☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓 ☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓
As the service ended, the priest from the main temple bowed his head toward the First Prince, Demian.
“I was quite worried to hear that Prince Fred would not be able to attend the entrance ceremony, and I am grateful that you are here to take his place.”
“……”
Demian was well aware that the priest, who was from the temple, was not on his side.
His half-brother, the Second Prince Fred, had skipped this boring entrance ceremony service to investigate the movements of the beasts as the commander of the Holy Knights.
The priest, who was a close confidant of Fred and his maternal family, subtly hinted at this fact.
So, whether or not he attended the service, it was ultimately Fred’s piety and divine power that garnered more attention.
Yet, despite knowing all of this, Demian replied calmly.
“It was a time to fully feel the goddess’s grace. I should be thanking you.”
“……”
“I hope the goddess’s blessings also reach Fred, who is fulfilling his duties as the commander of the Holy Knights. Well then.”
Demian offered a gentle farewell to the priest and exited the temple where the entrance ceremony was taking place.
He then walked with long strides toward the tea house set up within the academy, which served as an office for members of the imperial family while they stayed at the academy. Currently, it was a personal space for Demian.
Once inside, Demian confirmed once again that he was alone and then flopped down onto the sofa.
He stretched out his long legs, resting them on the armrest, seemingly having no intention of maintaining the straight and proper posture he had kept up throughout the service.
“Ha… that old fox of a priest.”
Muttering irritably, he pulled down his tie and unbuttoned three or four buttons on his shirt, but he still couldn’t shake off the feeling of suffocation.
Demian removed his black gloves and waved them like a fan.
Even though the wind touched his firm chest muscles through the unbuttoned shirt, his heart, racing with annoyance, wouldn’t calm down.
Just as he was thinking he wanted to drink something cold, someone knocked on the door.
“Your Highness. It’s Douglas. I’ve brought some cool tea.”
Demian, delighted to hear the news, snapped his fingers. The locking magic he had cast was released.
With a creak, the door opened, and Douglas, Demian’s secretary and bodyguard, entered.
With a gentle touch that didn’t match his bear-like physique, he placed iced tea in front of Demian. It was a perfect tea ceremony—something even the head maid of the imperial palace wouldn’t dare to imitate.
In the process, he was careful to gauge his master’s mood.
“May I ask what the high priest said to irritate you today?”
“Ah… don’t even get me started. It would be better if he just openly criticized me like he used to.”
“Are you referring to the time he said, ‘I wonder if the prayers of those born without divine power on a day when demons run rampant can reach the goddess, like Prince Demian?’”
As Douglas imitated the high priest’s tone, Demian let out a small laugh.
“Yeah, if he just openly disrespected me like that, I would at least be able to get angry.”
“Surely not. Your Highness is now a proper candidate for the crown prince, and you have gathered remarkable people around you.”
“……”
“The temple isn’t stupid. They’re acting more cautiously than before, aware of the power you’ve cultivated.”
Saying this, Douglas slid the teacup toward him.
Demian immediately picked up the cup and took a big gulp, finally relaxing his expression.
“You can skip the tea ceremony stuff. You know I just chug it down when it’s hot anyway.”
“I appreciate your consideration, but my previous master valued consistency, so this is comfortable for me.”
How many people would be happy to hear someone swear allegiance to them and then follow the etiquette of their previous master?
However, Demian didn’t mind that this knight in his forties was showing similar stubbornness.
In fact, saying he didn’t mind wasn’t enough.
Every time Douglas mentioned his former master, Demian was filled with affectionate emotions.
His former master was none other than his late mother.
Setting down the half-empty cup, Demian spoke in a calm voice.
“Still, this isn’t enough. Unless I’m exceptionally superior, the throne will go to Fred.”
“……”
“You know from experience how easy it is for those in power to have someone in the palace killed.”
Demian recalled his beautiful and gentle mother.
With her outstanding beauty and immense divine power, she had been brought from a distant province to the capital and had ultimately sat on the throne as Empress.
But everything changed when his father, the Emperor, who had never had any affection for his family, suddenly fell ill.
The temple claimed that it was the Empress’s impurity that caused this, insisting that the Emperor’s health would only improve if a new Empress was chosen.
The Duke of Roas, the current Empress’s family, had a long-standing friendship with the temple, so their goal was probably to make the eldest daughter of the Duke the Empress.
As a result, backed by the temple’s overwhelming support, Izelda constantly slandered and attacked the former Empress.
Thus, a baroness from the countryside, who had no acquaintances in the capital, died without uttering a single word.
The only one who comforted Demian at his mother’s funeral was Douglas, who had followed her from the distant barony to the capital as her bodyguard.
“I can’t die like my mother, Douglas.”
“……”
“To avoid that, I need to become the Emperor.”
Demian understood better than anyone.
To survive as Crown Prince and Emperor, he needed to be perfect without a single flaw, since he had no backing.
“Well then, please take a rest, Your Highness. I’ll come to escort you when the congratulatory banquet for the entrance ceremony begins.”
“Alright.”
After Douglas left with proper courtesy, Demian, alone in his office, finished the remaining mint tea and stood up.
He then headed toward the short hallway within the office, a place he walked whenever he wanted to collect his thoughts.
‘The entrance ceremony congratulatory banquet.’
Contrary to the public perception that he was sociable, Demian absolutely hated banquets and parties.
They were filled with everything he needed to be wary of as he sought to become the Crown Prince and then the Emperor.
Deceptive and cunning temptations.
Requests to invest in ventures that were unlikely to succeed.
‘But what I need to be most cautious of…’
In the hallway where Demian stopped, several portraits were hanging on the walls.
Each depicted individuals who had once caused quite a stir in the Evelon royal family and the empire.
Below each portrait was a brief explanation of why they had died.
Aldi Evelon.
He ascended to the throne at a young age but was blinded by lust, taking in 43 concubines, spending every day indulging in his desires, and eventually died of exhaustion.
‘Because of this, the people were not pleased with the royal family taking lovers or concubines.’
Pablo Evelon.
The Emperor’s half-brother, who created a harem of 60 women at the royal villa, was assassinated by one of them.
‘Actually, he wasn’t assassinated. He was constantly getting bee stings to boost his stamina to handle all those lovers and died from the poison.’
In addition to these, several other portraits hung in the hallway, all of individuals from the royal family who had met untimely ends due to their excessive lust.
And at the end hung a mirror.
“Haa…”
Demian let out a deep sigh.
A secret he had never shared, even with his closest aide, Douglas, who had watched over him since he was born.
The flaw he was most concerned about was his excessively vigorous body and mind.
Since hitting puberty, his body had shown no signs of cooling down.
Every night, he would wake up suddenly after having lewd dreams.
Following the sage’s advice that a wise king should relieve his lust through exercise, he tortured his body with swordsmanship, running, and mountain climbing, but his muscles grew, his stamina increased, and his passion only intensified.
He thought that maybe he needed to train his body to the point of exhaustion for his heat to subside, so he practiced all kinds of magic and swordsmanship for hours every day.
As a result, by the age of nineteen, he was close to mastering swordsmanship, yet his body remained as it was.
And it wasn’t just that. Demian knew all too well how hopelessly promiscuous and sensitive his body was.
Wearing gloves and pretending to be obsessive-compulsive, keeping others from getting too close, were all reasons stemming from this.
“…Oh, God.”
It made him feel even worse that his half-brother, Fred, the very rival for the position of Crown Prince, was a devout and abstinent man gifted with immense divine power.
Demian sighed and buttoned up his shirt again. He fixed his tie and put on the stuffy gloves he had taken off.
He knew full well that some women would cling to him at the banquet about to begin, trying to tempt him.
Whether it was for the future of their family or simply based on desire, women were the number one target he needed to avoid.
It was time for him to leave his office.
Demian looked in the mirror, reaffirming his life motto.
He would resolve his sexual urges on his own, and anything resembling romance could wait until he became Crown Prince, firmly establishing his power and securing his life.
He would keep women at a distance.
He would forget any temptations and subtle touches meant to seduce him without letting them linger in his mind.
“…”
As he repeated these thoughts, a bright voice suddenly came to mind.
“And this may sound a bit silly, but… perhaps because I’ve been looking at the painting in the mansion for so long, I momentarily couldn’t connect your grown-up appearance.”
The image and voice of Levy Heron saying this were vividly imprinted in his mind.
Perhaps it had been a long time since he had seen her face up close, as the young lady had been too frail to attend social gatherings.
He had expected her to grow into a lifeless adult, accustomed to a life of constant illness, but the adult she had become was reminiscent of a spring flower bravely blooming after enduring the harsh winter.
The pink irises revealed beneath her long, lush eyelashes and her flowing honey-colored hair were still captivating, drawing his gaze longer than he intended.
It was the first time he had heard about his mother on that last day they went out together from someone else’s mouth.
Moreover, Levy Heron was known for her intense love for Fred, to the point of fainting.
It was surprising to hear his mother’s story from the lips of a woman so passionately devoted to Fred, making the brief conversation stick in his memory.
‘I need to forget this.’
Demian glared at the sinister-looking man in the mirror once more, repeating to himself that women must absolutely not be a part of his life.
