Arc-2 Ch-19

The voices of Mother and Hertrauda suddenly echo in my mind.

'Julius, do what must be done. Your failures will bind you for a lifetime. Even so, as long as you live, you must strive to accomplish something.'

'Give her back! Give my big sister back! I don’t care what happens to me—just give my sister back!'

Startled, I glance around and realize I’m in my study. A wave of relief washes over me, but my body still trembles under the weight of Mother’s chastising words and Hertrauda’s anguished cries.

I must have dozed off while taking a brief rest, buried in government work since morning. The sun hangs low, nearly swallowed by the horizon. The royal palace, bathed in the glow of sunset, looks as though it’s been painted in blood. It evokes an eerie impression—like a silent reminder of the palace’s bloodstained history and the political unrest brewing within its walls.

It has been nearly two months since Mother last reprimanded me. We seldom spoke before, and I haven’t seen her face once since that encounter. I’m unsure what I would say even if I did—I hesitate instinctively.

Since the war with the Duchy of Fanoas, I’ve been stationed at the palace, tasked with a slew of minor duties—coordinating royal events, reviewing official documents sent to the nobility. These are roles suited for court nobles or bureaucrats, not royalty. Though I avoided disinheritance after the engagement annulment scandal, my claim to the throne has plummeted. Despite being born of the king and his lawful queen, I now sit near the bottom of the royal line of succession. These menial tasks are part of that quiet punishment—but I bear no resentment.

After all, I possess neither political foresight nor aptitude. Looking back, I understand now that Mother’s actions stemmed from deep concern for my future. From a young age, she orchestrated every detail—securing an engagement with a duke’s daughter, surrounding me with sons of prestigious families. Everything was calculated to ensure a smooth path should I one day rule.

At the time, I found it suffocating and rebelled. Yet in hindsight, I see it was her way of showing love. She had painstakingly built a foundation for me—strong allies, a reliable cabinet, powerful backers. And I was the one who ruined it all.

The fault lies solely with me—the one meant to be protected. I annulled my engagement, lavished attention on unqualified retainers, and elevated nobles aligned with foreign powers. My actions were those of a ruler destined to destroy his kingdom—far beyond what could be dismissed as mere youthful folly.

It’s only natural that I was considered for disinheritance. In truth, I’m surprised I wasn’t stripped of my title entirely. When I was spared, I felt a fleeting sense of liberation—as if endless possibilities had opened up before me. But all I found beyond that door was a vast, dark emptiness. Every step I take now feels like fumbling in the dark, never knowing the right path.

Mother tried to shield me from adversity, but in doing so, I grew up blind to the struggles of this kingdom.

Just as I finally began to awaken to my responsibilities—just as I wished to serve the nation—I discovered I no longer had the power to do so. In my youth, I believed I was exceptional, capable of anything. Now, I’m little more than a glorified clerk, stamping papers in frustration at my own inadequacy. And I deserve this. The only way forward is to accept it, to devote myself fully to the tasks assigned to me, and gradually rebuild the trust I squandered.

In hindsight, Angelica—my former fiancée—warned me constantly. Her repeated scoldings, which once grated on me, were entirely justified. Mother sought to shape me into a king; Angelica tried to steer me away from ruin. Back then, I resented both, believing they were trying to suppress my identity, to reduce me to a puppet. I rebelled against them both.

That rebellion is what drew me to Olivia. A commoner who rose to prominence as a scholarship student, she earned everything through tireless effort and upheld noble ideals. I admired her for it. It wasn’t wrong to be inspired by her values—but my actions were reckless. Ideals mean little if pursued through foolish means. I thought I was progressing when I was only regressing. I believed things were improving, when in truth, they were deteriorating. Now I’m adrift, uncertain of where to go.

I know I must continue fulfilling my duties and regaining trust—but what comes after? No matter how deeply I ponder, the answer eludes me.

When Olivia returned from the Republic of Alzer and requested permission to conduct research, all I could manage was granting her access to the archives. That was all I could do. And it felt pathetic. I, born into royalty, could only assist the saintess from the sidelines. Even the strength I take pride in—sharpened by years of training—is nothing more than a product of my noble blood and privileged education. Had I been born a commoner, I would’ve amounted to nothing but an average laborer. I’m a fool who cast away the love, the wealth, the talent granted to me. The thought gnaws at me.

Though I tell myself to accept it, I bury myself in work to numb the pain. Is this my duty as a royal? A path to redemption? Or just another form of escape? I no longer know the reason I continue.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The last of the day’s tasks are finally complete. Night has fallen outside. In my focus, I had even begun tomorrow’s work. It’s a thoroughly inefficient approach, yet oddly satisfying. The contrast between Mother’s calculated diligence and my clumsy overexertion is stark. Returning to my room feels like a chore, yet staying here seems equally futile. I’m too exhausted to rest, yet too restless to stay still. Hunger gnaws at me, but eating now would inconvenience the servants.

As I sit there, caught between fatigue and a strange sense of fulfillment, the door creaks open. This study is reserved for royalty. The cleaning staff never comes at this hour.

“Who’s there?” I call out sharply.

If it’s a mistake, I’ll let it pass. But if the intruder harbors ill intent, I won’t hold back.

“That’s quite a hostile greeting, Julius.”

The voice is languid and male. I freeze, stunned by the presence of this particular individual—someone who rarely involves himself in political matters, let alone visits my study.

“Since when did you gain the right to speak to me as an equal?” I snap reflexively.

There’s only one person in this kingdom who can stand as an equal before him: Mother. In name and power, no one within the kingdom can deny him anything. Even if the Kingdom of Holfort’s might has waned, even if he no longer seeks control, this man remains its sovereign apex.

“…What brings you here, Your Majesty?”

King Roland Rapha Holfort stands before me. Yet his attire is shockingly plain—he looks more like a wealthy commoner or a minor nobleman out on an evening stroll. To those unfamiliar with his face, he’d appear a suspicious figure wandering the palace halls.

I let out a resigned sigh, guessing he’s once again slipped out of the palace to indulge in debauchery. I’m in no position to criticize—but Father’s recklessness has always exceeded reason. Ever since I was old enough to understand, I watched him chase after mistresses and leave the burdens of governance on Mother’s shoulders. Her strict control over my upbringing—arranging my engagement, appointing my retainers—was likely a reaction to his negligence.

Thanks to everyone’s efforts, I managed to stop just short of stepping into ruin. Yet Father remains as carefree as ever. He’s always been an enigma—more inscrutable than even Mother. Unless the situation absolutely demands the king’s presence, no one knows where he is or what he’s doing. That unpredictability unsettles me.

“You’re working late? How diligent of you.”

“My apologies.”

“Ambitious for the throne now? Forget it. Let someone who actually wants to be king take the crown.”

It takes me a moment to process his words. Let someone who wants it take it? It’s true—I’m not well-suited to be king. But for the Kingdom of Holfart’s future, simply handing the throne to someone just because they desire it isn’t right. My half-brothers, led by Jake, only became active after my prospects for succession began to fade. At the very least, the heir should be a prince capable of managing state affairs competently.

“You still don’t get it, do you? Slow as ever. Hard to believe you’re that old hag’s son.”

His words are biting—enough to provoke Mother’s wrath if she were here—but oddly, I feel no anger. Perhaps it’s because his tone sounds almost gentle. I search my memories, but I can’t recall ever speaking with Father alone like this. He pulls a metal flask from his pocket—a type commonly used by laborers to carry liquor. Yet its polished sheen and the royal crest engraved on it betray its noble craftsmanship. That refined sense of style—quietly elegant—is the one infuriatingly admirable thing about him. I watch with a cold heart as he unscrews the flask and takes a long drink.

“Yes, I don’t understand. I’m just a failure of a son, after all.”

I speak with clear sarcasm—not just in tone, but in intent. After a long day of work, the last thing I want is to be dragged into one of Father’s cryptic conversations. This man, who shows no interest in politics and ignores all his children except his favorites—why is he here? What does he want?

“You’ve misunderstood the essence of kingship. A king is not some omnipotent ruler.”

With a chuckle, he slumps into the chair I’d been using and props his feet on the desk. Of all people, I didn’t want him mocking me. I’ve watched my parents argue for as long as I can remember—Father, detached from ruling and parenting, and Mother, tirelessly managing the kingdom while grooming me as her successor. That was the only model of marriage I knew. It’s also why I harbored such an aversion to my engagement with Angelica. Her stern warnings echoed Mother’s scoldings of Father. The mere thought of replicating their marriage in a political union repulsed me. The royal bloodline, entangled with ambition and decadence, felt oppressive—filthy, even.

No, that’s my fault. I was fortunate—loved, protected, promised a stable future. But I found it all suffocating, as though it denied my own will. Only after involving myself in governance did I realize how naïve and idealistic I had been.

“Let me ask you, failure of a son—what kind of king do the people idealize?”

“One who protects the nation and its people. Just, fair, ensuring none starve, attentive to their vassals—”

“Nonsense.”

He cuts me off without hesitation. And truthfully, even I don’t fully believe in that image of a virtuous king. Protecting the nation and its people sometimes requires cruelty. Rulers must occasionally make ruthless decisions—even to abandon some for the greater good. Even someone as naïve as I understand that now, after two wars and exposure to politics.

“Protecting the people—that part is fine. But a king who lacks the power to do so is worthless. Kingship is built on overwhelming military might. No matter how rotten his character, a scoundrel with strength is far better than a saint without it.”

“Then what’s your ideal king, Father?”

“One who does nothing. Doesn’t meddle in his vassals’ affairs. Exists solely as a convenient scapegoat—or better yet, a fool. An empty-headed puppet, clueless about power. That’s the king vassals truly desire.”

I’m stunned. His answer is utterly baffling. And yet, it mirrors how most people already perceive King Roland. It sounds like little more than self-justification. He laughs at my confusion and takes another swig.

“Are you serious?”

“Completely. A king who provides wealth and food, fights off invaders in their place, shoulders blame when things go wrong, and obediently grants every demand. What the people truly want is not a wise ruler—but a servant in a crown.”

“That’s no king at all.”

“The most unnecessary person in a kingdom is the king. Who in their right mind would want that role? Only a saint… or an imbecile.”

He rummages in his pocket and tosses something toward me. It glints dully in the lamplight—a flask, identical to his. I don’t want to drink, but I suspect this tiresome father-son exchange won’t end until I do. With a sigh of frustration, I uncap it and drink in one go. The strong liquor scorches my throat and stomach. I nearly choke.

“A king’s authority is absolute only in small, war-torn realms. In such places, swift, direct command is essential—whether to repel invasions or conquer new lands.”

His expression remains lazy, but a boyish gleam lights his eyes as he speaks. I never imagined Father could show such enthusiasm.

“But as a kingdom grows, a king and his aides can no longer manage everything. No matter how exceptional, a king is not omniscient. If he tries to oversee every detail—from sweeping policy to petty tasks—he only chokes the system. Governance breaks down.”

He speaks with certainty, the kind born from long observation.

“Power devolves. Responsibilities specialize. Subordinates rise. And when the structure is fully formed, the king becomes little more than a figurehead.”

“No king would dare admit that.”

“You can deny it all you like—it’s the truth. Even a child could count how royals compare to nobles in sheer numbers.”

“But… how does that justify a do-nothing king? I still don’t understand.”

It’s true—nobles outnumber royals, and commoners dwarf them both. If numbers matter so much… does a king even have a purpose?

“Overwhelming force—that’s what gives a king value. You’ve been to war and governed before. You should understand. The nobles only pretend to obey us because they can’t win. A king’s authority rests solely on unmatchable power.”

“…”

“Beyond that, a king becomes a balancer. Mediating betw

een lords, cleaning up after the nobility’s messes. And sometimes… it’s hard to say who’s truly the master, and who’s the servant.”

I could say nothing as I watched Father, trembling with laughter before me. He possesses more talent for kingship than I ever will. And yet—even he couldn’t change the royal family’s fate?

“Just because one side is right doesn’t mean you should favor them. That only breeds resentment in the other. And if the resentful ones unite, they can shake the royal house to its foundations. So don’t intervene. Let the nobles tear into each other, and once they’re exhausted, step in to impose a compromise. That’s the easiest path. At least, that was the royal family's role before the last king.”

"So you're saying do nothing?”

"Even if it’s all a farce, royalty and nobility are creatures who prioritize their bloodlines above all else. Some kings tried to restore the glory of our founder’s era. But the more they tried to consolidate power, the more they realized the kingdom’s history is steeped in rot. The more upright the king, the quicker their spirit breaks.”

He fumbles through his pocket again, likely searching for his flask, but comes up empty. I hand him back the one he gave me—this isn’t a conversation I can endure while drinking.

“In the founder’s age, the royal family was so powerful they could exile allies on fabricated charges without consequence. The first saintess who condemned such tyranny? Her records were erased from the temple. Our ancestors, void of justice or compassion and driven only by greed, were ruthless plunderers who committed countless atrocities. The royal family's present decay is nothing more than karma.”

 “So, was it a mistake to sink the royal family's ship?”

“No. Without that, the war might’ve taken a very different turn. You used your power wisely then. But even our allied nobles were stunned by how quickly the cunning lords turned on the crippled, nearly-dead royal house.”

“So you're fine with the Redgrave house claiming the throne?”

“What, you already knew Vince was scheming something behind the scenes?”

 “…Mother told me.”

"That old hag’s just struggling needlessly. Why burden herself with such pointless hardship?”

His casual tone grates on me, stirring nausea. I know I strayed and deserve to be punished. After Mother confronted me, I chose to atone through public service. That decision was mine. But seeing this man—indulgent in wine and women, indifferent while the Holfort royal house teeters on collapse—sit on the throne? I can’t accept it. That he, who has forsaken even the bare minimum of his duties, wears the crown is a grim reflection of this kingdom’s decay.

 “So you really don’t care what happens to the Kingdom of Holfort?”

My tone sharpens into something close to accusation. Normally, such words from a son to a king would be unthinkable—but now, it’s just the two of us. This isn’t a king and his heir talking. It’s simply a father and son.

“I was never meant to be king. It would’ve been better if Uncle had taken the throne. What was that old man thinking, dumping this mess on me?”

His earlier levity fades, replaced by bitter resentment. Lucas Rapha Holfort—Father’s uncle and the late king’s brother. From what I’ve heard, he was an upright man, considered worthy of the throne. Thinking back, I never once spoke to Great-Uncle—not even during my academy years. I want to punch my past self for being so hopelessly oblivious.

“When I, with my poor reputation and youth, inherited the throne, it was a joke. The few who still clung to loyalty sighed in despair. The corrupt ones—the real swine—celebrated, thinking they could now act with impunity. No matter what I did, the outcome was always the same. Isn’t it wiser to accept ruin and live freely, rather than fight a doomed battle?”

“…Even so, shouldn’t you have fought?”

“I did. My first year, I governed with diligence. In the second, I was crushed by helplessness. By the third, the nobles pinned every failure on me. By the fifth, I realized it was all meaningless. That’s the truth behind the so-called supreme ruler of Holfort. Even with power, could I have reformed anything?”

“I think the nobles who want to fix the kingdom would’ve supported you.”

“Those were the ones who hated me most. They worshipped Uncle. Vince led them. When I tried to mediate their disputes with the corrupt lords, do you know what they said?”

“What?”

“‘Just stay out of it.’ They told me my help was worthless. That they’d rebuild the kingdom without me, and I should just go amuse myself. That’s when I realized—this kingdom has no place for me.”

The sound of his fist slamming the desk echoes sharply through the room. For all his debauchery and incompetence, what stands before me now is not a tyrant—but a lonely man, hiding his sorrow behind wine and bravado. A defeated father.

“I wanted to be a hero.”

“A hero?”

I repeat the word, unsure if I heard him right.

 “A hero, like in the old myths. Slaying monsters and greedy nobles, saving a beautiful princess, rescuing the kingdom. A righteous, noble soul who triumphs over evil, wins the heart of the princess, and becomes a just king. But here I am—a debauched fool, the kind a real hero would strike down. Ridiculous, isn’t it? A clown in a third-rate comedy.”

I know of one such figure. During the war, a masked knight appeared, saving us time and again. He inspired Olivia and me when we nearly gave in to despair—a mysterious man. Only I know who he really is. As a child, I once snuck into Father’s hidden room. There, I found a garish mask and costume, along with stacks of heroic tales that would dazzle any young boy. Back then, I admired that brave hero. As I grew older, I scoffed at Father’s childish dreams. But now I see it: unable to let go of those fantasies, crushed by the grim reality of this kingdom, he’s been numbing his wounds with alcohol, women, and illusions. Is this the real him?

He rummages in his pocket once more and places something in front of me—a notebook. Judging by the worn cover, it’s relatively recent. When I glance at him, he jerks his chin, prompting me to look inside.

It’s filled with names—dozens of them—neatly categorized by age, gender, address, and family background. Young women and children, alternating. On the first page are Mother’s name, mine, and my sister’s. A sickening dread creeps up my spine.

 “…What is this?”

“A record of my wife, my mistresses, and all their children. Unless someone got pregnant after a one-night affair, that should be everyone.”

Scratch that—he’s a pathetic excuse for a father. I was a fool to feel any flicker of connection. I want to punch him. And no one would dare call it treason. As my anger builds, Father produces a small cloth pouch from his trousers, ignoring my rising fury.

“Now what?”

 “The royal seal. I’m entrusting it to you.”

My blood ran cold at his words.

The royal seal signifies the king’s approval for decrees and laws—a symbol of absolute authority. Forging it isn’t just treason; it could condemn an entire family to execution without trial.

“No need to tense up,” he said with a dismissive wave. “This one’s only for my personal assets and minor orders. The seal for critical matters is kept under tight watch by that Mylene woman.”

Even so, a document bearing this seal carries the weight of royal command. If used improperly, it could be mistaken as an official will, sparking a succession crisis—or worse, a civil war.

“Once I’m gone, sell off my personal holdings. Divide the funds among my low-ranking noble and commoner mistresses and their children. If anyone targets my children, ensure their escape. Most of my concubines hail from powerful noble families. Even Vince wouldn’t dare provoke their wrath.”

Gone? What is he talking about?

“Get Mylene and Erika to the Lepart United Kingdom. Our marriage was a diplomatic arrangement. Holding them accountable gives Lepart a reason to interfere. If that old hag in government disappears, Vince will be thrown into disarray. It’s a fitting final move.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. What are you planning, Father?”

“I intend to offer my life in exchange for the royal family’s pardon. If I surrender my head, even Vince will be forced to relent.”

Atoning for misrule with one’s life is a principle ingrained in every noble child from a young age—but few follow through. Most choose exile, find scapegoats, or cling to their status. Rarely does a noble truly offer their life. Yet here was Father, speaking of it with unnerving ease. I couldn’t make sense of it.

“You can’t choose how you’re born, but you can choose how you die. Mine’s been a messy life, but this… this isn’t a bad way to end it. Sacrificing myself for my wife and children gives me more dignity than being publicly executed. Even if history remembers me as a foolish king, it’s a cleaner legacy for the last ruler of the Holfort dynasty.”

“Please, wait. Mother is doing everything in her power to stop this. Don’t act on impulse.”

“It’s time to release Mylene from me. She’s carried this burden long enough. There’s no need to drag her into my end.”

Whenever he spoke of Mother, his tone had always carried irritation and self-loathing. But now, that bitterness was gone.

“She’s a tragic woman. Overflowing with talent but always alone—still just a naive girl at heart. In Lepart, she could’ve flourished. But diplomacy forced her into a loveless marriage with me. And despite it all, she swore to rebuild this crumbling kingdom and even earned the nobles’ trust. Compared to her, I’m nothing.”

He tilted his flask to catch the last drop. His frailty was stark. Mother’s brilliance had only deepened his self-torment. I’d felt something similar during my engagement to Angelica. She reminded me of Mother, and I treated her cruelly. Has Father endured that feeling of inferiority for far longer?

“After we married, I took her to the royal ship. The gauge showed no love between us. Mylene was devastated, and I was too stunned to comfort her. But guess what she said when she saw me floundering?”

“I don’t know. Olivia and I couldn’t move it alone either.”

“She said, ‘I’m sorry for my shortcomings. I’ll strive to earn Your Majesty’s favor someday.’ Can you believe that? She was the one forced into a loveless political marriage, yet she apologized—to me. It was eerie. I wasn’t fit to be king. I had no answer, so I just lied—promised to raise the gauge, to go on a journey together.”

Were those lies… actually love? The ship didn’t move, true, but does that mean their hearts were entirely misaligned? I know not all children are born of love. Maybe I simply didn’t want to believe I was born of nothing but politics and lust. I want to believe there was something—trust, perhaps even a sliver of affection—between my parents.

“When I offhandedly suggested divorce after you and Erika were born, she exploded. No matter how many concubines I took, no matter how many foolish decisions I made, she’d scold me, ridicule me—but never mentioned divorce. She’s a foolish girl who mistook duty for love.”

“So you’ll die to free her?”

“For Mylene, yes. But that’s not the only reason.”

“It’s infuriating. You’re just dumping your mess onto me.”

“You’ve grown. That’s why I trust you. If you were still the same boy as before, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

His words were sharp, yet they carried a strange warmth. For the first time, I felt seen by him. Until now, we’d barely spoken at all.

“If I had the foresight to see where all this would lead, maybe I would’ve fought harder for a better future. Two wars have cleared out the worst of the nobility, those who hindered Mylene and Vince. But I did nothing. Now that the rot has been cut away, this kingdom no longer needs me. When I’m gone, tell Mylene to live freely.”

With that, he stood and made his way to the door. This could be our final conversation. I had to say something—anything—to stop him.

“Wait.”

It took every ounce of strength just to speak. He paused, and I scrambled for words.

“Please, just once… speak to Mother.”

“Is that a prince’s request?”

“No. It’s a son’s.”

I’d never asked him for anything before. Whenever I needed something, I went to Mother. Maybe that’s why this time, he actually stopped to consider it.

“What would I even say to her? Apologize?”

“No. Just… tell her your true feelings. That’s all she’s ever wanted.”

“It’s too late for that. We’re not about to become some happy couple now.”

He looked worn as he gripped the ornate doorknob, but before stepping out, he glanced back at me.

“Bartfort. If you want to stop Vince, bring Bartfort into the fold. He’s the duke’s weakness.”

“What?”

Bartfort? Why mention him now? He’s a rising noble with military merit—and my former fiancée Angelica is his wife. But why would he be the duke’s weak point? Before I could ask, Father disappeared down the corridor. Despite the lamps lining the palace halls, only darkness and silence remained.

I collapsed into the chair he’d used and glanced at the clock. It was already past midnight. I’d completed tomorrow’s work early, so no one could fault me for resting. A day off wouldn’t hurt.

Sinking deeper into the seat, I thought of my parents. I’d always seen them as a dysfunctional pair. But maybe, in quiet, unnoticed ways, their hearts had been aligned. Without politics and diplomatic chains, could they have been happy? Could my engagement with Angelica have ended differently?

I shook my head. Wallowing in hypotheticals wouldn’t solve anything. I looked at the notebook and the bag containing the seal. More work. So much for rest. I really should’ve punched Father when I had the chance.

Trying to steady my emotions, I opened the notebook, scanning through the names and details of half-siblings I’d never met. As I reached the final page, the first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon—and consciousness faded.

“Damn old man.”

Cursing my absent father, I let the dawn swallow me whole.

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Authors Note

┻━⁠━━━━⁠━━⁠━━━⁠┻

Julius’s perspective, but the content centers on Roland and Mylene.  

In the original work, the royal couple seems to have a broken marriage, but they give off an atmosphere where they could get along well as acquaintances.  

This Roland is closer to the Marie route than the main storyline of the original work.  

The late-stage Holfort Kingdom was so politically corrupt that it would have collapsed without the reincarnated Leon, so I emphasized the image of Roland giving in to despair.  

I added some "damn old man" elements, but since there’s no straight-man comedic foil (like the reincarnated Leon) for slapstick banter, it’s not too prominent.  

The original character perspective ends with this chapter, and the next chapter will focus on Angie and Leon.  

Addendum: Thanks to the client’s support, Araku-sama, KiiKo-sama, and Hamao-sama provided illustrations and artwork. Thank you very much.  

Araku-sama: Pixiv (Note: Adult content warning)  

KiiKo-sama: Skeb  

Hamao-sama:   Pixiv

I’d appreciate any opinions or feedback to motivate me moving forward.