#082. I Thought This Was My Punishment
Because carrying a patient up and down stairs was dangerous, the sickroom was located on the first floor.
This meant that Berken could see Melchizedek’s expression from outside the room.
Seeing the tears streaming down Melchizedek’s pale cheeks, Berken turned and walked away. It was time to return and finish the Huyaje ceremony.
He crossed the empty lawn, muttering softly to himself.
“…Good to see they’re getting along well.”
Of course, Melchizedek was more important to Berken than Blanche. If Melchizedek ever tried to kill Blanche, Berken could at least help clean up the aftermath.
That didn’t mean, however, that Blanche was as insignificant as a pebble on the road.
Beyond merely getting along with Melchizedek, Blanche was a talented person. If Melchizedek had consulted him before attempting an assassination, Berken would have firmly dissuaded him.
So, as long as Melchizedek hadn’t tried to kill Blanche—and genuinely cared enough to worry with tears—this was a good thing for Berken.
“I won’t have to lie to Riana.”
Most importantly, it was a relief that Riana—whose temper was probably completely flipped by now—wouldn’t direct her anger at Melchizedek.
With the risk of conflict between the two people they loved most in the world gone, Berken’s steps as he returned to the hall were light.
Blanche had been moved to the palace closest to the grand garden where the Huyaje ceremony was to be held, following the court’s advice not to move the patient too far.
Thus, Berken hadn’t been gone long. He expected that, upon returning, little would have changed—at most, the atmosphere might have calmed somewhat.
After a quick investigation, he could send everyone back and take time to review the incident from a broader perspective.
Perhaps because it was so unexpected, the whole situation still felt unclear to Berken. A careful review would help him think more clearly.
“Welcome back.”
Yet upon returning, the atmosphere in the grand garden was the exact opposite of what he had imagined.
The nobles were neither discreet nor composed, chatting curiously about the earlier incident and trying to ease their suspicions.
It was almost as if…
“Your Majesty.”
Riana, standing at the center of the hall, turned to him with a smile.
Her golden hair flowed like melted gold, her eyes a vivid green like fresh spring leaves. Her beauty was always dreamlike, and when she smiled brightly, it illuminated everyone around her like the sun.
But even seeing the smile of the one he loved, Berken felt nothing but unease and resignation.
Of course—the expressionless, disciplined faces of the nobles made sense. This was all Riana’s doing.
“What is it, Empress?”
As emperor, he could not afford to show uncertainty or despair, so he responded with a composed smile.
Riana stepped forward swiftly, closing the distance between them in a few steps, and asked with clear eyes:
“Grant me authority to investigate the assassination attempt on the Duchess.”
Technically, Blanche was not yet a duchess, as the engagement had not been publicly announced. She was not even officially the Grand Duke’s fiancée.
Although these thoughts crossed his mind, Berken decided not to dwell on minor details.
If Riana wished to treat Blanche as the duchess, then Blanche would be the duchess. It was not unreasonable for the Empress of the Letail Empire to make that choice.
“You, personally?”
“Yes. Attempting to assassinate the Duchess in broad daylight—doesn’t that amount to an insult to the royal family? I believe I should be fully empowered to handle this.”
Ah. Berken immediately thought it might be better to refuse.
Unlike Melchizedek, Berken had considered the possibility that Blanche could be behind this incident—but he was not certain.
There was no other obvious suspect, but he thought there might be an unexpected choice he hadn’t yet considered.
Once everyone had been sent away and the incident reviewed calmly, the answer might become clear.
Still, he felt uneasy. Giving this to Riana didn’t feel right. He would likely regret this decision.
“Your Majesty? Please,” Riana said, locking her clear eyes onto his.
And yet, Berken could not refuse when she asked so directly.
Why worry about regret? Better for him to regret it than see that pure expression of hers clouded.
The decision came quickly. Berken smiled gently and nodded.
“You do not need my permission, Empress. As my partner, you hold equal rights with me—whatever you wish, you shall have.”
Could a blooming flower bloom even more brightly? Could the midday sun shine even more dazzlingly?
Riana had been smiling widely the moment she approached Berken.
Her eyes were narrowed slightly, her lips curved perfectly upward. If not for the situation’s gravity, she would have looked perfectly happy.
Yet as soon as Berken gave his consent, something changed. Not outwardly—but internally.
Like ink dropped into clear water. Although she had been smiling before, the aggressive energy shifted into genuine joy.
The pure smile, unlike the slight unease moments earlier, was enough to captivate Berken.
“Thank you.”
Even after twenty-five years, how could this person capture my heart so easily? Berken marveled at this, even amidst everything.
“Did you hear that, Marquis Chase? I’d like to speak with you immediately.”
But her smile was brief. Riana turned and called to someone standing anxiously to the side.
“Oh, don’t worry about the family. I’ll treat them all politely. It must be reassuring to move together, right?”
Pretending to care for Marquis Chase, she effectively designated his whole family as subjects of investigation.
Marquis Chase went pale, and the surrounding nobles closed their mouths in fear, worried that the Empress’s next target could be them.
…I need to figure out the culprit as soon as possible. Watching the Chase family escorted away, Berken thought.
Meanwhile, Melchizedek sat beside Blanche like a statue in the grand garden.
Only outwardly still—inside, his mind was a tangled web of thoughts.
“…I thought this was my punishment.”
According to the historical records, Qingling’s story was grand. Born as the second prince of a small kingdom, he died as the emperor of a unified empire.
He had everything he could possess and enjoyed all he could. A life just shy of seventy years was long for the era, and his cause of death was natural.
Though everyone called his life blessed and his passing honorable, when Qingling closed his eyes at sixty-nine, all he felt was relief that it was finally over.
Throughout his sixty-nine years, he had constantly lost something. Before birth, he lost his father; as a child, his mother and brother; later, nephews and sisters-in-law; companions and favored subordinates.
He had lost Yibaekryeon.
Thus, when he closed his eyes, sensing death, he felt relief.
No longer would he be the one losing. No longer would he worry about something slipping from his grasp. No longer would he drink alone lamenting what he had lost.
So when he opened his eyes to find himself a newborn, Qingling felt no joy. He only thought: Is this my karma?
To have lost so many meant he had lived stepping on the sacrifices of others.
How many drops of blood were shed to unify the continent? How could he repay the karmic debt for the nephew killed by his own mother to secure his throne? How could he apologize to Yibaekryeon, who hung himself because of his mistakes?
Qingling understood that his wealth and glory were built on the suffering of others.
Even more so because he had never desired power.
The wine he drank was someone else’s tears; the silk he wore was someone else’s skin. Though he had never wished for it, having enjoyed it meant he bore responsibility.
Thus, when he received a second life—a life he never asked for—Qingling could only think of it as punishment or a dreadful nightmare.
