"Your Majesty, I plead… please, lighten their sentencing."
Ayumu's voice was soft, but it carried clearly through the courtroom despite her weakened state.
Visil's expression snapped instantly.
"Are you mad, Ayumu?!" His voice echoed sharply. "These bastards have done all this to you, and you want me to not kill them? Why show pity to criminals like this?!"
Ayumu lowered her gaze slightly, steadying herself before answering.
"Your Majesty… I do not believe they deserve the death penalty."
Her words were calm, deliberate.
"As the victim, I implore you to reduce their punishment to exile. Let them start anew… with conscience."
She lifted her eyes toward him.
"In my position as your advisor, I believe this would be the right course of action."
Her intent was clear. It was not forgiveness born of weakness. It was calculation.
She wanted the public to see the Emperor not as a man driven by emotion or personal attachment—but as a ruler capable of restraint, justice, and righteousness.
If Visil executed them now, the nobility would whisper. The empire would question. And his image—his authority—could be shaken at a fragile time.
Even if they deserved death…immediate execution would not look like justice.
But Maverick snapped.
"I don't need pity from you, you stupid White Magis!" His restraints rattled violently. "How far do you want to humiliate me?!"
A wave of outrage swept through the courtroom. Guards tensed. Nobles gasped. The atmosphere turned volatile.
Ayumu faltered slightly. This was not what she had expected.
If Maverick had shown even a trace of remorse… exile might have been enough. But there was none. Only hatred.
Visil could no longer restrain his anger.
And the Emperor stepped down from his throne, unsheathing his sword in one fluid motion.
The sound of steel echoed through the hall.
Maverick froze instantly. His arrogance disappeared. And for the first time, fear took over completely.
Visil approached slowly.
Each step heavy with authority.
The emperor came closer to Maverick, and he stopped when he heard the soft voice from Ayumu that only he and a handful nearby would hear.
"Brother… please…"
Visil was so angry.
He couldn't understand why she would protect such a man when she was the victim.
But deep down, he knew this was not about the man in front of him—it was more for him. For his image as the emperor. For the empire.
That realization angered him even more.
He wanted to be the brother who protected her. That was why he became Emperor in the first place. Yet even now, as Emperor, he still found himself constrained—bound by politics, perception, and public image.
Visil put his sword in front of Maverick's neck.
"Remember that today, you are still allowed to breathe because of Ayumu's mercy."
His voice dropped lower.
"You will… live your entire life in her debt. Let that thought stick with you until your final breath."
The Emperor withdrew his sword, and Maverick was left with a shallow cut along his neck.
"Lord Elbus, change their sentencing to immediate exile. The empire has no use for such people."
And with that, the sentencing was given.
The public murmured in waves, voices rising and falling as they processed what had just occurred. They looked upon the benevolent and righteous Emperor with awe.
But Visil was not pleased.
His gaze shifted from the courtroom to Ayumu and Rhea beside her.
"I will see you in your room at the palace"
His voice was angry—but controlled, almost softened at the edges.
Ayumu knew she is about to get scolded.
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Rhea pushed the beautiful steel wheelchair through the palace corridor, her knuckles white against the cold metal handles. Ayumu sat slumped in the chair, still pale and weak, but it was Rhea who was huffing and puffing—not from exertion, but from raw, simmering anger.
"See?" Rhea snapped, her voice sharp enough to echo off the stone walls. "I told you that creature was not worth saving. He had the gall to say he doesn't need your pity?!"
Ayumu's voice came softer, frailer. "I don't know why that man hates me so."
Rhea scoffed, her strides quick and uneven, as if she were trying to stomp out her own fury with every step. "Why do you even need to care? He's crazy! All black magis are crazy. I hate them."
The words hung in the air for a breath too long.
"That is very unfortunate, Miss Rhea."
The voice came from nowhere—or rather, from the dark corner of the hallway just before Ayumu's room. The palace lamps hadn't yet chased the shadows from that alcove, and standing there, half-cloaked in darkness, was Kaiser.
His red eyes gleamed first—two embers in the gloom. And though Rhea had spoken, his gaze went directly to Ayumu.
"E-erk… Lord Kaiser?!" Rhea nearly stumbled over the wheelchair. Her face flushed a deep crimson. "Since when were you the—I mean, ahaha, not all black magis are like that, Lord Kaiser. Forget what you heard."
She tried to laugh it off, but her voice cracked, and she suddenly became very interested in a loose thread on her sleeve.
Kaiser stepped forward slowly. His boots made no sound on the polished stone. He stopped at a careful distance—close enough to speak quietly, far enough that Ayumu wouldn't feel caged. His posture was loose, almost gentle, and he kept his hands visible at his sides.
To Ayumu's own surprise, she felt no fear.
Instead, she tilted her head up from the wheelchair, her small frame dwarfed by the high vaulted ceiling behind him. Looking at Kaiser stirred something strange in her chest—a solemn ache she couldn't name.
She bowed her head slightly, her hair falling across her cheeks. "I would like to thank you… Lord Kaiser. If it wasn't for you and Sir Drobar… I—I…"
Her voice broke. The words simply weren't there.
"Raise your head, Lady Ayumu."
Kaiser's voice was low, but not cold. Firm, yet impossibly kind.
"There is never a need for you to bow to me."
Rhea froze. For a second, she just stared. Then her eyes widened. Then widened again.
No way.
Her mind raced, tripping over itself.
Lord Kaiser likes Ayumu? THE Lord Kaiser? The one with the shadowed reputation and the soul as cold as a winter grave? He has a heart?
The revelation hit her like a bucket of ice water to the face.
She tried desperately to keep her expression neutral—pressed her lips together, widened her eyes into something that might pass for normal. But her cheeks were already twitching, and a grin was threatening to break through like cracks in a dam.
She looked down at the floor, then at the ceiling, then anywhere but at Kaiser and Ayumu.
It didn't help. Her face told everything.
Kaiser stepped past them and placed his hand on the door—a simple oak door, banded with iron, but it seemed to weigh more than stone in that moment. He pushed it open with a soft creak.
"The Emperor is inside, waiting."
Both Rhea and Ayumu gulped.
From within the room, Visil's voice cut through—calm, but edged with something sharp. "All three of you, come in."
Rhea pushed the wheelchair forward, her earlier embarrassment now replaced by a stiff, nervous formality. As they crossed the threshold, Ayumu's eyes adjusted to the light of a lamp.
Visil sat on a high-backed chair facing the door. His legs were crossed at the ankle, one arm resting on the armrest, the other draped loosely over his knee. His posture was relaxed, but his mood was unmistakably foul—his jaw set, his brow low, his eyes fixed on Ayumu like a hawk watching prey.
Rhea positioned the wheelchair directly in front of the Emperor, then stepped back so quickly her shoes scuffed the floor. She retreated to where Lord Kaiser had already seated himself in a shadowed corner, her hands clasped in front of her as if she were trying to disappear.
Ayumu blinked and panic began to bloom in her chest, a cold flower unfurling petal by petal. She couldn't bear to look at her brother's face—that menacing mask of imperial authority that seemed so foreign on the boy she once knew. Her hands, resting on the wheelchair's arm pads, began to tremble.
Silence stretched between them.
Ayumu became aware of her own breathing—too shallow, too fast. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple, then another. She stared at the floor, at the grain of the wooden planks, at anything but Visil.
Finally, he spoke.
"Tell me, Ayumu."
She flinched at her own name.
Gulp.
"Is the reason you didn't want me to kill that Maverick…" His voice was low, controlled, each word deliberate. "…because you don't want me to be seen as a cruel emperor by the people?" A pause. A shift in his seat. "Is it so that I don't have nobles against me?"
Ayumu hesitated. Her throat felt dry, her tongue heavy. But she was a white magis—and white magi did not lie.
"Yes… Your Majesty."
Thunk.
The small table beside Visil toppled over—a sharp, violent crack of wood against stone. Papers scattered. But Visil was already on his feet, pushing himself up from the chair as if staying seated a moment longer would make him explode.
He turned away, one hand braced against the wall, his shoulders rising and falling with deep, forced breaths. He needed to move before he grew angrier.
"Ayumu." His voice was quieter now, but no less fierce. "It is only natural for nobles to oppose me. I became emperor by murdering my brother." He said it flatly, a fact, not a confession. "I am not a clean man. To rule, there must be such times—I must face these situations. How long…"
His voice cracked—not from weakness, but from rising volume. The words built like a wave about to break.
"WHY ARE YOU white magis like this?!" He spun around to face her, his eyes blazing. "Always sacrificing yourself for others! I don't need your protection! Let me protect you instead now, AYUMU! Understand me?!"
Ayumu trembled—her whole body shaking, her fingers gripping the wheelchair arms so tightly her knuckles went white. Her eyes were wide, glassy, on the verge of tears she refused to let fall.
Visil saw it.
And just like that, the fire in him dimmed.
He hesitated. His clenched fists loosened. His shoulders dropped. He took a slow step back, then another, as if physically retreating from his own anger.
"Ayumu…" Softer now. Almost gentle. "It's not that I am angry at you." He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily. "But you need to start caring for yourself. Don't just think about me or the people anymore."
He crouched down slightly, trying to catch her lowered gaze.
"I… as your brother, want to protect you. I don't want to see you get hurt anymore." His voice softened to something barely above a whisper. "Do you understand me?"
Ayumu just looked down.
The silence returned, but this time it was heavier—thick with things unsaid. She had never been scolded like this before. Not once. Not by him. Her chest ached, her throat burned, and she didn't know how to react.
So she said nothing at all.
Her hands remained trembling in her lap.
And Visil—emperor and brother—stayed crouched before her wheelchair, waiting for an answer that wouldn't come.