trembled so badly they could barely stand.
Precisely one hour later, the returning prince ascended as the 27th Emperor of the Helterd Empire. Historians and citizens alike hailed Emperor Maxwell as the greatest sovereign in the empire’s 1,500-year history.
Yet he paid no mind to such flattery. His policies—abolishing unreasonable customs, lowering heavy taxes, punishing noble abuses of power, and strengthening higher education—had nothing to do with being a “great ruler.”
It was not because he loved his people or cared for their welfare. These measures were merely tools to transform his empire into the undisputed superpower in every aspect—economy, culture, and military.
If a village that contributed nothing to the empire were swept away in a storm, Emperor Maxwell wouldn’t bat an eye. He’d only express regret if many young men capable of fighting were lost—or if fertile farmland vital to the imperial economy was ruined.
His aim was never a comfortable, prosperous empire guaranteeing its citizens’ happiness. His sole ambition was to forge an invincible empire ruling the entire continent.
The emperor despised anything that demanded emotional expenditure. To him, marriage was no different from any other matter—governed entirely by flawless logic and meticulously laid plans.
“To select a consort worthy of Your Majesty, we shall hold the traditional Empress Selection Contest. You may trust me fully.”
“Of course. If I cannot trust my grandmother, who can I trust? Please find me the finest bride.”
She was the same Empress Dowager who had sent two assassins after young Maxwell. And Maxwell, wearing a mask just as gentle as hers, replied with a smile.
“Your Majesty, the Empress Dowager intends to rig this empress selection for the benefit of her own kingdom. I beg your permission to intervene in this contest as she does. After all, I am now the only one who shares blood with Your Majesty.”
“That may well be true. With no other relatives left in the palace except my aunt, I naturally trust you completely. I leave it in your hands.”
She was the very woman who, not satisfied with trying to poison him on the battlefield, had schemed to have him captured as a foreign hostage. Maxwell nodded with a faint smile.
The emperor refrained from strangling the Empress Dowager’s faction and his aunt’s House of Lecain for a simple reason: he could exploit their mutual antagonism for his own ends—though he would sever both their throats when the time was right.
The Empress Selection Contest—featuring elite noblewomen from the empire’s finest houses and princesses from across the continent—was a Helterd tradition and a strategic marriage ritual designed to further strengthen imperial power.
Over two hundred princesses and noble ladies flocked to claim the side of Maxwell, Emperor of the continent’s mightiest empire. After the second round, ten finalists remained, awaiting the final two-month trial.
Yet the emperor himself had not once glanced at any of the candidates. In two months’ time, as scheduled, Emperor Maxwell would wed the woman who emerged victorious from this fierce competition.
He sought but one thing from his future empress. He neither expected nor desired her love—unrequited emotion could only turn to poison. He wouldn’t even interfere if she took lovers.
But his empress must harbor the ambition to stand beside him as partner to the ruler who would place the entire continent under his heel. She must wield deceit and schemes without hesitation and be willing to use even her closest confidants as tools to achieve her goals.
She absolutely needed the composure to outmaneuver the cunning women of the imperial court—only then could she triumph in the unseen bloodshed of palace intrigue and become the partner he required.
He loathed needless compassion or an inability to lie.
Pretending to be kind for the sake of one’s goals was tolerable—but a naturally gentle soul who was easily taken advantage of and suffered losses was the worst possible match for him.
Like the girl before him now—unable even to take his outstretched hand, her head bowed meekly.
Emperor Maxwell thought this as he watched Arabella in the stables, the stench of horse dung thick in the air. He hadn’t even known such a pathetic manor existed in these remote hills—territory utterly useless to the empire’s prosperity.
“She is the second daughter of the fallen House of Del Sacre.”
“She and her family are currently living as dependents on the estate of her relative, Baron Cander.”
“She is said to have no connections whatsoever in the capital.”
“Her father, though once a healer, now barely scrapes by selling herbal remedies while drowning in gambling debts.”
“Her mother abandoned her young daughters and fled ten years ago.”
This was the report the emperor had just received about the girl who had recently come of age.
Baron Cander, though technically noble, held a status far beneath even mid-to-upper-tier merchants in the capital and was shunned by aristocratic society.
Arabella was the daughter of a household that begged for rice from such a lowly man. Were it not for that cursed affliction manifested three years ago, their paths would never have crossed.
Maxwell deliberately fixed his gaze more openly on Arabella, who kept avoiding his eyes. Under his piercing stare, beads of sweat gathered on her forehead.
“Why aren’t you showing proper respect and greeting His Majesty the Emperor at once?”
“Huh…? H-His Imperial Majesty?”
Startled by Baroness Cander’s scolding, Arabella jerked her head up. Her wavering eyes finally met the emperor’s—and only then did his crimson irises gleam with satisfaction.
The moment their eyes locked, Arabella realized her mistake and bowed her head deeply. Seeing those large, round eyes vanish once more, Maxwell’s jaw tensed.
“You aided the Emperor? What do you mean?”
Baron Cander asked in a gentle tone he’d never used with Arabella before—still unable to believe the emperor had visited his estate.
“Umm…? Ah, no—it’s not….”
Arabella stammered, unable to answer—afraid her words might somehow harm the emperor. Sensing her thoughts, the emperor spoke for her.
“She tended to my injured horse through the night.”
He instantly caught and held Arabella’s wide, deer-like eyes as she stared at him in shock. Anyone who had done something worthy of the emperor’s personal visit would naturally boast about it—but not her.
The emperor clicked his tongue inwardly. Arabella was too afraid of exposing his secret to give a proper answer—and seemed unaware of what she’d even done right.
His sharp intuition was correct. Trapped by those red eyes, Arabella fidgeted nervously—not knowing whether she’d accidentally revealed the emperor’s secret, which was now hers to keep.
She couldn’t understand why the emperor had come to fetch her, saying, “I promised to take responsibility, so I’ve come for you.” To her, healing a beast was neither praiseworthy nor worthy of such attention.
“That girl won’t last a single day in the imperial palace.”
The emperor’s eyes fell on Arabella’s left cheek—swollen and bruised a deep blue.
“But now that I know you hold the key to my curse…”
Maxwell’s finely shaped, vividly red lips parted.
“I’ve come to take you as a candidate in the Empress Selection.”
When the male lead is punished by carrying the female lead’s child and having periods like a woman
“I’ve given birth to two children for you, yet you still think about him.
Was I nothing but his substitute to you from beginning to end?”
Synopsis:
Meng Huan, a scumbag who has dated countless girlfriends, transmigrates to a female-dominated country.
Day 1: Whether it’s female dominance or not doesn’t matter. The beauties here are passionate and amorous. Isn’t it easier to date them than in modern times?
Day 2: After a night, Meng Huan discovers the differences in the female-dominated world. Men here actually have chastity locks and menstrual cycles. This hinders his ability to perform, damn it!
Day 3: What’s wrong with sleeping around? I don’t want you to marry me. I’m meant to be a playboy. I don’t care about male virtues… What? You want to drown me in a pig cage? Marry, I’ll marry!
Day N: Meng Huan inexplicably vomits and receives the shocking news of his life… He’s pregnant.
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I’m not yet convinced this is a curse. There are a lot of questionable events. Why would a black panther kidnap a princess?
I’ve been wondering just how he intends to keep her alive and unharmed enough to even attempt lifting the curse. I don’t believe these classes will be enough if she only had four days.
Is she not concerned because the emperor told her she wasn’t going to become the empress regardless? He explicitly stated she only needed to break his curse & that she wouldn’t become the empress as she wasn’t qualified (I don’t recall his precise wording).