Under the trembling guidance of the old chamberlain,
Elvia, dressed in a dark green velvet court gown,
Walked with steady steps into the King's bedchamber.
Her hem trailed across the polished marble floor with barely a sound.
She stopped beside the King’s sickbed.
She performed an impeccable curtsy with graceful poise.
When she lifted her head, a hint of a proper, faint smile played at the corners of her mouth.
She looked at the man on the bed—once majestic, now as withered as a piece of rotten wood.
A feeling akin to cold satisfaction churned in the depths of her heart.
But she hid that emotion perfectly.
When the King painstakingly turned his neck to look over,
She quickly allowed sorrow and concern to well up in her eyes.
She turned to the old chamberlain standing at the foot of the bed with his head bowed.
She lifted her chin slightly, gesturing for him to withdraw with her gaze.
The old chamberlain’s body stiffened.
He looked up and met Elvia’s gaze, then quickly lowered his head again.
Yet his feet remained rooted to the spot, unmoving.
If something happened to the King now... he and his entire family would be doomed.
Moreover, there were far too many people currently hoping for this King to “die of natural causes.”
A sharp, cold glint flashed through Elvia’s eyes.
Though it lasted only an instant, it made the old chamberlain feel as though he had fallen into an ice cellar.
He immediately bowed deeply and practically scuttled out of the bedchamber at a jog.
He gently pulled the heavy, carved wooden door shut.
Click.
The sound of the lock clicking into place was exceptionally clear in the empty bedchamber.
The sorrow on Elvia’s face vanished instantly, like a mask being removed.
She gave a soft laugh and walked straight to the bedside.
Without a shred of hesitation, she sat down on the soft sickbed.
“Father,” her voice was light, carrying just the right amount of concern, “are you feeling any better?”
The King’s ash-gray eyes stared at her coldly.
There was no warmth within them, only scrutiny and an ingrained sense of majesty.
“...What are you here for?”
The concern in Elvia’s eyes vanished without a trace.
She curled her lips; the smile was beautiful but devoid of any warmth.
“I came to see you, and to see... what the Royal Capital has become.”
Her tone was calm, as if she were discussing the weather.
“Charles and Diana are fighting to the death; assassinations have become a commonplace occurrence.”
“The high nobles are each placing their bets, and the council is a mere formality.”
“Father, tell me... no matter which of them wins in the end,”
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice, but every word was clear.
“Do you think you, the ‘Late King,’ will live to see the next sunrise?”
The King’s breathing suddenly became ragged.
His chest heaved, and a rattling sound came from his throat.
“So... what of it!” he forced out with a rasping voice.
“My body... the priests have already said... I cannot last much longer!”
Intense resentment swirled in his eyes.
It was a lingering attachment to supreme authority, a reluctance to part with luxurious indulgence.
It was an endless greed for everything the title of “King” could bring.
What of the kingdom’s future or the welfare of its subjects?
In his clouded eyes at this moment, none of it could compare to the solitary pleasure he was about to lose.
Elvia saw the emotions in the depths of his eyes clearly.
A trace of undisguised contempt flickered in her gaze.
This old man, who had crowned himself with the title of the “Greatest King of Carter throughout the Generations,”
Was nothing more than a power-hungry coward who feared death to his very core.
As for familial affection? When had he ever shown any to her?
Simply because her mother did not hail from a prominent high noble family.
All the merits she had earned by running errands and mediating for the Carter Royal Capital,
And even the achievements she had risked her life for,
Were all lightly dismissed by him.
To this day, she was still “Elvia Rolan,” and not “Elvia Carter.”
He was even stingy with his royal surname.
But now...
Whether he gave it or not was no longer up to him.
“Father,” Elvia suddenly let out a light laugh, her tone turning subtle.
“Do you still remember the Lyon Knights I sent to the Blackwater Forest to find the ‘only antidote’ for you?”
The King’s clouded eyes twitched violently!
“Cough! Cough-cough! You... are you saying...!”
In his excitement, he tried to prop himself up, but his withered arms only trembled in vain.
“That’s right,” Elvia laughed aloud.
The laughter sounded somewhat abrupt in the silent bedchamber.
“The Umbral Tree Flower that can cure the poison of decay within your body,”
“Had already been delivered to my hands back when I was in Caran City.”
She leaned closer to the King’s face, which was distorted by excitement and longing, emphasizing every word:
“In other words, I can save your life.”
“I can allow you to continue sitting on that Gold Throne and enjoying your supreme power.”
“Quick! Give it to me! Give it to me now!!”
The King was like a dying stray dog seeing meat; a terrifying light erupted in his eyes.
His claw-like hand lunged forward to grab Elvia’s sleeve.
Elvia laughed wantonly.
Her laughter was filled with years of pent-up irony and gratification.
Then, her smile vanished instantly, and her gaze turned bone-chillingly cold.
“Why should I give it to you?”
The King froze, seemingly unable to comprehend those words.
Then, the remnants of his customary rage welled up on his face.
“I! Command you in the name of the King! Give that thing to me!!”
“Otherwise... otherwise, I will have you killed!!”
“Have me killed?”
Elvia tilted her head.
It was as if she had heard something utterly ridiculous.
In the next second.
Her right hand shot out like lightning.
It precisely seized the King’s wrinkled neck!
Her fingers tightened.
The King’s eyes bulged in terror.
His mouth hung open, but he couldn’t make a proper sound—only a rattle like a broken bellows.
Elvia looked down at him, her eyes filled with undisguised, cold killing intent.
“Heh... old man, do you really think you are still the King who holds the power over life and death?”
“Even if I snapped your neck right now, no one would look into it.”
“They would even help me cover it up, thanking me for saving them the trouble.”
Her grip loosened slightly.
She allowed the King to catch a breath.
But her words were even colder than before.
“If not for the fact that you’re still somewhat useful... I would have sent you to the Netherworld Sea long ago.”
Seeing that the King was about to suffocate again, Elvia finally released her hand in disgust.
She slowly drew a silk handkerchief from the inside of her hem.
She carefully wiped every finger that had just touched the King’s neck.
It was as if she had touched something filthy.
“You... cough-cough... you can’t... I am your father!!”
The King collapsed onto his pillow, tears and snot flowing as he shrieked hoarsely.
“Hahahaha!”
Elvia felt as though she had heard the world’s funniest joke.
She covered her forehead and laughed, her shoulders shaking.
The laughter stopped abruptly.
She lunged closer.
Those molten-gold eyes locked onto the King’s terrified ones.
Looking down from on high, she delivered each word like a final judgment:
“Now you know you're my father?”
“Unfortunately, I have never regarded you as one.”
“Listen, old man.”
“Every remaining chip you have in your hand—”
“The shadow guards, the secret treasury keys, the undisclosed royal decrees, and the diehard loyalists hidden everywhere—”
“Hand everything over to me.”
“Or, you can choose to rot away with them and go to the Netherworld Sea to meet the kings of the past.”
“Do you understand me?”
“Old. Man.”
Rate on N.U.
