Chapter Thirty-Two: Farewell

For a moment, silence reigned in the deep darkness of the palace.

Then the younger brother’s laughter echoed through the hall. “Little Seven really is a thoughtful child.”

“Aren’t you curious about what he said to me?” the elder brother asked, gazing at him.

“Words spoken between father and son—what right does an uncle have to hear such things?” the younger replied with a smile.

“He asked about that child,” the elder stated calmly.

The younger raised his eyebrows slightly, saying nothing.

“Yes, his memory surpasses what I had imagined,” the elder continued.

“So, how did you answer him?” the younger finally gave in to his curiosity.

“Since he asked, I told him everything I knew,” the elder replied evenly. “It’s been more than ten years—what could be changed now, even if he knows it all?”

“What has happened cannot be undone.”

“Is that why he chose to leave?” the younger asked, searching his brother’s face.

“He was very disappointed,” the elder replied, not directly answering. “I thought he would be furious, but he wasn’t.”

“He was simply disappointed.”

“And then he said farewell.”

“I don’t blame him. The men of our line are born to conquer the world, so it’s no bad thing for him to go out and see more while he’s still young.”

“Besides, he is destined to sit atop the Throne of Thorns.”

“Indeed—he’s Sequence One,” the younger agreed.

“But he told me he has no interest in that position at all,” the elder said with a wry smile.

“No one can truly imagine the allure of that seat until they actually occupy it,” the younger remarked softly.

“And what about you?” the elder asked, eyes fixed on his brother.

The younger shook his head. “For thirty years, we’ve been the closest of friends, sharing the power of this throne. Everything you could give me, you have given. What more could I possibly want?”

The elder lowered his gaze and laughed gently, then looked up at his blood brother.

“Then when did you start poisoning me?” he asked quietly, as if discussing something trivial.

There was no anger in his tone, only a touch of curiosity.

The younger brother gazed at him in silence.

“I truly am curious,” the elder said softly, making no move against him.

“I used to wonder how you would react if you ever learned of it,” the younger replied evenly. “But your reaction now, brother, is entirely beyond my expectations.”

“What reaction should I have? Stand up in a rage and battle you here, destroy half the imperial palace, and then be buried as the Mad King in our family’s tomb?” the elder laughed quietly.

“If that were your response, I’d be happy—happier than I am now,” the younger said, tears already streaking his face.

“Killing your own brother isn’t a pleasant feeling, is it?” the elder said in a muted tone.

“It’s even worse than killing myself,” the younger replied. “But you must understand, once you set foot on certain dark roads, there’s no turning back.”

“So when did it begin?” the elder asked.

“Eleven years ago,” the younger finally answered.

“A significant point in time,” the elder mused.

“Yes, from the first month after the ancestress died,” the younger confirmed.

“She wanted us to forget that our line has always thrived on bloody infighting—sons killing fathers, ministers slaying kings. In endless bloodshed we gained power, and through terror, we ruled the world,” the elder spoke slowly. “Do you remember, the night she died, she summoned me to her bedside and entrusted certain things to me?”

“Such as?” the younger prompted.

“She asked if I could be like the First Emperor,” the elder replied.

The younger fell silent.

The First Emperor was the founder of the Sther Empire, the supreme monarch who cast his shadow over the entire world. When his father—the clan chief—died unexpectedly, chaos reigned. The First Emperor emerged, quelling the unrest with an iron hand, and paid the price by executing all his brothers and elders, consigning any threats to his rule forever to the tomb.

“How did you answer her?” the younger asked softly.

“My actions these past eleven years have been my answer,” the elder replied. “I once believed I had succeeded.”

For those eleven years, the elder brother gave his most trusted sibling power nearly equal to his own, hoping that joint rule would suppress all opposition. Yet he never imagined that his greatest danger was the one he trusted most.

“I’m sorry,” the younger said sincerely.

He truly was.

“But I do not think I was wrong,” he continued.

“That is why I can sit here and speak with you calmly,” the elder replied.

“Then when did you find out?” the younger asked.

“The day Little Seven came to me and spoke of it,” the elder said.

“He is truly clever,” the younger brother sincerely praised.

“I told him I already knew, and thanked him for it,” the elder said, looking into his eyes.

“Then why did you do nothing?” the younger sighed. “Even now, you still have a chance to turn things around.”

“That brings me to the second thing our ancestress told me,” the elder replied. “Sometimes I feel she’s still watching us.”

“She watched over this empire for three hundred years, and only eleven have passed since,” the elder said quietly. “She told me the Chaos of the Hundred Kings must never be repeated.”

The so-called Chaos of the Hundred Kings had erupted when the First Emperor died unexpectedly on campaign, having named no successor. The vast empire was instantly plunged into all-consuming war. The terror that once blanketed the world vanished in a moment, and humanity watched in confusion as those conquerors, once united under one banner, tore each other apart with even greater savagery.

The Sther Empire lost seventy percent of its territory, withdrawing to its original lands to lick its wounds.

The ancestress had been the key to ending that chaos.

“Brother,” the younger whispered, unable to say more.

“I could kill you,” the elder said softly. “Even now, I am confident I could.”

“But then what?”

“Must I then root out the shadows that control you from behind? Those are what I once hoped we could face together.”

“You gave me an incurable poison. Even I don’t know how much time I have left.”

“If I kill you, then challenge the darkness behind you while I myself am too weak to hold the empire together—can I truly entrust it to a mere fourteen-year-old Little Seven?”

“Even he does not wish to face such a deadly impasse.”

“Your greatest flaw, brother, is that you are too clear-headed,” the younger said. “Even a cornered beast will fight.”

“But we are not beasts,” the elder replied. “The empire must endure, our line must continue. That was the chance the First Emperor bought for us, falling from heaven to earth—a chance to conquer this world beneath the sun.”

“I do not know what I should warn you about, but when you sit on this throne, you must remember this as well.”

The younger listened in silence, unable to stem his tears.

“Why are you telling me all this tonight?” he asked.

“Because my time is truly short,” the elder answered calmly.

“So I must ask—after I am gone, what do you intend to do?”

The younger gazed at his brother. “Is this the place to speak of such things?”

“There are only the two of us here—what can’t be said?” the elder replied evenly.

“Or perhaps I should tell you something else, also concerning the ancestress.” He continued, “The third thing she entrusted to me was to keep a close eye on Little Seven.”

“He was only three years old then,” the younger noted.

“Yes, just a child—what could make the ancestress pay him any heed?” the elder said. “But what happened since then has proved our own shallowness.”

“He rose like a meteor, overshadowing all others, and a year ago surpassed his siblings to become Sequence One, the designated heir.”

“If given time, I have no doubt he could become a second First Emperor.”

“So?” the younger prompted.

“So you must kill him, whatever the cost,” the elder said quietly, looking his brother in the eye.

The younger brother was silent.

“He is the child the ancestress favored, the legitimate Sequence One. He has left the empire, seeking time and opportunity to grow. If you do not kill him, one day he will return, and then he will kill you and seize all that you possess,” the elder said evenly.

The younger laughed. “For a moment I thought you were threatening me, brother.”

As if to say: you cannot kill me, for my child will avenge me.

“I am threatening you,” the elder sighed. “Once you replace me, you will sit on the Throne of Thorns. You will be the empire, the tribe; you will lead it into new realms.”

“And I hope you will do better than I have.”

“Take it as an unreserved blessing from an elder brother to his younger.”

The younger looked up at the ceiling.

“Once you are dead, I will slaughter all your offspring—including Little Seven. I’ve already hired the most skilled people to carry out the plan. We have a lead on Little Seven’s whereabouts—evidence suggests he’s in Leafnight City, trying to hide in that academy.”

“I will repeal all your reforms, purge the army, renew our alliance with that family, and await the era of great strife foretold by prophecy.”

“As you said, we were born to rule this land. Even if we are three centuries late, when the final moment comes, it will not be too late.”

The elder listened quietly. Even when his brother spoke of eradicating his line, he showed no emotion.

For it was the right thing to do—he himself would not have hesitated.

It was, after all, his failure to heed the ancestress’s words that led him to this fate.

“Beware of them,” the elder said. “I have never trusted those who hide among the stars.”

“So they placed their wager on me,” the younger sighed. “Brother, you have no idea how many want you dead—you have blocked too many paths.”

The elder could not help but laugh.

“When Little Seven left, he said he never wished to become someone like me.”

“Do you know how he addressed me when he left?”

“I don’t—perhaps, ‘father’?” the younger guessed.

The elder laughed until tears nearly fell.

“He called me ‘monster.’”

…

…

That night, the moonlight was as bright and clear as silver.

A golden-haired youth stood at the palace’s threshold, gazing at the towering shadow within.

“I never wish to become someone like you,” he said, looking up.

“What kind of person am I?” the shadow asked coldly.

“Strong. Cold. Ruthless. Without emotion,” the youth replied quietly. “I heard someone once say there are only three kinds of people in this world.”

“Men, women, and you.”

“The moment you became the embodiment of imperial power, you ceased to qualify as a person. You became a machine of power without feeling. For you, there is no good or evil—only gain and loss.”

“Well said,” the shadow regarded him. “But it’s the first time you’ve spoken these words to me.”

“In the past, I still harbored some naïve illusions about you, for you are, after all, my father,” the youth said calmly. “But I soon realized how mistaken I was—how utterly wrong.”

“So, will you return?” the shadow asked.

“Perhaps I will. Perhaps I won’t,” the youth replied. “But whether I come back or not, I will never see you again.”

“I regret that, but not truly,” he said, looking up.

“Goodbye.”

He reached back, gathered his golden hair, and sliced it off with his bare hands.

Golden strands scattered to the floor.

Without looking back, the youth walked away.

“Monster, sir.”