The One Who Won't Be Abandoned - Chapter 32

The Sendfinden Empire was once just another small kingdom, crammed among many others.

It had been an unremarkable nation, until one man seized control by severing the ruling monarch’s head and claiming dominion for himself.

That man—the first emperor—was the one who raised Sendfinden from a mere kingdom to a vast empire.

His original surname had been Dysnya, a name that, in later generations, would become a middle name passed down only to those officially recognized as members of the imperial family.

Over decades of ruthless conquest, the forefather of the Dysnya line expanded his domain, absorbing neighboring lands, people, and resources. It was through those spoils of war that Sendfinden transformed into a mighty empire.

At the time of his reign, he had been feared—so much so that people called him a war demon.

But history is written by the victors.

As time passed, the horrors of his wars faded into mere words on parchment. The first emperor, once a terrifying figure, became a celebrated hero—a man of legendary achievements.

The current emperor, Babeysil Dysnya Sendfinden, had inherited not only the throne but also the violent, bloodthirsty nature of his ancestors.

For a time, he had entertained himself in the same way—waging wars, finding satisfaction in the carnage.

But eventually, he grew bored.

The outcomes of battle had become predictable, lacking the brutal struggle his forefather must have faced in forging an empire from nothing.

He almost envied the first emperor for it.

When Babeysil returned to the capital, the noble class assumed he would now turn his focus to stabilizing the empire’s finances—an area that had suffered during his absence.

They couldn’t have been more wrong.

Their hopes were crushed before they could even take root.

The emperor, having abandoned the battlefields abroad, had now turned his cruelty inward—toward his own nobility.

From sharp words meant to humiliate to cold-blooded executions that decided matters of life and death, his torments came in many forms.

At first, the aristocracy endured, flattering and appeasing him to ensure their survival.

But as the years passed, they grew weary.

One by one, those who had once pledged unwavering loyalty began to waver, their devotion rotting from within.

But the emperor, who had been revered all his life, failed to notice.

To him, his subjects’ loyalty was as unquestionable as the air he breathed.

And now, as ruler of the known world—with the power to shape fate itself—his arrogance had only grown.

With a single command, he could end the life of a man who might have otherwise lived for decades.

With another, he could spare the condemned, defying even the will of the gods.

Even foreign royals, born into golden palaces, could be reduced to mere playthings in the slums, should it be his decree.

If that was not the power of a god, then what was?

Babeysil Dysnya Sendfinden sat in his grand reception hall, wearing the look of a man entirely at ease.

His gaze flickered with amusement as he watched his guest enter.

“You’ve arrived.”

Seated on a throne-like chair, the emperor looked down upon Andre, who knelt before him on one knee.

Despite having just ridden a long distance to reach the capital, Andre carried himself with disciplined composure.

Yet the faint traces of exhaustion on his face only served to please the emperor further.

A satisfied smirk tugged at Babeysil’s lips.

Unlike his coward of a father, Andre was ambitious.

And more importantly—he knew how to pursue that ambition.

The memory of Andre’s first visit was still vivid in the emperor’s mind.

How he had come before the throne, humbly requesting a share of power.

Despite his powerful build, a body honed to perfection, he had bowed deeply—knowing full well that in the emperor’s presence, he should.

Babeysil welcomed the man who was soon to be his son-in-law.

“You must be tired from the journey,” he said smoothly. “Tell me, how is Clint faring?”

“Thanks to Your Majesty’s generosity, he remains in good health.”

“It would have been nice if Clint had come as well… Sending gold and jewels to beg my forgiveness is one thing, but not even showing his face?”

The emperor chuckled darkly.

“Tell me, does he still regret not claiming my daughter six years ago? Hah. He should. If he had, he wouldn’t have to bear the shame of raising another man’s bastard.”

His violet eyes gleamed, watching Andre closely.

He was waiting for a reaction.

Even the slightest flinch.

But Andre remained composed.

“To seek forgiveness for his absence, he has sent a carriage filled to the brim with treasure.”

“The wealth of Kaiman never ceases to amaze me,” the emperor mused. “I had thought them barely clinging to survival on the frontier, yet here they are, hoarding riches behind my back.”

“All of Kaiman’s wealth belongs to Your Majesty. Please use it as you see fit.”

A slow smile spread across Babeysil’s face.

Unlike his father, Andre knew how to conduct himself.

A shame, really.

To have been born to such a lowly woman.

A man like Andre was wasted on that bloodline.

“Have you met the princess since arriving in the capital?”

Andre shook his head.

“The moment I arrived, I came directly to you, Your Majesty. No one could take precedence over you.”

“Hahahaha!”

The emperor, delighted by Andre’s flattery, burst into laughter—a laugh so unrestrained that it bordered on vulgar.

But no one in the room reacted.

Not the attendants standing motionless against the walls.

Not the knights stationed at a respectful distance.

Not even Andre, who remained kneeling with his head lowered in perfect formality.

Everyone knew better than to take their eyes off the floor.

The emperor’s whims were unpredictable.

One moment, he could be roaring with laughter, and in the next, his amusement could vanish—replaced by a thunderous rage and a sword swinging down in judgment.

Andre, who had kept his gaze to the ground since entering, bowed his head even deeper.

“I have entrusted the gifts to your steward,” he said. “Please examine them at your leisure. If they prove insufficient, I will gladly offer more.”

“Enough!” The emperor waved a dismissive hand. “No treasure could compare to the value of gaining you. Your loyalty is beyond question. You may go.”

And then, with a sly grin, he added,

“I ordered no separate accommodations to be prepared. What better way to strengthen the bond between the imperial family and Kaiman than through shared blood?

The sun is already setting—go and rest at the princess’s castle.”

“I am grateful for Your Majesty’s generosity.”

The emperor’s taunt failed to elicit any reaction from Andre.

Bored, Babeysil scowled and lazily flicked his fingers, signaling for him to leave.

Led by an imperial attendant, Andre made his way toward Princess Gresia’s castle.

It was called the Sunset Castle, not just for its location on the outskirts of the imperial grounds but also because of the red-tinted stone used in its construction.

A gift from the emperor to his half-sister upon her recognition as a legitimate royal.

As he approached, Andre noted how much had changed since his last visit.

Unlike before, the castle now appeared well-maintained.

A group of maids, sweeping the pathways, hurriedly lowered their heads as he passed.

“The number of maids assigned to Sunset Castle has doubled by the emperor’s decree,” the attendant explained, his tone eager to please.

“His Majesty has been most generous in ensuring that the princess can prepare for her wedding in comfort.”

The comment was a calculated one, meant to flatter Andre, who, with his engagement, had secured a highly coveted position among the imperial advisors.

But Andre didn’t so much as acknowledge the words.

The attendant, flustered by the cold silence, cleared his throat awkwardly and focused on leading the way.

When they reached the princess’s chamber, he hesitated, noticing the absence of the guards who should have been stationed outside her door.

“Her Highness must be taking an evening stroll,” he murmured, quickly composing himself.

“You must be exhausted from your journey. Why not rest while you wait? I’ll have a maid prepare a bath for you.”

“I’ll leave it to you.”

With that, Andre dismissed the attendant and stepped inside the princess’s chambers.

The moment he shut the door behind him, the sight before him came into sharp focus.

A knight stood near the window, his back turned.

And in his arms, clinging to him as if she were a vampire feasting on her prey, was Princess Gresia.

Her platinum hair cascaded loosely around her shoulders as she bit into the knight’s neck—her lips pressed firmly against his skin.

Andre’s arrival did not startle her.

In fact, she barely reacted at all.

A mischievous glint flickered in her golden eyes—an imperial trait she had not been born with but one she had acquired through recognition.

A moment later, she released the knight with a soft, wet sound, licking the last trace of red from her lips.

“That’s enough. You can go.”

The knight, who had remained still throughout, straightened and took a step back.

Then, with practiced formality, he bowed to the princess before turning to leave.

As he passed, he acknowledged Andre with a brief nod.

Andre returned the gesture, his gaze flickering to the fresh red mark blooming on the knight’s neck—a mark that looked disturbingly similar to the aftermath of a lover’s bite.

Gresia, still stretching her jaw as if to ease tension in her muscles, finally spoke.

“I thought you wouldn’t arrive for a few more days.”

She was beautiful.

That much was undeniable.

With her delicate features and the ethereal elegance passed down from her mother—the woman who had once shared the emperor’s bed—Gresia looked like something out of a painting.

But she was neither a doll nor a flower.

And unfortunately, she had a mind of her own.

A mind that, when left unchecked, had an uncanny talent for ruining her own allure.

“I plan to return to D’Hel as soon as possible,” Andre replied, his voice impassive.

“Oh? How heartless. You arrive and immediately think of leaving?”

She pouted dramatically.

“Didn’t you miss me at all?”

“No.”

Her lips parted in surprise before she suddenly burst into laughter.

The sound was rich, her lips curving into a perfect arc—though the crimson smudge of her lipstick, blurred from where she had pressed against the knight’s throat, ruined the otherwise flawless image.

“How adorable,” she cooed. “You’re always so adorable, Andre.”

Gresia, as always, spoke to him as if he were a child—despite the fact that he was nearly twice her size.

“An incredible honor,” he deadpanned.

His words dripped with sarcasm, but instead of offense, she only laughed harder.

Andre, in contrast, remained utterly unmoved, his gaze cool and unreadable as he regarded the princess.

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