ch 3; Dysfunctional (2)

King Philip IV, the puppet king championed by the Empire after deposing the fake king by lineage, King Ezhar III. 

The opinions surrounding him were uniform, me included. All, without a doubt, looked down upon this new legitimate King. 

Sheltered by a loyalist of the previous king before King Ezhar, on paper he's the heir of some provincial noble, and upon the loyalist's death, inherits that title which is only valid in his generation. A pseudo noble, so to speak. 

Maybe he knows this too, because after his coronation, he parachuted a group of chosen confidants to the managerial position based on his own criteria, then post-haste moving to the capital and living there until the Empire found him. 

If there's one word fit to describe his ten years living in the capital, it would be 'debauchery'. 

There's not even a speck of intellectual quality in him, let alone ruler. He delegated everything to his subordinates, while from morning to night, he was consumed by lust. Living a depraved life full of debauchery and self-indulgence before found and dragged by the Empire. 

It was to the point where all could effectively say the brother was his second home.

That man reportedly almost always wakes up inside the brothel. His 'work' only consists of approving or rejecting documents his subordinates send. Other than that, he fancy food or lightly exercise. 

Coronated by his birthright, he was nothing but a lucky man—thus while different factions saw him differently, all correspondingly treated him with disdain. 

The noble faction planned to openly defy him. The Imperialist faction planned to use him. The few loyalists didn't even hold hope on him. 

I, a royal knight in name but doubled as a spy for the noble side, had initially assumed this position as his guardian knight to subtly influence him, as per my liege's order. 

I was confident, of course. 

Calculating his conduct so far and how removed his life was from politics—that fat, lucky man would quickly succumb to the pressure of the high table, and my role would be as easy as taking candy from a child. 

...or, that's what should've been. 

For knights like me, who are practically superhuman, eavesdropping a conversation while separated by a wall isn't even a challenge. 

But even us, two superhuman on par with a hundred soldiers, cannot escape the shackles of humanity. The two of us, me and my colleague guarding the door, looked at each other, wide-eyed. 

The truth is… hard to bear. 

Honestly, deep down I had an inkling about how horrible our situation is. Serving as a closeted left-hand man for my lord naturally opened up instances for overhearing things. And my lord trusted me, that's why he allowed some things to be heard. 

But I've never grasped the full story. 

Until now, that is. 

The first emotion that occurred to me is worry. Not for myself, of course. Should I brag, I'm definitely not a common talent even if you search for the whole continent, and in this small kingdom, I could be said as one of the best combatants, without a doubt. If I were to defect to the Empire, my position may not be as high as today, but I'll definitely do better than most. 

What I'm worried, is my lord's daughter, whom I had a secret relationship with. 

As one of the ministers, my lord's position forced him to bear responsibility along with the king and the rest of administrations, had the country truly fallen as prophesied. 

And that responsibility would surely drag his entire family into the gutter. My lady won't escape unscathed either. I may be able to save her body, but the mental scar of seeing her entire family hanged in front of the sea of angry mobs… no, I can't let that happen. 

Driven by courage, that night I abandoned my post and secretly visited the Duke, my real lord, the one I pledged my loyalty to.  

"...you came?" 

Surprisingly, the Duke was wide awake, in his office. On the table were two empty bottles, and two glasses, and one half-empty bottle was in his left hand. The backdrop of moonlight tearing from the window in his back creates a picturesque image, but I can't find the gait of a powerful man of my liege in that image. 

The Duke looks… pitiful, for the lack of better word. 

"You know I would come, My Lord?"

"Of course. You heard it, after all. I took a guess that you'll came running and look at you now," he giggled, "Exactly as I predicted." 

I've prepared many words to say before coming, mainly persuasion to make my lord change his decision of opposing the King. It's an audacious thought, I understand. I've imagined many scenarios, preparing mentally, but not even my imagination could envisage this situation.   

I didn't know what to say, so I kept silent. 

But my lord didn't even notice my slight insolence of keeping silent in his presence. No, I could see. His eyes wander, still stuck somewhere while his body habitually consumes alcohol to soothe his mind. Taking a sip straight from the bottle, the Duke suddenly threw me a question. 

"What do you think?"

"About what the king uttered in the meeting?"

Slight pause. "...yes."

"It may be unpleasant."

"Doesn't matter. Tell me."

Then, mustering my inner feelings, I said with the most solemn tone possible, "It's entirely feasible. And my apologies for saying this but I did not have the confidence to protect My Lord from the assault of everyone."

And silence. 

The absence of sound was broken by the audible alcohol poured into the glass. The Duke then slid it to me. 

"Drink it. It's a good wine, our neighbor's specialized product, only produced fifty bottles per three months. They completely shut down the brewery yesterday so this wine factually became an ultra rare product."

"It is an honor."

Reaching it with both hands, the small volume inside instantly warmed my esophagus, yet there's this tingling lingering sweetness on my tongue. A high quality, indeed. 

"Do you know why?" 

"Pardon?"

"The reason for their shut down."

"..."

Staring at the bottle in his hand, the Duke lowered his voice, almost whispering. 

"They're like us. Burdened by the aftermath of that reckless war. A speciality, rare delicacy that became an identity of a region vanished just like that. I know the head brewery there. That old coot always looks proud bragging about how good his product is. How it's a recipe that survives countless trial and errors, preserved through an unfathomable river of time from his grandpa, to his dad, then to him. He was a greedy bastard, but the pride is real. I could see his fondness for this liquor is probably more than his own life." and he did commit suicide, the Duke mutter. 

Sympathy drowned the Duke's heart, or maybe seeing himself in the position of the now-closed head brewery, he dunked three gulps back to back. 

"Haaaa… that fucking war. In the first place, I've been advocating them, again and again, that no matter how tied the Empire was, they're not our enemies. The class is different, the weight is different. I've been against it from the beginning, and now look at the result. The worst… doesn't even come close." 

Loudly clanking the mouth of the bottle to the glass, pouring all its remaining wine, and then, nothing. The Duke and I silently stare at the wine. His head hung low as his lips slowly parted.

"But honestly, I overestimated myself," he whispered. 

"Born as a high noble, you get to see much more perspective in the form of books from a young age. Unknowingly it shapes your thinking, limiting it in the framework of the book. I—no, we, were trapped in the paradigm of old, outdated thinking. And intoxicated by that thinking, we gambled. Tacitly allowed the deposed king's expansionist tendency thinking we could handle the aftermath. We genuinely thought another war—the believed last war—could solve the problem." he paused, eyes slowly scanning his own office; from left, to right; up, and down; then turned around to gaze at the night sky. 

"And maybe… turn it into a massive opportunity. Was it ambition, or greed?" 

Inhale; exhale.

"Only after his rebuke do we finally realize the poison is in fact, fatal. And what we thought of as an antidote, is no different than a fraudulent medicine; in which it actually guarantees death."

There's a bit tremble in his voice, and a thick regret lingers in the air for a while. This was the first time I've seen this side of my lord. A fragile, human side of a figure I long believe as stoic and cold hearted. 

"So Grim, reveal your true identity in front of His Majesty, and beg for an answer. He's different. From what I've seen today, he was much different from the rumors. And I, for once, cannot gauge the depth of him. So tell him; the Duke of Heinghram and its affiliated noble houses will fully cooperate with His Majesty's work to normalize this country."

Half turning around his body, the Duke offered a little smile laced with exhaustion. It was tantamount of having me killed, in other words, a suicide mission. Unhurriedly, he slid the remaining wine to me.

"I will give my daughter to you."

"...yes." 

So he knew. Ha. What can I do—what can I say—aside from obey? 

The wine tasted as great as I remembered from earlier tasting. But this time, the warm alcohol failed to oppose the chill inside me. 

The aftertaste feels bitter.