By then, the airship had already docked.
Through the magic water mirror, the Emperor could clearly see the Hero’s party walking down the gangway.
“Let us go,” he laughed loudly, preparing to set out and welcome the newly appointed Hero of the Empire.
However, his gaze suddenly froze on the crowd.
The Emperor’s expression instantly darkened, and his original joy transformed into a suppressed rage.
“Why is he here?”
The Emperor’s voice was thick with disappointment and a hidden trace of murderous intent.
“Who?”
Anthony asked in surprise, following the Emperor’s gaze.
At the very front of the welcoming party, an old man dressed in plain hemp clothes was smiling as he shook hands with Joen, who had just stepped off the airship.
He had a lean build and his attire was completely out of place with those around him, yet he possessed the aura of someone long accustomed to a high position, allowing him to stand out like a crane among chickens.
“It is him?!”
Anthony was also shocked.
“The Tulip Duke?”
That was the Emperor’s cousin, Constantine.
“Twenty years…”
The Emperor’s hand gripped his dragon-head staff so tightly that his knuckles cracked.
“He did not dare return to the Empire Capital for twenty years, but now that the Hero is back, he shows his face. What a calculated move!”
The Emperor turned abruptly, his sleeves whipping through the air and creating a cold draft.
“What exactly does he mean by this? Does he think that because he has the Hero’s protection, I cannot kill him?”
Anthony sensed things were taking a turn for the worse.
He quickly took a step forward, offering half-consolation and half-advice.
“Please calm your anger, Your Majesty. The Hero does hail from the Tulip Territory, after all. It stands to reason that the Tulip Duke would come to meet him, though his arrival was far too secretive. Perhaps… he is simply too afraid of you, Your Majesty.”
“Afraid?”
The Emperor snorted coldly, his chest heaving violently, clearly still fuming.
“My dear cousin… do you think I do not understand what kind of schemes he is plotting in that head of his?”
A cold light flickered in the Emperor’s eyes as his thoughts drifted back to the turmoil forty years ago.
“Forty years ago, ever since that confrontation before the throne, he has hated me. He hates me for disagreeing with his reform plans, and he hates me for sitting in this seat!”
“For these past forty years, he would rather offend every noble and spend his entire fortune just to manage the Tulip Territory into that specific state. He did it all just so the young men in his territory would grow up with a temperament closest to that of a Hero—all so that one day, a Hero would emerge from his side!”
The Emperor’s voice grew even colder.
“He lost the bet last time, but this time… he won. But so what if he won? The Empire is my Empire, not his!”
Anthony broke into a cold sweat as he listened.
It was only through the Emperor’s loss of composure that he finally understood just how much resentment had accumulated toward this cousin.
Perhaps he resented him for not returning to the Empire Capital for twenty years, treating the Emperor like an executioner who would slaughter his own kin.
Perhaps he resented his obsession with power and his grand schemes, offending everyone for the sake of their past disagreements.
But Anthony knew that the most important thing right now was to stabilize the Emperor’s emotions.
“Your Majesty need not worry too much,” he said, bowing his head respectfully and advising in a soft voice.
“Duke Constantine’s ideas… are ultimately nothing but castles in the sky. They are too naive.”
“Using a ‘tribunal’ to limit the throne and placing imperial power under the constraints of the Law… while that might prevent the tragedies of the late King, it is a different matter entirely. If a wise monarch like yourself were to be held back by a group of mediocre men, would that not be stepping over a dollar to pick up a dime? If things were like that, would the Empire still have its current prosperity and peace?”
“He is not afraid! He has a guilty conscience!”
The Emperor said coldly.
“He has the heart of a wolf! Knowing he cannot be Emperor, he wants to establish a Speaker and rule as co-emperors with me!”
The Emperor’s expression softened slightly upon hearing Anthony’s words, but his eyes remained dark.
This time, Anthony did not respond.
Those words were too dangerous; a single misstep would mean eternal damnation.
He could only look at the water mirror in silence, staring at the two hands clasped together, sighing inwardly.
‘Sigh, every year is more chaotic than the last, and every month more difficult. I hope this year’s winter scenery can be patched together somehow.’
—
At the airport docks.
Joen looked at the vigorous old man in front of him, feeling somewhat flattered.
The man’s palm was broad and warm, and though it was a bit rough, it was full of strength.
“You have done well, child.”
Duke Constantine smiled, his gaze full of admiration.
“I have heard of what you did in the Dry River Territory. You did not disgrace the Tulip Territory.”
“Duke…”
Joen’s heart was far from calm, to the point where he spoke somewhat incoherently.
After all, in his childhood memories, Duke Constantine was a legendary hero—a saint who had led the Tulip Territory from poverty to prosperity.
Seeing him in person now, the impact of his “idol becoming reality” left him at a loss for words.
“Just call me Uncle Quan.”
Constantine patted the back of his hand.
“There are many eyes and ears here, so it is not convenient to talk much. Once the triumph banquet ends tonight, I will host a small, private dinner for you.”
As he spoke, he raised an eyebrow and smiled at Joen, continuing loudly, “Your fellow countrymen back home, as well as the uncles and aunts in the village, all asked me to bring you gifts.”
“Really? Thank you!”
Joen blinked, unable to hide his excitement at hearing news from the people of his hometown.
Liya lay in Joen’s arms, peering through the gap in his clothes to curiously observe this legendary Tulip Duke.
She had naturally heard of his great reputation and had even studied him.
All she could say was that he was completely out of step with the rest of the Empire; he truly deserved the title of a “good lord.”
Occasionally, cases like this did occur—a local ruler of the Borderlands who was not greedy, not lustful, not obsessed with power, and did not seek fame.
Someone who was strict and frugal with himself but generous to others, never considering the long-term private interests of his family, but dedicating himself entirely to the people under his rule.
Such a person was either plotting something massive or had truly transcended base desires.
For Liya, the last time she had practiced such restraint was to win the war against the Empire, driven to a point where the Sword of Damocles was hanging over her head.
As for why the Emperor’s cousin acted this way…
Liya felt she needed to observe and contemplate more.
Joen agreed to the private dinner, and she did not speak up to object.
This choice was not a significant problem—on the contrary, refusing would have been more likely to invite trouble.
Joen’s public persona had always been straightforward and honest.
If he were to refuse an invitation from his former Lord in public, it might look like it would reduce the Emperor’s suspicion, but in reality, it would invite even greater doubt.
The Emperor would think: ‘So he is actually that sophisticated and cold-hearted? Was everything before just an act?’
Once a person loses trust, they lose everything.
Besides, this was the Empire Capital, the Emperor’s territory.
If he could not even monitor a small private dinner, he would be far too incompetent.
Even she, before she was heavily injured, had absolute control over the Demon King’s Castle.
If Duke Constantine was smart enough, he certainly would not drive away the Emperor’s surveillance, let alone discuss classified matters.
Most likely, it would just be a way to bond and reminisce about the past, leaving no room for anyone to find fault.
‘It is fine to think of home for a bit,’ Liya thought to herself.
‘Letting Joen say hello to old friends and the past, and allowing him to miss his childhood… at least he is not like her, who cannot even see a single person from her past again.’
Her memories were already beginning to blur.
The past was like an old painting, yellowed and faded; the path ahead was like duckweed, drifting without a home.
Perhaps one day in the future, even her grudges with Demonkind and the Empire would gradually fade until she no longer cared.
When that time came, would she feel empty?
Would she… be vulnerable to this Hero’s intrusion?