Lord of Caldera - Chapter 377

Chapter 377: Chapter 377 The Emperor Concessions
“This elevated view does make the world feel different. What a magnificent seat. So, this is the throne I was meant to inherit.”

“Your Highness…”

Rozier’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. Maximilian let out a dry, hollow laugh, filled with resignation.

“How foolish. If I had known this seat was so splendid, I would have waited. I would have simply waited to sit here first, to see the world from here.”

He recalled his dissatisfaction with his father, Zichard, a man unable to overpower the great nobles and enforce imperial authority. Maximilian had been discontent with the authority he was meant to inherit.

So, he sought to grow it—build it into something towering, something that touched the heavens, from which he could look down on all.

In doing so, he dismissed the throne he had never sat upon, belittling its significance. Yet now, as he sat in it, the seat felt far more alluring and comfortable than he had ever imagined.

“I dreamt of the sky without ever standing on the mountaintop. I thought reaching the summit was so certain that it wasn’t even worth considering.”

Everything had been handed to him so easily—a healthy body, a sharp mind, the title of Crown Prince, even the seat of the next Emperor.

And yet, he had never been satisfied. Everything he held was rightfully his, he thought, and even what he didn’t yet have was something he believed should belong to him.

And now, here he was, facing the consequences of his actions.

“What a foolish endeavor it all was.”

Rozier remained silent.

“Only now do I see it, even just a little. The idea of birthright is nothing more than an illusion of the arrogant. There is no ownership predestined by a goddess from the moment of birth.”

Everything could be taken and lost—treasures, positions, power, and even the Emperor’s throne.

Even if it seemed to be his by birth, that didn’t mean it couldn’t be taken away.

“Before taking from others, I should have learned to protect what was already mine. Instead, all I did was scheme to take more.”

He had resented the lords for their power, authority, and influence. He had sought to seize all of it to build his own.

Believing his own position was secure, he thought only of acquisition, never imagining he could lose it all.

“And now it’s too late. If only I had realized sooner.”

“Your Highness!”

Rozier finally broke down, weeping openly. His sobs echoed in the empty throne hall for some time.

When his subordinate’s cries subsided, Maximilian finally spoke again.

“Rozier, bring me some wine. The last wine I’ll ever drink.”

“…Yes, Your Highness.”

Rozier held back his tears and left the room. He didn’t need to ask what his lord’s request meant—he understood all too well.

Moments later, Rozier returned with a tray holding a bottle of wine and two glasses. As Maximilian stared at the tray, he commented, “There are two glasses.”

“One is for me, Your Highness.”

“Is that so?”

Maximilian let out a bitter chuckle. For a moment, he considered joking about his subordinate daring to share a drink with his lord at the very end, but he decided against it.

He was not such a magnanimous ruler. To suddenly act benevolent in his final moments after a lifetime of arrogance and narrow-mindedness would have been laughable.

“You’ve done well, Rozier.”

“And you as well, Your Highness.”

That was the end of their conversation. Each took their glass and drank in one gulp.

Moments later, the metallic sound of a goblet hitting the floor echoed faintly in the hall.

It was the last sound to come from the throne hall.

All that remained were the lifeless body of a nobleman sprawled on the floor and the corpse of a royal draped over the throne.

If anyone had attempted to rescue Zichard during his confinement, there would have been bloodshed. Yet, the palace remained utterly silent for half a year.

This meant that not a single soul had raised a voice of dissent, let alone defied Maximilian’s rule. And now these same people dared to pose as loyal subjects?

“I should throw you all out this instant!”

Zichard sprang from the throne, his voice rising in fury. However, before he could continue, Sylas stepped forward calmly, stopping him in his tracks.

“Why—what is it, Count?” Zichard asked, startled, as he sank back into the throne.

“Calm yourself, Your Majesty. While it’s true these courtiers are nothing more than sycophants who didn’t even consider rescuing you from the traitor, now is not the time to act rashly.”

“W-what do you mean!”

Before Zichard could argue further, one of the nobles, flustered by Sylas’s blunt accusation, tried to speak up. However, the cold, deadly stares from all directions silenced him, leaving him pale and trembling.

As the court nobles fell into silence, Sylas continued.

“Regardless of their failings, these individuals are responsible for managing the affairs of the capital and the Empire as a whole. Purging them all at once would create a significant administrative void.”

“That much can be endured, can it not? Surely, the crime of aiding the traitor far outweighs—”

“Your Majesty, my great and wise Emperor.”

Zichard stopped mid-sentence, his voice faltering. Sylas’s eyes, sharp and icy, were fixed on him.

“You are making things troublesome for me.”

“W-what…?”

“Your Majesty, I ask you to bear with them for my sake. Of course, if you issue an imperial decree, I will shoulder all the effort required to carry it out.”

“No, no! How could I burden you with such a task, Count!” Zichard stammered, waving his hands frantically, his face pale.

“Please, proceed as you see fit! I entrust everything to you!”

“With gratitude, Your Majesty. I will handle matters as I see fit and report to you afterward.”

“Y-yes… as you wish…”

Zichard tilted his head, confused by Sylas’s response. Normally, such a request would be met with at least some pretense of humility, yet Sylas accepted it without hesitation.