Chapter 147
To be precise, the arrows were surging toward Riina, so Einar had to pull her into his arms and dodge the rain of arrows.
“Phew.”
Unlike Einar, who sighed, Riina impassively surveyed the arrows densely embedded around her.
“There was a trap. Judging by its condition, it must be quite old.”
The arrows that hadn’t pierced the ground had rusty arrowheads, and the fletching on those that had struck the earth was almost completely worn away, barely maintaining its shape.
“Riina.”
Einar’s sigh poured over the crown of her head.
Though that sigh and utterance of her name contained numerous unspoken words, he said nothing more.
Such an ancient trap had suddenly activated, targeting Riina with precision.
What more needed to be said beyond bad luck?
And since misfortune was Riina’s daily reality, how could he possibly rebuke her for not being surprised, angry, or depressed about it?
He could only sincerely hope that he would be able to protect her, as he had vowed before they left.
He extended his hand to Riina.
“Einar?”
“Let’s hold hands.”
Before she could say anything, Einar added:
“I want to. So take my hand. Please?”
Their fingers interlaced, the pair didn’t release their grip until they reached the central fortress that guarded the Empire’s border—their original destination.
“Finally!”
Smith woke earlier than ever on the morning Einar departed for the border.
Finally! That accursed man had left the Imperial Palace.
Moreover, just a few days ago, His Imperial Majesty had at last granted him an audience.
Throughout his wait after requesting the audience, he hadn’t expected much from the mechanical responses of the attendants claiming His Majesty was busy with state affairs.
‘The trade agreement has been finalized, so I have some free time now.’
The trade agreement period and its events had concluded—a significant opportunity had flown by before he could act, but Smith wasn’t as disappointed as before.
According to his plan, once the Emperor collapsed and Einar was exposed as the culprit, he would naturally ascend to the position of Crown Prince.
With Einar gone, no one remained to compete with him.
The First Prince had been in seclusion for a long time, and the Fourth Prince wasn’t even worth mentioning.
The only potential concern was the youngest prince, but he was still young and inexperienced.
He would need time to grow properly, but Smith had no intention of giving him “time.”
Even better, Einar had taken that Bolshe… no, that woman with him when he left for the military demonstration.
“Ha, blinded by a woman.”
Smith’s twisted remark wasn’t entirely wrong.
In truth, Einar was indeed blind when it came to Riina.
Of course, even if Smith were to die and be reborn, he would never understand the real reason the two had gone to the border together.
Smith closed his eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled, and admonished himself:
“Phew, there’s only one chance. Let’s not make mistakes. No, I won’t make any mistakes.”
After deliberately calming his heart, which was pounding with anxiety and excitement, he pulled the bell to summon his aide.
“You said you have the documents?”
“Y-yes. Documents showing that the Second Prince planned everything and that the Bolshevik lady provided comprehensive support…”
Before the aide could finish, Smith roughly snatched the stack of papers he offered, his eyes gleaming with greed and excitement.
“Now everything is in place.”
The timing had been precarious, but the Bolshevik commoner had properly sent the device as well.
“It’s fortunate that at least one person is doing their job properly.”
Smith sneered, alternately looking at the immaculate documents and his aide, then ordered:
“Tell His Majesty I wish to see him. Evening or teatime would be preferable.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Smith had begun to move, and unbeknownst to him, others who would help perfect his flimsy plan had also started to act.
Smith, having received the Emperor’s permission, continued to visit the central palace for several days.
Those who knew nothing speculated that with the First and Second Princes absent from the palace, and the Fourth Prince and the youngest prince deemed unqualified to be Crown Prince from the start…
“It seems the Third Prince will…”
“Hush, one never knows until things happen.”
“But considering he’s at the palace now, and His Majesty summons him daily…”
Around the time such rumors began to circulate, the Emperor was sitting across from the Third Prince, holding a teacup.
Contrary to the whispers that the Third Prince would become Crown Prince, the atmosphere between them was extremely barren.
The Emperor barely acknowledged Smith, and Smith likewise no longer bothered to curry favor as he had before.
After taking a sip of tea, the Emperor rolled it around in his mouth, but it tasted no different from what he usually drank.
Hadn’t he been told that he wouldn’t know when, where, or how the poison would be administered?
‘It’s that kind of mechanical device. Don’t look at me like that. Since it contains rare components, it can’t be distributed to assassins willy-nilly.’
Recalling the look in his second son’s eyes, which had regarded him as if he were some terrible villain, the Emperor’s enjoyment of the tea plummeted.
“Your Majesty?”
The Emperor stared at the Third Prince, who was remarkably perceptive in noticing his discomfort, and inwardly clicked his tongue.
While the boy might think he was concealing it, either he wasn’t mature enough or he simply lacked the capacity.
Smith’s eyes betrayed his poorly hidden greed, anxiety, excitement, and anticipation.
No matter how much he coveted the imperial throne, how could he resort to such a vile method?
And so incompetently at that.
The Emperor would have been less disappointed if Smith had executed a plan to kill him that no one could have detected.
No, knowing his limitations, he should have avoided such teatimes or meals altogether.
Having completed these thoroughly imperial reflections, he was in no mood to drink tea.
Nevertheless, the Emperor emptied his teacup steadily until the teapot was drained.
Since the Third Prince had pushed forward with his decision, driven by unchecked greed, it was time for him to do what needed to be done as well.
Thus, two days after Smith enjoyed tea with the Emperor, His Majesty, who had fallen asleep the previous night, did not open his eyes the next morning.
—Clang!
In the moment sparks flew from the collision of blades and disappeared—
“Aaaah! The Empire’s tyranny will be recorded in history…”
—Slash.
The figure holding the sword that had been engaged in combat crumpled pathetically, unable to finish his sentence.
Einar looked down at the man whose eyes were losing their light, his own eyes like those of a taxidermied animal. After swinging his sword once in a wide arc, he sheathed it and spoke.
“Go. Don’t come anywhere near here.”
The foreign soldiers could barely breathe as they stared vacantly at the Second Prince of the Empire, who had appeared like a ghost in broad daylight and devoured them like a catastrophe.
When one soldier began to retreat awkwardly, others gradually started to move as well, and soon they were all in full flight.
Einar, too, left the place without lingering.
After spending several days roaming the areas adjacent to the foreign nation that had been eyeing the Empire, clearly engraving what kind of place the Empire was into their minds, Einar’s face gradually began to show signs of life.
Now that the job was done, he needed to return to her as quickly as possible.
Just the thought of seeing Riina made his chest tingle, and he kicked off the ground.
After Riina had taught him the “method of running faster than a horse” passed down through generations in Bolshevik, he was literally outpacing horses as he hastened back to her.
“Phew.”
Upon reaching the gates of the fortress, he took a moment to inspect himself.
If blood had splattered on him, he couldn’t possibly meet and embrace Riina in such a state.
As he busily examined his body, he tilted his head to one side.
“What… is this?”
Feeling a stinging pain in his palm, Einar stared down at his hand with extreme bewilderment, or rather, disbelief.
“A… wound? A wound?”
On the palm of his hand—which had never suffered so much as a scratch in his entire life unless Riina was involved—was a thin, fine, long cut, as if from paper.
It must have happened while beheading that foreign fighter whose name he still couldn’t remember, despite his supposed renown.
After examining the wound and confirming that not a single drop of blood had splattered elsewhere on his body, Einar shot away like the wind.
“Riina!”
“Einar?”
Riina, who had been in the strategy room predicting where Hurricane Einar would next storm through, rounded her eyes at seeing him return much earlier than expected.
“I’m injured!”
Seeing him hold out his cut palm while shouting loudly, Riina immediately approached him with small steps and examined his palm carefully.
Fortunately, it was a wound that would hardly be noticeable unless one squinted.
Having assessed the wound and feeling relieved, Riina offered a concerned rebuke.
“Why are you so happy about being injured?”
Of course, she didn’t forget to bring medicine afterward, disinfecting his palm and wrapping it in a bandage.
It was merely a scratch that hardly warranted such a fuss, but Riina meticulously tied the bandage into a pretty ribbon on the back of his hand, then stroked his palm once.
“You must be the only person who’s happy about getting hurt.”
Caressing the bandage on his palm with his thumb while holding her hand, Einar replied in a voice that seemed to be suppressing something.
