The Baddest Villainess Is Back - Chapter 89

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 89
The Emperor burst into laughter, then suddenly raised one finger and spoke.
“Youngest, it seems you’ve misunderstood one thing—your name was given by your mother.”
At the Emperor’s words, Arma’s eyes widened in an instant.
“…You mean my mother gave me my name?”
The Emperor, seeing genuine emotion in the child’s face for the first time in quite a while, suppressed an inexplicable cheerfulness and nodded.
He rubbed his chin and regarded his son with an odd expression before smiling.
“Why? Do you not believe it?”
“…I thought you knew she was dead.”
“Nonsense. She wouldn’t find much reason to live if she didn’t hear tales of her own child.”
The Emperor’s mouth softened considerably.
A man who possessed everything in this world yet used it all merely to confine a single person—Arma fell silent at his words.
“Still, your mother will be quite pleased to hear this.”
He spoke while rubbing his chin.
He never imagined the child who seemed ready to feign death and turn his back on the realm would declare with his own mouth that he desired to become Emperor.
‘I’d intended to name the First Prince as Crown Prince, barring any unforeseen circumstances…’
The Emperor rubbed his chin.
‘The First will be quite disappointed.’
Though he acknowledged this, he harbored no immediate intention of bestowing the Crown Prince’s seat upon Arma.
He meant to extract fair compensation for the suffering he had caused, and should Arma fall short of expectations, the Crown Prince’s throne would naturally be withheld.
Yet by his assessment, the capabilities of the First and the Youngest differed starkly.
The Second had never harbored great ambition for the throne from the start, assuming it would naturally belong to his elder brother.
The First had awakened the Abyss in childhood, studied statecraft and the arts of rulership, and was raised as a provisional Crown Prince by those around him.
The problem was this: Arma’s capabilities exceeded what the Emperor had imagined.
And who did he resemble most? The Youngest—a child treated as an Illegitimate Child.
Moreover, he was keenly aware of his own excellence.
So this boy had chosen to abandon the throne, intending instead to assume the seat of absolute authority beneath which all the world lay—and thereby discard them all.
‘But he decided to give that up.’
For a woman named Rozelin Bellion.
Arma had spent a considerable time severed from all affairs of the Imperial Capital.
Humble, hidden, claws retracted—like watching his own childhood all over again.
Truth be told, this was not an unfavorable circumstance.
“He wishes to become Emperor.”
At the very least, it suited the Emperor well.
Among an Emperor’s final duties was the safe transfer of imperial authority to the next generation.
To speak plainly, he wished to retire swiftly and needed someone to whom he might entrust his legacy.
Arma was the finest choice among his options.
“It surprises me to hear you say you wish to become Emperor with your own mouth.”
The Emperor smiled and raised his cup.
“Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“I have not.”
“Then what?”
“I need strength. I need power.”
At Arma’s words, the Emperor’s eyes narrowed.
“The authority of a Third Prince is hardly insignificant. Excluding myself, there is nothing above you—is that not so?”
Despite the soothing—or perhaps mocking—tone, Arma’s gaze remained unwavering.
“It is insufficient.”
“Insufficient?”
“Yes. What I require is absolute power—power that no one would dare diminish, power that can seize anything that exists in this world, power fit to stand beside her without shame.”
Arma closed his eyes slowly, then opened them, and spoke with conviction.
The Emperor gazed upon his son, now fully grown. There were no pleasant memories between them.
Unlike the First and Second, Arma had grown up lonely in the Imperial Capital, without protection from anyone, and as he grew, so too did his resentment toward his father.
“You must prove yourself superior to your brother.”
“Have my brothers ever been superior to me?”
From a certain point onward, Arma had refused all instruction afforded to members of the royal family, yet accomplished everything through self-study.
His genius had long been recognized in his youth.
Even before the assassins attacked him, his excellence had come to be known.
And after learning that his own brilliance had nearly cost him his life, Arma never drew a sword again and never appeared at a place of learning again.
Yet the Emperor knew.
Every night, alone in an empty place, the small boy wielded his sword against a manual until his palms bled.
On the way back, he stopped by a closed library to borrow books, and during the day he did nothing but read them.
“I thought I’d be trapped in this shell forever…… but it seems I wasn’t.”
As he aged, the children grew as well.
“Does he seem anxious to you, or am I imagining things, youngest?”
“What must I do to be appointed Crown Prince?”
“Well…….”
The Emperor rubbed his chin.
He knew of the youngest’s excellence, but that didn’t make the First Prince a fool either.
If the Emperor commanded it, the First Prince would certainly make the best decision he could think of from the most appropriate direction.
But the problem was that the First Prince’s best could not overcome the youngest’s second-best.
“First of all…….”
The Emperor, still cradling his chin, opened his mouth unhurriedly.
“Persuade your eldest brother first.”
At those words, Arma’s expression crumpled, and it darkened at once.
* * *
‘I’m dying.’
Rozelin lay buried deep in her plush bedding, thinking blankly.
The two-week journey to the Duchy.
Despite it being a leisurely schedule deliberately set for Rozelin’s sake, she came down with a fever the moment she arrived at the Duchy.
She had been frail since birth. By now, the absence of a fever would have felt strange.
Thanks to having a personal physician from childhood and her father’s forceful management, she had improved considerably as she grew older, but she still collapsed from fever whenever she overexerted herself.
“This miserable body…….”
Rozelin muttered as she laid her arm across her fevered forehead.
Though she fell ill frequently, she hadn’t had many days of rest lately, and so she’d been collapsing rather often.
“My dear.”
“Father.”
…….
“Yes, Dad.”
Rozelin answered again, watching Cherti show his discomfort through silence.
“The fever isn’t coming down well.”
He placed his hand on Rozelin’s forehead, tidied her disheveled hair once, and then offered her medicine.
“Take some medicine.”
“Yes…….”
“And…… the High Priest has apparently come nearby for some reason. I had him called to heal you while he’s here.”
“Ah…….”
Now that I think about it, it’s about time.
The grand Imperial Festival has ended, after all.
‘Fortunately, that future hasn’t changed.’
In a parallel world, there were endless variables, so not every future unfolded identically.
That’s why this horse race was, in fact, a gamble for Rozelin as well.
Still, fortunately the horse she had mentioned, Bisan, came in first.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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