SYMDF 18

Chapter 18

 

At Camillus’s final, cutting question, a long silence fell. The first to react was the knight standing at the Emperor’s side. Outraged at such insolence, he reached for his sword—but the Emperor raised a hand to stop him.

His expression was one of disbelief, as though Camillus’s accusation were too absurd to merit fury.

“Camillus. You, a so-called genius, claim you cannot undo this curse—yet imagine I could have cast it? I know nothing of it.”

Camillus’s blue eyes searched his father’s face, weighing the truth in his denial.

The Emperor had rejected the possibility firmly. Yet the accusation was not entirely baseless. This was a man who had clawed his way to the throne by triumphing in countless political struggles from childhood, a ruler who wielded power through ruthless checks against any rivals who shone too brightly. And Duke Craiger, Ion’s father, was now reckoned the most influential nobleman in the empire. Could such a man escape imperial suspicion?

Camillus breathed, his tone steady, but his words sharp as a blade.

“…If it was not you, then I am relieved. Because whoever cursed the young heir—I will kill them by any means necessary.”

Spoken from a child’s lips, the words carried a chilling weight. They should not have sounded so deadly. The Emperor, for all the faint disquiet it stirred inside him, merely answered blandly:

“So be it.”

There was nothing more to say. Bowing stiffly, Camillus stepped aside.

“Then I will take my leave. My business here is done.”

The Emperor’s eyes lowered to his son’s head. After a pause, he granted leave.

“Go, then.”

Camillus turned without hesitation. He thought to cast a spell, to vanish from the palace in an instant. Yet when he traced a magic circle, the pressure of the barrier surrounding the White Palace smothered it before it could take shape.

Not yet…

The high wards woven into the palace by the Towerlord, the Archmage said to be the strongest living mage, still bound his power. Raising his eyes skyward, Camillus gazed at the glowing lines of the sigils encasing the imperial domain.

The Emperor, watching Camillus’s retreating back, turned on his heel. His stride carried him toward the Solar Palace. Deep concern lined his face, darkening as he recalled every word spoken.

Troublesome. Very troublesome.

Only days ago, he had regarded Camillus as almost pliant, meek. Tonight proved otherwise.

Summoning with a gesture, he beckoned to his knight. The man bowed low.

“Bring me the Crown Prince.”
“At once, sire.”

The Emperor returned swiftly to the palace, but not to his study. He entered his private chambers instead. Enchanted lanterns flared, bathing the room in a soft glow free of any flame’s risk. Attendants dressed him in light sleep garments; soon he sat beneath the canopy of his great bed, contemplating what must be said.

Moments later, the bell at the door chimed. Summoned, Crown Prince Vernian entered and immediately dropped to one knee before the closed door.

“I greet the Sun of the Empire. You called for me?”

A gesture brought him closer. Tension stiffened his face—he knew his father’s severity too well. Slowly, swallowing hard, Vernian crept to the Emperor’s side and bowed again, this time placing both knees to the floor.

“Vernian.”

“Yes, father, speak.”

Even here, in his personal chambers—between father and son—the Emperor’s tone was not softened. It crackled with steel.

“I named you Crown Prince gladly years ago. Yet you continue to disappoint me. Tell me, boy—what am I to do with you?”

The rebuke, from the outset, stung like ice. Only an hour ago, Vernian had been caught mercilessly kicking his half-brother. He bit his tongue and bowed his head lower.

“Must you persist with such immaturity? How long?”

“T-that… if you mean earlier, it was only because I—”

The Emperor’s hand seized his son’s shoulder. Vernian stiffened, trembling. Yet the words that followed were unexpectedly softened:

“Violence solves nothing, Crown Prince.”

“…Yes, sire.”

Relief flickered faintly. But the Emperor drew him nearer and spoke again, voice low and instructive.

“Listen well. A ruler needs a cold mind, a hard heart… and above all—”

He paused deliberately until Vernian looked up.

“Guile.”

“…Guile?” Vernian echoed, wit slow to grasp.

The Emperor exhaled in quiet disdain but did not rebuke him further. Instead, he rose and circled his kneeling son like a predator gauging prey.

“If you remain so worthless, how could I entrust this empire to you? I will not hand the throne to a fool.”

But the impression was clear—though harsh, he had not given up on him. That did not escape Vernian, who asked tremulously:

“Then… tell me. What must I do?”

“Prove yourself. Use your own means to send your brother Camillus north, to Iodin.”

Banishment to the far North.

The words lit Vernian’s eyes. A smirk curved his lips. At last! Every tedious lecture, every comparison to Camillus—all finally worth it. Now his father entrusted him to rid their lives of that stain.

Vernian’s thoughts twisted gleeful as the Emperor’s command sank deep. That hated bastard, that smug face—always favored, coddled, different. Special. Yet born illegitimate. Son of no recognized mother.

Let him rot in the North, Vernian thought, nearly trembling with satisfaction. Let him die in the ice where monsters prowl.

“I understand, father. You ask me to… use my head.”

“Indeed. Can you?”

“Yes. I will.”

The Emperor’s rare smile confirmed it.

“I will be watching. Do not disappoint me.”

Vernian bowed deeply, pride swelling.

So—banishment. That’s better than caging him in a tower forever. Far from here. Far from me.

‘Had he stayed in that tower… had he never broken his seal… All would have been well.’

The North—harsh, frozen, encircled by ice cliffs. Unfit for human life, spawning with monsters, barren of fields. Let Camillus rot there. It suited him.

Footnotes:

• Towerlord (마탑주): The supreme Archmage. His barrier over the Imperial Palace blocks even Camillus’s magic. 
• Iodin of the North (북부 아이오딘): A deadly wasteland of perpetual ice and monsters. Mention of sending Camillus there is essentially a death sentence. 

Guile (권모술수): The Emperor’s doctrine of rulership, teaching Vernian cunning over brute force.