Chapter 10
Bessa Wipred, now the Count of Cavalry, was a typical man from Goswell—pale skin, light hair, and pale eyes. However, he was a bit shorter and skinnier than most from his homeland. But that didn’t matter. What did matter was that he had once been assigned to a dead-end job managing dragon caves, wasting his talents. He feared becoming irrelevant.
‘I am a very careful and strategic person,’ he told himself.
One day, a young dragon unexpectedly emerged from the dragon caves. Bessa saw this as his golden opportunity, a way to climb higher in power.
“The Emperor will become a great ruler. He will be remembered in history,” Bessa repeatedly told the young dragon, Usman, in a hoarse voice.
“Right?” Usman asked.
“Of course! Look at how well you’re handling the former emperor’s funeral.”
Yet, rumors spread that Bessa, not the new emperor, was the one truly in charge of the funeral.
“Leave everything to me,” Bessa assured Usman.
Outwardly, Usman looked like a grown man—tall and broad-shouldered, even compared to the mighty Akelans. But inside, he was still just a child. A young dragon.
Bessa prided himself on being cunning and meticulous. He believed everything had gone according to plan—the former emperor had officially named Usman as heir before passing away, securing his place on the throne. Now, to stabilize the new reign, Bessa needed to eliminate any potential threats.
‘Regardless of whether that “companion” rumor is true or not, I need to get rid of her.’
Bessa quickly approved Hasollan’s resignation, something that hadn’t been dealt with before. Upon entering Impel, he immediately gathered all the gossip about Akelans and, naturally, heard about the black dragon’s dragonkeeper.
‘That’s the obstacle.’
More precisely, ‘she’ was the obstacle. But to Bessa, an unknown dragonkeeper was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. He was no longer just a cave manager—he was the Count of Cavalry and the sole guardian of the young emperor. He believed himself to be a man of destiny.
“Envoys from various nations have arrived for the funeral. You must show your dignity,” Bessa advised Usman.
“How?”
“Your presence alone commands respect. There is nothing to worry about.”
After saying this, Bessa stepped outside his office. The palace was crowded with mourners, but one person was being cast out—Hasollan Odair.
“Has it been taken care of?” Bessa whispered to a palace official.
The official had quickly allied himself with Bessa, seeing him as the rising power in court.
“Yes. I delivered the resignation letter. Although there was an order for her to stay in the Faikal Palace…”
“From the Margrave of Roetingen?”
“Yes, but the emperor’s approval of the resignation takes precedence.”
“Exactly. Make sure she leaves immediately.”
“I already saw her packing.”
“Confirm that she leaves.”
“Of course.”
Bessa knew exactly what securing power meant.
“Listen closely, Sir,” he said, subtly shifting from his usual condescending tone to a slightly more respectful one, making the other man feel important.
“The late emperor carefully considered both dragons before choosing His Majesty as the heir. There was a reason for it. But you understand, don’t you? The Margrave of Roetingen is a serious threat to imperial authority.”
“I understand completely.”
“We have no choice. The emperor is too young. We must support him properly.”
“Indeed.”
“Then take care of that woman as soon as she leaves Impel.”
For Usman, who had no recognized companion, Hasollan was a dangerous figure. She, who only “appeared” to be Akelans’ companion, had to disappear. Simply forcing her resignation wasn’t enough for Bessa.
“Wait until she is far from Impel before dealing with her.”
“To avoid suspicion, of course.”
“Exactly. It’s nice that I don’t have to repeat myself.”
Bessa nodded approvingly and walked away. Left alone, the palace official, Sir Popilion, sneered.
“That country bumpkin dares to act like a noble…”
Annoyed but aware that aligning with the new emperor was crucial, he walked off to carry out the order.
Meanwhile, Akelans, now the Margrave of Roetingen and the only Elector of the Empire, stood at the late emperor’s funeral. Few realized that, despite his calm demeanor, he now held immense power over young Emperor Usman.
‘Impel has no capable people,’ he thought, scanning the crowd.
There were many politicians, but none who truly mattered to him. Some had been loyal in his past life before he reversed time, but now, as the Margrave of Roetingen, he was inevitably distanced from Impel’s politics.
“Margrave Roetingen.”
The title outranked even Duke. Some addressed him as “Prince” out of respect. Akelans glanced at Lord Schumacher, the Chief Minister.
“The coronation will take place immediately after the funeral,” Schumacher informed him.
“And?” Akelans asked, amused.
Schumacher was usually composed and serious, but now, he seemed uneasy.
“You must swear loyalty at the coronation.”
A proud dragon swearing loyalty to another dragon—it was almost laughable. Schumacher worried Akelans might rebel, but surprisingly, he responded indifferently.
“Fine.”
“You must find it unpleasant…”
“Not really. It’s necessary to show that even a ‘dangerous’ figure like me is under control.”
Akelans watched the flood of officials and foreign envoys arriving at the palace.
“But tell me, Schumacher,” he said, turning to the minister.
“What is the point of all this?”
A loyalty oath meant nothing. It wouldn’t create true loyalty, just temporary humiliation. But even that didn’t bother him. Having lived a violent life, he didn’t care for human pride or empty formalities.
“I’ll do it,” he said casually.
Schumacher, however, understood the hidden game. The young emperor was merely a puppet, and in time, he would die—either naturally or by force. The true ruler of the empire would be the black dragon standing before him, grinning with sharp, calculating eyes.
“And if I don’t swear loyalty, what then?” Akelans smirked.
Schumacher clenched his fists, realizing how perfectly the late emperor had planned everything. The court was too complacent to see the real danger.
‘Your Majesty, was this the only way?’
Even though he lamented the situation, Schumacher knew it was the best possible outcome. No one suspected that civil war was looming.
“Don’t worry,” Akelans said. “I’ll swear loyalty, then disappear into Roetingen and fight the Soruk.”
He nodded toward the delegation from Soruk, the northern enemy. The court believed sending Akelans to defend the northern borders would weaken him.
“Roetingen is harsh, but it has everything I need.”
Schumacher suddenly had a strange feeling—Akelans spoke as if he had already been to Roetingen.
“I’ll settle in slowly. If you need me, feel free to come.”
Schumacher’s eyes widened in shock. Akelans walked away, leaving him frozen.
‘Come when you must. If you hesitate, you may break.’
Schumacher thought of his family, then glanced at Bessa, who was eagerly controlling the emperor, and at the naive young Usman.
‘The Count of Cavalry is watching me closely.’
Bessa wanted him out of Impel. Would they force him out? How should he respond to Akelans’ offer?
As Schumacher debated, Akelans, towering with silent authority, was already walking away, unbothered.
