Chapter 5
When the service ended, a priest from the Grand Temple bowed respectfully toward the First Prince, Damian.
“We were quite worried after hearing that Prince Fried would be unable to attend the entrance ceremony. We are truly grateful that Your Highness Damian came in his place.”
“……”
Damian knew perfectly well that the priest standing before him was not on his side.
His half-brother, the Second Prince Fried, had skipped the old-fashioned entrance ceremony to fulfill his duties as Commander of the Holy Knights, investigating unusual movements among magical beasts.
The priest, one of Fried’s maternal family’s closest allies, was subtly reminding him of that fact.
Whether Damian attended the ceremony or not, Fried’s devotion to the Goddess and overwhelming holy power would still receive all the praise.
Knowing all that, Damian answered without the slightest change in expression.
“It was a wonderful opportunity to fully experience the Goddess’s grace. I should be the one thanking you.”
“……”
“I hope the Goddess’s blessing also reaches Fried as he carries out his duties as Commander of the Holy Knights. If you’ll excuse me.”
With a gentle smile, Damian bid the priest farewell before leaving the academy chapel where the entrance service had been held.
His long strides carried him directly toward the tea house built within the Academy grounds.
It served as a private office reserved for members of the Imperial Family during their stay at the Academy.
At present, Damian alone used it.
The moment he entered and confirmed no one else was inside, he dropped heavily onto the sofa.
The perfectly upright posture he had maintained throughout the service disappeared completely.
Stretching out his long legs, he casually rested them over one armrest.
“Ha… that old fox of a priest.”
He muttered irritably as he yanked his necktie loose and undid several buttons of his shirt.
Yet the suffocating feeling refused to disappear.
Removing his black gloves, Damian fanned himself lazily with them.
The cool air brushed against the firm muscles of his exposed chest, but it did nothing to calm the frustration pounding inside him.
I need something cold…
Just then, someone knocked on the door.
“Your Highness. It’s Douglas. I’ve brought some chilled tea.”
Damian smiled faintly at the welcome timing and snapped his fingers.
The locking spell he had cast immediately dissolved.
The man who entered with a quiet creak was Douglas, Damian’s secretary and personal guard.
Despite his bear-like physique, he gently placed a glass of iced tea before Damian with astonishing precision.
Even the Head Maid of the Imperial Palace could not have matched such flawless tea etiquette.
At the same time, he carefully observed his master’s mood.
“May I ask what the High Priest said today to upset Your Highness?”
“Ah… don’t even ask.”
“I’d almost prefer it if he insulted me openly like he used to.”
Douglas immediately imitated the High Priest’s tone.
“I wonder whether the prayers of one born without even a trace of holy power—on the very day demons descended upon the world—could ever reach the Goddess, Lord Damian.”
Damian couldn’t help laughing.
“Exactly.”
“If he’d just insult me outright like that, I’d have every right to get angry.”
“How could he do that now?”
“You’re a legitimate candidate for the position of Crown Prince, and you’ve gathered many capable people under your banner.”
“……”
“The Temple isn’t foolish. They’re simply being more cautious because they’re aware of the influence Your Highness has built.”
Douglas gently pushed the teacup toward him.
Damian picked it up and drank nearly half of it in one gulp.
Only then did some color return to his face.
“I keep telling you that you don’t have to bother with tea etiquette around me.”
“You know I always end up drinking it all at once because it’s hot.”
Douglas smiled politely.
“I appreciate Your Highness’s consideration.”
“But the person I once served valued consistency above all else.”
“So this is what feels most natural to me.”
How many rulers would appreciate hearing a loyal retainer openly admit he still followed the customs of his former master?
Yet Damian didn’t dislike the stubbornness of the knight, now well into his forties.
No…
Dislike wasn’t the right word.
Whenever Douglas mentioned his former master, Damian was overcome with quiet affection.
Because the person Douglas had once served…
…was Damian’s late mother.
Setting down his half-empty teacup, Damian spoke quietly.
“Even this isn’t enough.”
“Unless I become overwhelmingly superior… the throne will ultimately go to Fried.”
“……”
“You’ve seen it yourself.”
“You know how easy it is for powerful people to slowly kill someone inside the Imperial Palace.”
He remembered his mother.
A beautiful, gentle woman blessed with extraordinary beauty and immense holy power.
She had been summoned from a remote province to the capital…
And eventually became Empress.
But everything changed when the Emperor—
a man who had never truly cared for his family—
fell mysteriously ill.
The Temple declared that the illness was caused by the Empress’s impurity.
Only by taking a new Imperial Consort, they claimed, could the Emperor recover.
The Temple had long maintained close ties with House Roas, the family of the current Imperial Consort.
Their goal had been obvious from the beginning.
They wanted the eldest daughter of House Roas to become the Emperor’s new consort.
Thus, supported fanatically by the Temple, Iselda Roas became Imperial Consort.
From then on, she relentlessly slandered and harassed the Empress.
A lonely baron’s daughter from the countryside—
with not a single ally in the capital—
slowly withered away without ever being able to fight back.
At his mother’s funeral…
The only person who comforted young Damian was Douglas.
Her loyal knight, who had followed her all the way from their distant barony.
“I refuse to die the way my mother did, Douglas.”
“……”
“To survive…”
“I have to become Emperor.”
Damian understood better than anyone.
Without powerful backing…
The only way someone like him could survive as Crown Prince—
and eventually Emperor—
was to become absolutely flawless.
“Please get some rest, Your Highness.”
“I’ll return when it’s time for the entrance celebration banquet.”
“Very well.”
After Douglas bowed and left, Damian finished the rest of the mint tea before rising from his seat.
He walked into the short hallway attached to his office.
Whenever he needed to organize his thoughts…
He came here.
The entrance celebration banquet…
Contrary to his reputation as a sociable prince…
Damian despised banquets and parties.
They were filled with everything he had to guard against if he wished to become Crown Prince.
The sweet words of schemers.
Requests to invest in hopeless ventures.
Countless hidden traps.
But above all…
Damian stopped before several framed portraits hanging along the corridor.
Each depicted a member of the Imperial Family who had once shaken the Empire.
Beneath every portrait was a brief explanation of how they had died.
Aldi Ivelrn.
Ascending the throne at a young age, he became obsessed with women, took forty-three lovers, and eventually died from excessive indulgence.
Ever since then, the people have hated seeing members of the Imperial Family surround themselves with lovers or mistresses.
Pablo Ivelrn.
The Emperor’s youngest brother.
He gathered sixty women into a private harem at an Imperial villa before eventually being assassinated by one of them.
Though the rumor says he wasn’t assassinated at all…
Apparently he kept receiving bee stings to increase his stamina so he could satisfy all those women, and ultimately died from the accumulated poison.
Several more portraits lined the hallway.
Every one belonged to an Imperial family member who had died young because of uncontrollable lust.
And at the very end of the corridor…
Instead of another portrait…
Hung a mirror.
“Ha…”
Damian let out a deep sigh.
There was one secret…
Not even Douglas, who had watched him grow up since birth, knew.
The flaw Damian feared most…
Was his own body.
Ever since puberty…
His desires had refused to cool.
Almost every night brought erotic dreams.
Almost every morning he woke in frustration.
Following the teachings of an ancient sage who claimed that a wise ruler should conquer lust through physical discipline…
He devoted himself to swordsmanship.
Running.
Mountain climbing.
Relentless training.
Yet instead of calming down…
His muscles only grew stronger.
His stamina increased.
And his passion burned even hotter.
He wondered whether only complete physical exhaustion could suppress it.
So he pushed himself for hours every single day, practicing magic and swordsmanship until collapse.
The result…
At only nineteen years old…
He had nearly reached the realm of a Sword Master.
Yet his body remained exactly the same.
Worse still…
Damian knew better than anyone how hopelessly sensitive and uncontrollably lustful his own body was.
The gloves he always wore…
His pretense of being obsessed with cleanliness…
His habit of never allowing others to approach too closely…
All of it existed for that very reason.
“…God.”
It only made him feel even more pathetic that his rival for the throne—
his half-brother Fried—
had been born with immense holy power and a naturally devout, abstinent disposition.
Damian sighed before buttoning his shirt again.
He straightened his tie.
Then slipped the suffocating black gloves back onto his hands.
He already knew what would happen at the banquet soon to begin.
Several noblewomen would linger around him, attempting to seduce him.
Whether for their family’s political ambitions…
Or simply out of desire…
Women were the people Damian had to avoid above all else.
At last, it was time to leave his office.
Looking into the mirror, Damian silently repeated the principles by which he lived.
Take care of desire on my own.
Romance can wait until after I become Crown Prince, secure my power, and guarantee my survival.
Never keep a woman by my side.
The moment temptation appears…
Forget it immediately.
“……”
As he repeated those words…
A bright, gentle voice suddenly echoed in his mind.
“And this may sound rather foolish… but I’ve spent so long looking at the painting in our estate that it took me a moment to connect the child in it with the grown man standing before me.”
Levy Heron’s voice…
And the image of her standing before him…
Returned with startling clarity.
Perhaps because she had rarely attended social gatherings due to her frail health…
It had been a long time since he’d seen her up close.
Having always heard that she was constantly bedridden, he’d imagined she would grow into a lifeless, fragile woman.
Instead…
The grown Levy resembled a spring flower that had somehow bloomed after enduring the harshness of winter.
Her pink eyes beneath long eyelashes…
Her honey-blonde hair…
They lingered in his memory far longer than expected.
And…
It had also been the first time anyone besides himself had mentioned the day he last went out with his mother.
Besides, wasn’t Levy Heron famous for being so hopelessly infatuated with Fried that she’d once fainted at an Imperial ball?
It was unexpected enough that a woman known for passionately supporting Fried…
Would speak to him about his mother.
Perhaps that was why their brief conversation remained so vivid.
Forget it.
Once again, Damian reminded himself that there should never be a place for women in his life.
As he stared into the mirror…
He glared coldly at the sinister man reflected within it.
