Chapter 2
03
The walls of the palace are inlaid with the world's largest openwork glass, which is allowed to be covered by the vines of Dionysus.
Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the room with a deep, serene blue light, like the water in a fishpond.
Klig was sitting very close to Solan's knees.
Make it readily accessible.
But he dared not get any closer.
Solan's undergarment was made of precious oriental silk, smooth as goat's milk, flowing coolly over his body, and every patch of his bare, pale skin seemed to exude a lingering, subtle fragrance.
It is a secret fragrance blended with ambergris, rose, and other ingredients.
It was as if an invisible hand was gently patting the powder puff beside Krieg.
His throat throbbed like a heart.
Even on a battlefield, which is like a meat grinder, I wasn't this tense.
Hold your head high.
His overly restrained body resembled a huge, stiff stone sculpture, his head bowed, his handsome yet wicked eyes fixed on his king, his pupils already bulging with excitement.
His condition remained unchanged, just like when he was thirteen.
At that time, he had just been found by Solan and was still a small child, like a fledgling beast, whose primordial essence had not yet been awakened.
Solan suddenly thought of:
A spy reported that, behind his back, the soldiers loyal to Krieg asked, "General, why are you so loyal to that tyrant? You don't even think of yourself. It's like... like a sycophantic dog!"
Krieg sneered: "If you were me, and he saved you on your deathbed, and he buried your mother, taught you and provided for you, gave you a warm little room so you would never have to live a life of hardship again, and carefully taught you etiquette and martial arts, you would also swear to be his master to the death. Yes, I am his dog. So what? I am proud of it."
He still remembers young Krieg.
The half-demon's large, muscular frame was covered with a layer of lean, grimy muscle and skin; he was filthy, thin, and covered in sores. He was secretly astonished for a long time. Could there really be such a tenacious little thing in the world, so sick yet still not dying? It took him a full six months just to heal his wounds and grow back to smooth, dark skin.
"Close your eyes."
Solan said he reached out to Kliger's closed eyes and touched the tips of his eyelashes.
"Don't move, you're tickling my fingers." A deliberately difficult command.
Then, his fingers traced down the rugged contours of the adult man, his sideburns, earlobes, jawline, and finally rested on his neck, rubbing his prominent Adam's apple a few times.
Glug. Glug.
It's like touching a crouching lion.
His face was rough from being exposed to the wind and sun, like touching a rock.
He didn't use much force, afraid that the snag would chafe his skin.
“You’ve really grown up now, my Krieg.”
Solan said softly, "I still remember it clearly. Back then, you had a man's Adam's apple on your thin neck as a child. You were so ugly, like a monster."
His gaze was lowered.
It lies in the dimly lit area below the waistband of the long robe.
"Here too," he thought, "a born, deformed male monster, how disgusting."
"You're twenty-one this year, if I remember correctly?"
"Yes, Master."
"You've been an adult for many years, why aren't you married? Don't you have someone you like yet?"
"..."
You can feel the neck muscles surrounding the throat tense up for a moment; he's lying.
“No, Master,” Krigor said, his voice strained.
"Then let's choose one at this Flower Festival."
Solan didn't speak forcefully, as if he were chatting casually.
After speaking, he abruptly withdrew his hand without warning and said, "Alright, you may leave."
Krigo was stunned, reluctant to let it go: "Only eight and a half minutes—" He then fell silent, for he saw the displeasure in Solan's blue eyes.
He was nothing more than a gleaming, precious sword.
How can you provoke your master?
But he soon noticed that Solan seemed to be unwell. Just as he was about to speak, he was scolded again and had no choice but to swallow his words. He looked at Solan repeatedly and left slowly.
The moment he stepped out the door.
Solan could no longer suppress the metallic taste rising in his throat. He covered his mouth and coughed several times in a muffled voice, as if he wanted to vomit out his slowly rotting internal organs.
It took quite a while to stop.
Each breath brings a sharp, piercing pain, as if it's splitting you apart.
His eyes were lifeless as he stared blankly at the pool of bright red blood in his palm.
Not surprising.
The robes and crown were too heavy, and his frail body, having endured them all day, could no longer bear it.
...He's dying.
There's not much left.
From birth, doctors said he wouldn't live past thirty.
Even after scavenging the rarest medicinal herbs in the world and sparing no effort to prolong his life, he only managed to survive until the age of twenty-nine.
Several imperial physicians all expressed their opinions tactfully.
About two or three years? ...At most five years.
A predetermined death date is a slowed-down torment.
It erodes willpower, making one resigned to fate.
Solan's ambitions expanded along with his territory.
Seven years ago, he thought that living even one more day was an act of defiance against this damned God! Now, he not only wants to live, but he wants to live well.
Why not?
He was the youngest emperor in history, with the largest territory.
Solan disdained to live a life of ignominy.
He would rather leap into the abyss than submit to death.
04
Krieg borrowed a light from the chandelier and lit a night lamp.
He stayed overnight at the palace.
Eight guards stood watch at the entrance to the palace.
According to the tradition of Solan's hometown, the Duchy of Seli, the sons of nobles are allowed to serve as close attendants to the king, usually for two years, one of their duties being to protect him at night.
The Seli people are mostly blond.
The colors vary in shade, and most are brown gold with impurities, while Solan is the brightest and purest platinum.
These boys were all high-nosed, deep-set-eyed, young, and handsome.
They wore identical gilded helmets with red and white horsehair, falcons sculpted on their cheeks, spears in their hands, and painted shields slung over their shoulders, looking just like beautiful vases.
Solan's reputation for beauty was renowned throughout the capital.
He not only had to be beautiful himself, but also had to be impeccably clean from head to toe, and the palace maids and attendants serving him were all beauties.
Krieg has always known that he is not within Solan's aesthetic range.
A bunch of pretty boys.
His gaze swept over them like a plow.
But he didn't show any emotion, and simply said, "You can step back a bit, I'll guard the door here."
It's like drawing the curtains of a guardian shrine.
05
The next morning.
During the dressing process, someone's anxious gaze caused the palace maid in charge of clothing to make frequent mistakes.
Solan said impatiently, "Leave it alone, let Krigor handle it, he'll take care of it."
Before he finished speaking, Krieg strode forward.
oh.
The crowd pondered to themselves.
They made up.
The new maid glanced at her sideways.
After watching for a while, I was impressed. Not only were the movements fast, but the dexterity was also amazing, with almost no touching.
I learned something.
The general really knows how to serve the king.
I've heard that General Krieg's love for the King is as public as his marriage.
Today is the Flower Festival.
Solan's attire was simpler than yesterday's, rather than elaborate.
A pure gold laurel leaf crown was firmly placed on her long, silky golden hair. Her purple cloak was fastened with iris-shaped buttons, and two diamond earrings, like mermaid tears, swayed and shimmered, as if they might fall at any moment onto her fair shoulders, where faint green microcrystalline veins could be seen.
The morning dew had not yet dried.
Solan set off in a royal carriage engraved with the sun, moon, and flowers, drawn by two equally matched white horses, their saddlecloths draped with gold tassels, and their bridles and cheek ornaments adorned with blood-red roses.
The reins and harness were woven with anemones, while the carriage spokes were wrapped with osmanthus and acacia. As the carriage moved, the stalks shook off, adding specks of pale yellow to the road, which was already like a flower carpet.
And so they rode on and on to the temple.
Flora is the goddess of love, fertility, and hunting.
It has been widely worshipped since ancient times.
The temple displays bronze statues of two demon spirits under the seat of the Flower Goddess. Both are male and female, with four arms and four legs, and are intertwined in various poses.
The day was packed with activities from morning till night.
Women of marriageable age will perform song and dance continuously, showcasing their adult charm. Afterwards, they will sit high on the steps of the amphitheater, receiving flowers thrown by men, and finally choosing one as a sign of accepting their request for sexual intercourse.
Solan resides on the throne.
Accompanied by one moving love song after another, the eunuch knelt down and held up a silver plate carved with birds and beasts, filled with candy, and a golden cup filled with fine wine. He first dipped his finger in the wine, and then distributed it to his beloved ministers one by one, to show that they shared honor and that their friendship would last forever.
Next, the imperial feast began.
Solan glanced at Krigg's empty hands.
She casually picked a pink rose from the flower basket and stuffed it into his arms, saying, "Take this and give it to the girl you like."
sometimes,
Subjects are the king's livestock, and must be bred by him.
Krieg held the flower stem, bewildered for a moment, "...It's a festival now, crowded and chaotic, with hidden dangers. How can I leave your side?"
Solan's eyes seemed to say: I have more than just you as a dog.
Cligo shamelessly pretended not to understand.
By the afternoon, Wang Ci's roses had wilted.
It was pinned to his chest by Kliger.
A hunting competition was then held in the back mountains.
This was his specialty, something he mastered without a teacher. At the age of six, he was still a little beggar, working as a shepherd to earn money to buy medicine for his mother.
That winter, the snow was heavy, and he slept nestled in dirty wool. It smelled quite bad, but it was very warm. In the middle of the night, he was awakened by a noise, and looking in the direction of the sound, he was caught off guard by several pairs of gleaming green wolf eyes.
When the owners arrived, they saw him standing there covered in blood, assuming he had let many sheep die in order to protect himself. Without a word, they whipped him mercilessly. When they finally counted the sheep in the pen, they found only one sheep had died. The dark liquid dripping from the little boy's hair was wolf blood. He had torn the wolf apart with his bare hands.
They kicked him out two days later.
There are no rewards or compensation.
Krieg put down his bow.
With a single arrow, he pierced the leopard's heart.
Solan clapped his hands: "Not bad."
Krieg was quite pleased, thinking that he could now tan a new blanket for his master.
He spurred his horse forward to see his prey.
As soon as he dismounted, he turned around and saw a beautiful white deer. Drawn to it, the deer moved in the opposite direction from him, keeping some distance.
At that moment, two guards suddenly sprang up from behind Solan. They drew their spears and swiftly and accurately stabbed each of their two companions in the back of the heart, killing them instantly.
In a flash, the sharp point turned and pointed at Solan.
The one closest had just raised his hand—the king's guards were densely packed, the opportunity was fleeting, he had to be quick!—when he heard the sound of wind breaking through the air, a dagger pierced his throat.
It's hard to imagine how much force it takes to make this palm-sized dagger produce a whistling sound like a heavy gun when thrown from a distance.
Solan drew his sword.
It wasn't used.
Because Krieg had already arrived on horseback and chopped the assassins to death as easily as cutting melons and vegetables.
Even faster, with quick reflexes, he unfolded his cloak, narrowly avoiding the blood that nearly splattered onto the corner of Solan's robe.
He was breathing heavily.
It wasn't that the battle was particularly fierce, but rather the lingering fear and dread.
He knelt down and begged for forgiveness, saying, "Your subject has been wrong; I should not have left your side because of greed for merit."
Solan: "..."
He himself remained calm and smiled, saying, "What wrong have you done, my dear minister? You have been loyal and courageous in protecting me, and I should reward you handsomely."
His Majesty's revelry at the Flower Festival shall now come to an end.
The emperor departed for the palace.
06
I've been out all day.
Klig was sweating profusely, his body odor was very strong, and fearing being disliked, the first thing he did upon returning was to take a bath. Alone.
After washing, steam rose from the bathtub.
He was naked, rummaging through the clothes on the wooden rack, and angrily shouted, "Where are my flowers? Who took them!"
"I ordered them thrown away. They're rotten. Why are you still keeping them?"
Solan's voice came from across the cabinet.
Krieg quickly put on his robe, his hair still wet.
Realizing his lapse in composure, he asked, "Master, what are your orders?"
Solan sat with his back to him in front of a cedarwood dressing table, where bottles and jars were neatly arranged. The rising moonlight illuminated an oval silver mirror, held aloft by two gilded nymphs on either side.
He opened the box, and on the scarlet satin lay the metal tools the man used for facial grooming.
He picked up a razor blade, wiped the edge with his thumb, and said, "Lie down, I'll shave your face."
Krieg had no one who would disobey.
He lay flat on his back in the recliner.
"A little further back."
Solan then sat up, looking down at him as he spoke.
Krieg's face had only a few very short stubble-like hairs.
Of course, I tried to clean it up, but his hair was too thick, like a stubborn life force, and it was impossible to cut it all off.
The knife fell steadily and gently without stopping.
On his face, jaw, and neck.
"Is this knife very sharp?"
"Yes, Master."
How dare you not be sharp?
As Solan wielded the knife, he watched the throbbing veins in the man's thick neck, which pulsated with a cold white light. The knife moved smoothly back and forth.
He believed that if the cone angle were even slightly off, the violently pumping, fresh blood inside would suddenly spray up to the ceiling.
He had seen it. Countless times.
pity.
It's not the right time yet.
Krieg's burning cheeks quickly warmed the knife.
Solan leaned down, his misty blue eyes peering through his eyelids, his voice like a mild wine: "Come to my bedroom tonight, just before the moon reaches its zenith."
07
There's still a while before the appointment.
Solan sat in the secret room under the bed in the palace.
Before him, a pure white silver box sat in the center of a stone table that had stood for a thousand years, with small golden lions arching at the four corners, their gaping mouths spewing out swarms of lapis lazuli-carved snakes.
Open the latch.
The box contained an enchanted dagger and a bottle of potion.
He must be destined by fate.
Otherwise, why would fate send Krieg to his side?
Everyone believed that the old royal family, which had been deposed for nearly a century, had long since become extinct and no longer existed, leading to chaos and infighting among various warlords.
But in fact, the Holy Descendant has only one bloodline left.
A contaminated bloodline.
Who would have thought that this man, who looks like a half-demon, was actually the daughter of a saintly princess?
In the first year of conquering the Holy City.
Solan discovered this secret chamber, and it took him three years to finally decipher the ancient script inscribed on the stone tablet.
The reason why the descendants of saints are the descendants of saints.
Because their blood is different from that of ordinary people.
He personally studied and restored the sign, and had the black witch concoct the potion.
Krieg was the last son of the Holy One.
It could be the miracle drug to prolong his life.
That's about it.
He drank the bitter, strong medicine in one gulp and smashed the bottle on the ground.
"Bang."
The dice of fate can only be rolled once.
Win or lose, live or die—bring it on!
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