The grand Imperial Hall was a spectacle of opulence, filled with golden chandeliers and banners bearing the sigil of the Valor Empire. Nobles and high-ranking officials sat in their designated seats, feasting and laughing. But amidst the grandeur, a dark undercurrent ran through the air.
The 7th Prince sat silently, his sharp eyes darting between the Emperor and the 2nd Prince, sensing something unnatural in their calm demeanor.
Then, the massive palace doors creaked open.
Guards dragged a woman forward—Consort Xue, her white robes stained with dirt and blood. Her once-radiant beauty was reduced to a pitiful state, her lips cracked, her eyes hollow with exhaustion.
The hall went silent.
The Emperor slowly stood, his regal presence demanding absolute attention.
"Consort Xue," he spoke, his voice like a blade slicing through the room. "You are guilty of treason. You conspired against the royal bloodline and sought to manipulate the empire through your bastard son."
The 7th Prince bolted up from his chair. "Lies!" His voice echoed across the hall. "What proof do you have?!"
The 2nd Prince smirked and stepped forward. "The word of the Emperor is proof enough."
With those words, he kicked Consort Xue to the ground. Her frail body hit the cold marble floor, a sickening crack echoing as she coughed up blood.
The 7th Prince clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, his heart pounding like a war drum.
Then came the true horror.
The 2nd Prince knelt beside their mother, gripping her hair and yanking her head up so everyone could see her face.
"Look at her," he sneered. "A weak woman who thought she could defy the throne."
Then, without hesitation, he drove his sword through her stomach.
A sharp gasp escaped Consort Xue's lips. Blood splattered across the floor, pooling beneath her twitching body. Her eyes locked onto her son's, wide with pain—pleading, desperate.
The 7th Prince took a step forward, but the guards held him back.
His mother, still impaled, coughed violently, her trembling hands reaching toward him.
"M-my son..." she whispered, tears mixing with the blood on her lips.
The 2nd Prince twisted the sword brutally, making her scream.
The hall was silent, but the cruelty of the moment resonated like thunder.
The Emperor finally spoke, his tone cold and distant. "Let this be a lesson, my son. Power is not given—it is taken."
With that, the 2nd Prince yanked his sword free, letting their mother collapse face-first into her own blood. Her body spasmed one last time before falling still.
The 7th Prince stood motionless, his body trembling.
His mother's warm blood was still spreading, but inside him—something had died.
His father turned his back, as if the event was nothing more than a routine execution.
The 2nd Prince wiped the blood from his blade with a cloth, smirking.
"You should thank me," he said mockingly. "Now, you're free from weakness."
The 7th Prince didn't answer.
His breath was slow. Steady. Cold.
Something inside him snapped.
Not just anger. Not just hatred.
This was pure, unrelenting vengeance.
He would tear them apart, limb by limb.
Their blood would paint the palace halls.
Their screams would echo through the night.
And when he finally sat on the throne, it would be built upon their corpses.
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