'The Emperor is going to attack me?'
Inside a wooden house somewhere in the camp—a house that had been "voluntarily" donated by a "dutiful" daughter—Kashchey sat alone, reading a report.
The information came from the Snake Scales embedded among the nobles and a few of the surrendered aristocrats.
' Impossible.'
'Even the people I placed within Emperor's Blade knew nothing about this transfer order!'
Kashchey felt a flicker of unease. But only that—a flicker.
If the current Emperor truly intended to strike against him, he could bypass the spy network surrounding Kashchey and issue direct orders to the loyal Emperor's Blade under his command. That would indeed make it difficult for Kashchey to detect any moves in advance.
But... the Emperor had no reason to go that far.
After all, they belonged to the same faction. Both he and the current Emperor were doves—starkly different from the hawkish predecessor, who had gloried in war.
The Emperor now sought to pull Ursus out of the mire left behind by past conflicts and restore its national strength. As for Kashchey, his motivations were even simpler: he despised large-scale warfare.
War disrupted the peace of his days. It destroyed stability. And if everyone died—where would he find suitable bodies for himself?
In Kashchey's eyes, war meant the loss of lives and the return of silence.
Only the living held endless possibilities.
He was a greedy serpent who wanted to both survive and enjoy a vibrant, unpredictable life. And so, he would go to great lengths to suppress any war that yielded him no benefit.
"If all else fails, I'll just leave. At worst, I can go help that kind-hearted woman in the snowy mountains—the one who holds back Catastrophes on her own. I heard her complain recently that her people are too lacking in ambition..."
After reading through the report, Kashchey tossed it into the fire, letting the flames devour every word.
Then, he summoned the Emperor's Blade who had been keeping his distance to avoid suspicion.
"Smirnov," he said slowly, "the Emperor sent you here because he trusts me—and because he wishes to maintain the long-standing bond between us, yes?"
Kashchey's hand gently caressed his scepter. He smiled, his lips curling into something grim and serpentine, then looked directly at the guard.
"Or... is he beginning to doubt the old man who has devoted his life to Ursus for over a thousand years?"
Thump, thump, thump. Emperor's Blade's heart pounded wildly.
In that moment, he seemed to see a massive black python coiling in front of him, its bloody maw wide open. The aura it exuded sent even the evil fragments buried deep within him into a frenzy.
He knew—one wrong answer, and he would be swallowed whole.
"D-Duke Kashchey!" he stammered, then steadied his voice. "Please, Your Grace, do not entertain groundless suspicions! The Emperor has not forgotten the contributions of every loyal subject to the Empire!"
Even under unbearable pressure, the Emperor's Blade stood firm.
Kashchey stared at him in silence, eyes like twin abyssal wells, as though trying to see straight through him—inside and out.
The guard stood his ground. Calm, composed. He didn't even reach for his weapon. He simply endured the Duke's gaze in silence.
"…I apologize. I was overthinking it," Kashchey said at last, tone softening. "I'm getting old, and my temper's not as well controlled as it used to be. Forgive me for putting you on the spot."
"Your Excellency works tirelessly for the Empire day and night," the Emperor's Blade replied. "It's only natural for stress to take its toll. There's no need to worry."
Taking the opportunity, Smirnov bowed respectfully, retreated a few steps, and took his leave—his departure tinged with unease.
' Strange. I didn't sense anything abnormal in his consciousness...'
Kashchey leaned back in his chair, falling into deep thought.
' Is it possible...
Could this Emperor's Blade transfer order be a fake?'
---
"Sir, do we really have to forge the transfer order for the Emperor's Blades? If someone finds out it's fake…"
"What's there to be afraid of?" the officer snapped, striking his talkative subordinate hard across the head.
He was clad in full uniform—medals glinting on his chest, authority etched into his features.
"I started as a frontline soldier! When the late emperor was recruiting troops, I was the first student to drop out of school and join the army!"
His eyes drifted toward the cabinet, where rows of medals stood on proud display.
"I don't give a damn who Kashchey is, or what the nobles are. To me, they're just cowardly losers. When I was fighting and bleeding on the front lines, what were those nobles doing in the rear? Eating, drinking, and wallowing in luxury!"
"But Lord Kashchey has been to the battlefield… and some nobles too," the subordinate muttered under his breath, trying to defend his point.
Bang! Another slap echoed through the room.
"You've grown wings, haven't you? Got the guts to talk back now?" The officer glared. "If you weren't my nephew, I'd shoot you where you stand!"
He was seething.
Truth be told, he'd had enough of this weak-willed nephew. The boy was too clever for his own good—smarter than most of the crude officers from their time. Always quoting books and arguing back like some high-brow intellectual.
' What a waste. Reading too many books made this kid stupid.'
Did the brat think he actually wanted to kill nobles?
No. What the officer hated most… was that he wasn't one of them.
He had risen from the bottom—just a regular foot soldier who had survived the bloodbath of the last war. The officers he served with had all died, and he had inherited their military credits. That was the only reason he became who he was.
Even now, though, he still ranked below those born into nobility.
' But if I start another war… if I seize my soldiers' merits and wear them like armor—
Even without a noble's name, I'll gain more power than any of them.'
After sending his nephew away, the officer unlocked a hidden safe and pulled out an old, yellowed parchment.
It was a rare find—something he had acquired by chance. Written upon it were ancient words:
[The Seven Principles of the Duke of Kashchey]
1. Do not express opinions or give advice unless asked by a short-lived person.
2. Try to avoid intervening in disputes among short-lived species.
3. When more than one-quarter of short-lived decision-makers support an action, do not interfere.
4. Do not make enemies easily.
5. Do not harm children.
6. Do not complain about matters unrelated to yourself.
7. Do not take what does not belong to you—unless it burdens someone else and they cry out for relief.
The officer studied the list carefully.
He had analyzed the Duke's past actions in detail—and they matched this doctrine perfectly.
' As long as I can drag enough people into the mud… Kashchey won't do anything.
He's bound by his own rules.
The officer smirked in satisfaction.
---
Meanwhile, Kashchey was having a nightmare.
He seldom dreamed.
Sleep was not a necessity for him. Even if his current vessel grew weary, he could simply switch to another and continue his activities without pause.
But every now and then, he allowed himself to rest—if only to ease the mental strain of enduring reality.
In the dream, the diary he had written during his younger, more immature days was discovered—and then spread across all of Terra.
Everyone he knew had read it.
"I didn't expect you to write a diary, Dad! Do you have any others? Let me see them!" Talulah beamed with excitement.
"I always assumed diaries were for short-lived people with poor memories," Dusk muttered, her face twisted with thinly veiled disgust. "But to think… my pen pal…"
"It's fine," the ever-gentle Hellagur consoled. "Writing a diary can be a healthy way to process your emotions. Nothing to be ashamed of…"
---
Kashchey wakes up with a start.
The fireplace in the cabin was still crackling softly, casting warm light across the room. On the worn table beside it, breakfast had already been set out.
He let out a breath of relief.
'Thank goodness… it was just a dream.'