It is truly rare for someone to feel uncomfortable sitting in a chair as comfortable as this one.
“…Has it been half a century?”
Leaning back in the Emperor’s chair, the Noble in the Mask, or rather, Duke Martin Werner von Erlstreich, sniffed with evident displeasure.
“It’s troublesome that these vampires don’t die easily either.”
“Aye. If it were a human, they would normally beg for their end by now.”
“Thinking of it as someone else’s problem and letting loose as you please…”
In a slightly shifted formation compared to some time ago, the dignitaries of the three royal families, who decide the future of the Threefold Empire, were gathered in the Emperor’s office.
Duke Martin, who had changed into the imperial robes of seashell purple, would soon rise again as Martin the First and would be serving his fourth term as Emperor a few months from now.
Then, the former Emperor August the Fourth, who was resigning the throne and would also change his title to Grand Duke—a title of respect for an Emperor abdicated while still alive or the title held by the kings of vassal states under the Threefold Empire—seemed to have discarded his stress along with his robes of seashell purple, standing in plain attire with fewer wrinkles between his brows.
Lastly, the werewolf, who watched the commotion of this significant family issue with a carefree detachment, turned his neck in a manner as if to say, “tch, this is exhausting.”
It was none other than him who had taken command in searching for the daughter and heir apparent lost during yesterday’s chaos.
The newly seated Martin the First snapped his fingers, summoning fine parchment from the void. The thick paper made from compressed parchments bore intricate magical runic arrays and oaths to the gods, making the act of filling it out itself a type of ritual.
Cutting his finger pad with his long canines, Martin the First dipped a quill in his blood and authenticated a document, the application to convene the electoral assembly necessary for the imperial succession.
The wishful new emperor would draft this document, the former emperor would approve it, and if the remaining heads of the royal houses consented, this document would instantly combust and “physically identical copies” would be instantaneously transferred to all electoral princes across the lands.
The researcher-like meticulous handwriting filled out the document without hesitation, and the final signature would be followed by an impression of a ring dipped in blood. Once the signatures and seals of the former emperor and the witness were added, the application process would be complete.
“Alright, it’s done. Shall we go over it?”
“Indeed, Your Majesty.”
“Who said that? It’s not officially approved yet.”
Ignoring the vampire’s muttering, the former emperor, who didn’t show a hint of old age, confirmed the document to ensure there were no flaws.
These kinds of documents, despite their ceremonious nature, have a surprisingly simple format. This is due to the pioneering emperor, Richard the Conqueror, deliberating over the selection and succession rites and concluding, “If it’s too complicated, future generations might misinterpret it, adding unnecessary steps or distorting it until it breaks—wouldn’t want that to happen…”
Hence, while tremendous costs were invested into the application itself, the format itself remained unusually simple compared to the typically convoluted and intricate documents of the Threefold Empire, defying its usual reputation. The straightforward content was easy to understand and confirm, ensuring smooth procedures without room for complaint.
Learning this fact, many bureaucrats and nobles would undoubtedly despair and envy, thinking, “Why isn’t our paperwork this simple?”
“Seems fine. There’s just the meeting left, right?”
“Funny, everything should go smoothly with all the groundwork already laid.”
Once the signatures and seals of the former emperor and the head of the royal house present were added, the application went up in flames with a rainbow of dazzling colors, a rare spectacle created by the divine blessings and magical arrays working in parallel—an ordinary sight to these three, who barely took notice. To them, it was just another item completed on the list.
“Well, next, it’s time to prepare for the reunion.”
“Even for this, it’s too much to bother the Emperor directly. We should decide who’ll be the organizer later.”
“Hey, how about a game of something?”
“Drinking competition?”
“Nah, doctor’s orders.”
“Still, this is the meeting to choose an emperor—it shouldn’t be treated as a mere reunion, gentlemen.”
The two, amidst their light-hearted banter, began discussing how to prepare the stage for the next emperor’s ascension, causing the vampire destined to be emperor to sigh in exasperation.
Still, to correctly continue the Threefold Empire in its form, the structural constraints tied to its state foundation were unavoidable. Carefully designed to prevent reckless uprisings—simple acts of regicide causing rebellions—and yet allowing for a quick replacement when the emperor’s moral fiber deteriorated, this delicate balance between tension and relaxation was ingeniously crafted.
With humans and werewolves who cycle quickly, and vampires who, despite their undefined lifespans, possess both physical and internal flaws, along with the diverse selection of electoral princes supervising these species, the system was remarkably well thought out.
One can climb the ranks through marriage, adoption, inheritance, and various other means, but the system makes it difficult for anyone to dominate the empire for improper reasons. Moreover, the many responsibilities tied to the imperial throne cannot be escaped due to “binding vows”.
The ruler who oversees this empire has a suitable set of obligations and rights. Swearing an oath to the gods and binding oneself with magic is no light undertaking in this world.
Hence, this familial-like functioning of the empire is able to exist.
“Still, His Majesty accepted this rather smoothly, didn’t he?”
“Mh? So what?”
Glancing away from his friend eagerly preparing chess pieces to pawn off organizer responsibilities, the werewolf asked, causing the vampire to furrow his brows. Didn’t you guys complain enough already?
“Naah, I thought he’d put up more of a fuss. Besides, the Erlstreich bloodline is wide. You could’ve picked someone from somewhere, right?”
“Is that all you’re worried about?”
This was a preposterously casual way of speaking, yet Martin the First did not get angry. He simply sniffed and slouched, propping his legs on the desk—a posture that would make others faint. “One with a desire for power isn’t necessarily worthy of it. The current generation doesn’t deserve the position.”
“Harsh.”
“I, too, love this empire that my ancestors have built. I cannot bear to see it falter or crumble. Moreover, as I have no plans to return my immortality to the Sun God yet, I cannot bear to see this country’s end.”
As the vampire lineage he had spread over five centuries since the empire’s founding constantly engaged in political struggles for the next lordship and power, Martin the First was well aware of it all, indulging now and then in such pursuits.
That was why he instilled high surveillance abilities within his magnum opus, “Snowy Snow”.
Handling the duties of a family head while fulfilling the duties as a duke under the Threefold Empire was grueling work unsuited for anyone of mediocre ability. Moreover, the clan comprised of vampires, who with their immortality came with arrogance and trouble-making tendencies, had no guarantee of loyalty. After all, vampires are such a kind—they descended from the deceitful brother of the principal god, so it’s only natural.
However, the fact that those with “ambitions for power” do not inherently possess “the qualities of a ruler” is the way of the world. The time and tide determine what type of emperor is suitable. While a few among his bloodline born with the talent for power had existed, they lacked the talent to use it wisely.
As the emperor who ruled for nearly half a century, he possessed a keen eye for the times—a reason why he was chosen for the throne, escaping judgment as “unqualified” by the seasoned heads of the royal families and electoral princes, allowing him to continuously sign and seal documents while sitting on this chair.
Then, how could he possibly hand over responsibilities to someone incapable, merely because they didn’t want the job?
“Alas, among my bloodline, a few have been born with the talent for power…”
“They lack the talent to wield it properly.”
While opening the box of chess pieces, the human declared disinterestedly, prompting the vampire to nod sorrowfully in agreement.
It’s common. A ruler might display brilliant skills in usurping power but, once ascended to the throne, often falls into decline.
But among such a bloodline, there was one person, his daughter, who, without any bias of a parent’s favor, truly possessed the talents of a ruler.
Uninterested in power or money, she cared deeply for those under her care, drawing a clear line on what she could offer within her capabilities. The reports from the temples and spies placed within her circle painted a character suitable for a peacetime emperor, precisely what the Threefold Empire needed now, with major warfare settled and the troublesome eastern trade routes cleared by the previous emperor’s efforts.
If only she weren’t so naive and could cover her immaturities with support from himself and the family, she was more than capable to shoulder her responsibilities.
If she’d shown the same incompetence, Martin the First would have viewed her merely as a bridge to the monastic orders and kept her away from politics.
This time’s family conflict, serving as a serendipitous bridge, wasn’t merely due to his distaste for the throne; it had reasons tied to this evaluation.
Perhaps eventually, she’d become a grand prelate or a supervisor of some manor. As a father, his expectations mixed with whims showed a slight desire among the mundane words.
Still, all these hopes were erased by the formidable Empress’s intervention.
“Besides, I have a bit of dignity. I cannot end as a disgraceful father, can I?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
The new emperor answered the wolf’s puzzled twist of the head with a sigh and crossed his arms over his stomach, closing his eyes. Now that his grand plan of passing the emperorship to his daughter while handling the practical matters was extinguished, it was time to seriously reclaim some of his lost paternal prestige and credit.
No need to rush; with an extraordinary streak of luck to pull in countermeasures and the resolution to carry the risk of an elder aunt if necessary, she will definitely step onto the political stage—sooner or later, regardless of her will.
After all, blood is thicker than water.
Because of this, even the strict command from his aunt to leave her be for a century wasn’t hard to accept.
“Still, for you to claim you can manage everything properly is quite a presumptuous thought.”
“Indeed. Such nonchalant arrogance really reflects your immortal nature.”
“Hey, you guys! Are you trying to piss me off!? Want to settle this over a duel!?”
“Sorry! Unless it’s an infringement of imperial authority or treason, executing you is not allowed!”
“Dammit!! If the Emperor commands it, I wouldn’t hesitate to poison the cup!! But it’s the founding emperor’s rule, you know!!”
“What’s that you say!? Fine! Then I’ll cut the military budget to bones and reduce the Dragon Cavalry numbers by half! There won’t be wars for now, so brace yourself for heavy cuts!!”
“「Huh!？」”
The office suddenly grew chaotic with clamors that might drive anyone to drink poison. Finally, the situation settled with the hosting of an annual budget chess tournament, retaining the usual funds for the time being.
“Still, what about the Magic Academy’s budget…”
Martin the First mumbled while absently playing with the mage piece. The silver intricate figure represented a cloaked figure with a long staff, capable of taking one or two squares ahead from its current position cleverly yet powerfully.
He was quite adept at handling the mage piece in chess, often showing cruel tactics on the board that made his young daughter cry during lessons. Perhaps this influenced her to adopt a strong orthodox play style.
“What’s there to worry about? Once you’re Emperor, it’s fine to indulge a bit in your interests. Isn’t that an acceptable luxury for the throne?”
“Yeah. Still, expanding your personal dragon shelters and reaching two flying squadrons seems a bit much.”
“Shut up. Those dragons were magnificent in the eastern conquests. The cheers from the soldiers when air support arrives are unforgettable. By the way, your old man back in the day also went overboard with the mercenary corps expansion and arms factories.”
“…Yeah, but their expansions could be justified as national policies. If I touch the budget, it’ll be labeled as favoritism toward relatives.”
While spinning the piece, Martin the First felt a melancholy recalling the monstrous faces at the Mage Academy’s board meetings.
They were all peculiar in their own rights, but none were harmful enough to lock themselves in towers or dissect humans alive. However, when put together, chaos ensued. Arguments blurred lines between debates and verbal duels, sometimes escalating to physical combat with gloves flying, leaving piles of dead scholars.
And worst of all, these feuds, potentially catastrophic on a national scale, erupted right under the imperial city’s nose.
It would’ve been convenient to relocate them far, but it also brought inconveniences.
For an ordinary emperor, it would’ve sufficed. Mediating their disputes and allocating budgets according to national policies without bias would have done.
However, the unfortunate Martin the First had deep connections to the very roots of this institution. Former classmates, colleagues, and research partners—even the troublesome senior faculty who wouldn’t relent on hierarchy—loomed over him.
Being squeezed from the top, bottom, and peers in budget squabbles would kill him—not physically, but mentally. The pre-meeting negotiations alone would kill him, and even if a resolution was reached, complaints would likely echo through the years ahead.
Attempting to designate a political liaison wouldn’t help either. Anyone well-versed in magic and familiar with the academy would inevitably be tied to a faction, drawing inevitable factional interference…
“Ah.”
As he toyed with the piece, realization struck him.
Wouldn’t this be a perfectly suitable buffer?
Someone of foreign noble birth, deeply knowledgeable in the intricacies of magic yet without deep ties to any faction—furthermore, someone ostracized by the faction leaders due to bad behavior—and, being of a foreign noble lineage, relatively far from domestic noble politics.
Moreover, this individual wasn’t easily killed, had no concerns of dementia or illness, and from a species whose members wouldn’t flinch at the offer of a couple of estates.
This figure, who seemed like a divine nod of support from the wheel of fate, might serve as the perfect envoy.
“Hey, Duke Baden.”
“Your Majesty, what is it?”
“Guah!? Hey, wait with that Dragon Cavalry! I missed that!!”
“There’s no stopping a move like that, Duke Grauflock.”
“True, Duke Grauflock, it’s unsightly. I propose moving the archers forward by one square instead.”
“Ah, then the royal guards should counterattack the cavalry and…”
“That was quite crude, wasn’t it your Majesty…”
Ignoring the heavy stares, he dropped the mage piece on the desk and sought forgotten knowledge from his predecessor, asking:
“The exceptional clause allowing foreign nobles’ offspring to receive titles, where exactly is it in the code?”
