IYTTEPAAK Chapter 4

Vivian, our eldest sister, had barely begun her feeble protest before it fell apart entirely. One sharp look from the Mad Emperor and the audience hall went eerily quiet.

The Mad Emperor curved his eyes into that hateful shape, as if he hadn't just bared murderous intent at his own daughter a moment before.

"Since I have no sons left beneath me, I intend to choose my heir from among you. But I couldn't put my daughters through a brutal contest the way I did my sons. I love and cherish my daughters far too much for that."

"......"

"And so I intend to hold this succession contest in the form of a proxy war. The prisoner each of you chooses will fight the battle in your place."

The Mad Emperor's real motive was plain to read.

The public gladiatorial stage he'd once used to humiliate my brothers had also served to strengthen his imperial authority.

By offering the capital's citizens a spectacle of provocative entertainment, he steered them toward pleasure rather than criticism of him.

Bread and circuses. It was an age-old method of keeping the masses ignorant.

So now it's princesses as gladiator-slaves, is it.

Calling it a succession was an insult. Nothing more than a vulgar spectacle, with the throne itself as its prize.

Repulsive. Hateful. The Mad Emperor—and this blood, mine, that comes from him.

"Sister Sasha."

Nanaën whispered, pitched so only I could hear.

"Who are you going to pick?"

"......"

"Pick mine too, along with yours. I'm a little lacking in this department, you know."

"......"

"You're in a mood, huh. Fine—just say yes or no. What about the one in the front row, with the injured left arm? The redheaded one."

I could feel an unusually strong mana pulse from him. It seemed Nanaën's sensing ability had improved a little in the meantime.

"Do as you like."

"Since you're not stopping me, I guess it's a decent pick. I'll trust you on this, Sister."

Nanaën lifted the hem of her gown gracefully and stepped forward first of all. Her audacious finger pointed straight at a young man who still had some boyishness left in his face.

"Father, I'll take this knight."

"Quick to act, aren't you, Nana."

"Well, it's a gift you've given me, Father, after all. Why would I pass up the chance to pick the best one first?"

At the mention of first-come, first-served, several of my sisters grew impatient.

"I need to pick too."

"I can't see the back row very well—"

"Let's go look at them one at a time."

My sisters began circling the ranks of defeated knights, standing five deep, examining them one by one.

Even those who had first felt reluctant, approaching this cautiously, grew accustomed to it soon enough. The way they browsed and appraised the men wasn't so different from someone shopping at a boutique.

One by one, my sisters made their choices.

"I— I've chosen."

Vivian, our eldest sister, chose a knight who could survive being surrounded by an entire legion on his own.

"I like this man. If we wash him up and treat him properly, he might turn out to be handsome."

Our fourth sister Lilliana picked a knight who could wipe a small city off the map.

"This one caught my eye, Father."

"Oh? How interesting. What made you choose him, Cehera?"

"He has the fewest injuries. Proof enough of how strong he must be."

Our fifth sister, Cehera, made a poor choice.

The moment a knight received a princess's selection, his ankles and wrists were freed from the restraints binding them. But what followed after was a confinement worse than any manacle or shackle.

"Look into my eyes."

The royal authority manifested through gaze and voice.

Locking eyes with their chosen knight, my sisters exercised their power. Dominion pressed into the mind and forced a loyalty oath.

The time it took depended on the knight's mana and mental fortitude, and on the princess's authority.

Nanaën took the longest to subjugate hers. While Nanaën, having only just finished, broke into a cold sweat and swayed on her feet, Cehera—who had finished hers with the greatest ease—pretended to be worried and pressed a handkerchief on her, fussing.

"Oh dear, little sister. Look at all this sweat. Dominating just one knight left you that exhausted?"

"It's hard enough without you picking a—"

"But don't be too upset! So your reserves fall a little short—so what? The Empire's Golden Deer just needs to stay limp and pathetic. That's plenty."

"...If Father weren't right there watching, I swear to—"

Nanaën, forced to play the picture of innocence in front of our father, had to accept Cehera dabbing the sweat from her face with the handkerchief without protest, and even had to thank her for it.

While this hateful little play of sisterly love was being staged, Orlette approached me.

"Not picking one?"

"......"

"Doesn't look like you want to choose a person the way you'd choose an object. Putting it off won't change anything."

It wasn't simply choosing a person. It was choosing a person to use as a tool, to be driven into a killing field.

I didn't want to take part in this depravity.

"Whether it's for survival or for the succession, there's no avoiding it either way. Think of it as fate, and choose your man."

My fate, maybe. But his?

I couldn't hear any of it without a note of resentment creeping in, so I said nothing.

That was when something caught my eye. Just as Orlette had said—like fate itself.

"This one won't do."

"He's going to die any minute now..."

Our third sister, Gwendolyn, and our youngest, Shumel, were examining a particular knight.

His condition was dreadful. There was hardly a part of his body that wasn't wrapped in bandages. That he was still standing on his own two feet was hard to believe, given how severe his wounds were.

Even his eyes weren't spared—bandages covered the upper half of his face, and white hair spilled out messily through the gaps.

Even with most of his face hidden and his hair gone completely white, I recognized him in an instant.

He's alive? He's alive—

My heart wouldn't stop pounding. Now—I wanted him out of there now. Wanted to drag him somewhere no hand could reach him, hide him safe in my own rooms.

Steady. Steady.

I couldn't act rashly.

"Sasha, you're the only one standing still. Don't tell me my gift doesn't please you?"

I'd been feeling the Mad Emperor's gaze settle on me, quiet and lingering, for some time now. He was watching me.

The monster wearing a man's skin didn't play only with human lives. He played with hope, dignity, conviction, love, despair—every value there was.

If I let any emotional agitation show, it could be used against me. I walked forward gracefully, toward the Mad Emperor.

"Never, Your Majesty. I was simply appraising with something other than my eyes."

"Is that so? Then I look forward to your choice."

I turned on my heel and walked toward the prisoners.

With every step closer to him, my heart pounded harder. Just as I thought my ribs couldn't take any more, I stopped.

Even with the height my heels gave me, my gaze reached, at best, the line of his jaw. I looked up at his bandage-covered eyes.

"I'll take this one."

"What did you say?"

My choice unsettled not only the Mad Emperor, but my sisters, and even the personal knights standing guard behind him.

It was only natural. His condition right now carried the scent of death far more strongly than any sign of life—a walking corpse. Even his mana core seemed shattered; I could barely sense any mana from him at all.

I had a pretext ready to justify my choice.

"I don't wish to make an ordinary choice. If he manages to distinguish himself despite the handicap, my own abilities will shine all the brighter for it."

"Oh?"

"Wouldn't a contest with a reversal in it be a little less dull, Your Majesty?"

Offering myself up as entertainment to an emperor hungry for stimulation would be the most effective persuasion available.

"Sasha, I didn't know you had such ambition in you."

"You flatter me, Your Majesty."

"You've raised my expectations quite high now. Can you live up to them?"

"I will approach this with the resolve to wager my own head."

Raising the stakes on something I always had on the line changes nothing.

"My knight has more than a place or two in need of mending. Might I be permitted to withdraw first?"

"Granted."

There. Now all that was left was to take him.

My throat had gone dry—I wasn't sure the spit would even go down. Hoping my trembling hand would be hidden by my sleeve, I took hold of his wrist.

"Come with me. From now on, you are mine."