Silence reigned.
Sitting on the floor, Caelum Noctar—no, Aureluis VI—breathed slowly. His back was hunched, his breath trembling… he looked on the verge of collapse.
And yet, a cold glint burned in his eyes.
He closed his eyelids, inhaled deeply, then said:
— Let's… try to recap.
His voice, hoarse and foreign, betrayed his confusion. He reached for a glass, his fingers shaking. He observed them, clenched his fist.
— This body isn't mine. Neither is this voice. Even this room…
He stood up, joints aching.
— Everything I built… gone. And now I'm here. The Conquering Absolute Empire... what a grotesque name.
His eyes grew moist.
<
He walked toward a window. The view: ruins, dust, despair. A collapsed tower, disorderly soldiers.
His gaze hardened.
— There's a lot to do… damn it.
He turned, staring at the room where he had "landed."
— What kind of trash kingdom is this…? A rat would die of moral poverty before it even starved.
He smirked.
<
A phrase flitted through his mind.
<>
<
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A smirk crept in.
<
If Caelum Noctar became a grand strategist, it was thanks to a method he called The Sovereign's Method.
CLAC. CLAC. CLAC.
He snapped his fingers.
The Sovereign's Method:
1. Identify the world
2. Assess your forces
3. Act to seize control
---
1. Identify the world
It wasn't his. He'd realized it immediately—architecture, language, names. He was inside The Conquering Absolute Empire, a novel he'd once read.
A world of thirteen empires, heraldic magic, and corrupt guilds.
— Trapped in fiction. But… I know the strings that pull it.
---
2. Assess your forces
Weak body. Hollow imperial status. Hostile court. Ruined territory.
But he had his mind. And the knowledge of the plot.
— Caelum Noctar never needed a strong body to win.
---
3. Act to seize control
Not today. But soon.
— My captors are expecting me...
He dressed slowly, drank a strengthening potion, ate. His energy returned bit by bit.
He walked toward the grand doors, resolute.
— A thousand days… haha.
<
Two beautiful women stood on either side outside, holding small trays.
— Good morning, Your Majesty... the Emperor.
Their voices were perfectly synchronized, hyper-respectful—even Serila had never welcomed him like that. In their eyes: worry… and pity.
<
— Are you feeling well, my lord? You may return to bed if needed.
— Indeed, Your Majesty… but if not, shall I carry you to the throne room, where the council awaits? she said with an exhausted tone.
— That won't be necessary today.
— Of course, Your Majes—excuse me, what?
— I said, that won't be necessary today.
He walked down an imperial hallway: black marble, ancient frescoes, stained glass, dragon-shaped chandeliers.
<
Servants prostrated themselves, avoiding eye contact. He walked with regal poise.
— Well-trained dogs… but not loyal.
A servant stood frozen. He passed silently.
— How's he walking today? whispered another.
It took five minutes to reach the corridor leading to the throne room. But three meters away, a breathtaking silhouette stood, the kind that stole any breath—man or woman.
A tall, elegant figure. Hair that shimmered like symphonic light under the sun. Pale pink.
Only one person in the Conquering Empire had those traits—Soraya. She was, in principle, the most loyal and the only one who ever dared speak plainly to that idiot.
Caelum Noctar—or rather Aureluis VI—unknowingly smirked.
He approached with poise.
— I extend my greetings to His Majesty Emperor Aureluis VI.
<
— Good morning, Soraya. How are you?
— I am well, Your Majesty. Thank you for asking.
<
— Your Majesty, it's surprising to see you walk like this. It's stirred the palace quite a bit.
— Indeed… the servants needed to witness the true gait of their beloved emperor.
— If you say so.
— Soraya, I have a mission for you.
— For me, Your Majesty? she asked, lifting an eyebrow.
— Yes… I want you to find someone in the western province. Specifically in Valcome.
— You mean the trading city?
— Yes… my regular client.
Her eyes filled with fear and anger.
— How do you…?
— Are you planning to disobey?
— No, Your Majesty. But I'm just a servant… you should hire a detective.
— Even a servant has legs.
She clenched her fists, understanding his true meaning.
She opened the throne room doors.
Voices echoed inside.
— I bet he's being carried in again by a servant. Haha…
The massive doors groaned open as if they hadn't moved in years. A cold breeze swept through, lifting dust from columns and frayed carpets.
He stepped inside.
Silence fell like an axe.
The hall was immense, longer than a battlefield, held by carved stone pillars. Faded flags hung from the ceiling, once proud, now half-torn. The air was thick, musty. A blend of old wood, forgotten incense… and rot.
Nobles stood or sat to the sides, draped in worn brocades, armed with wary or smug gazes.
But all stood straight as he entered.
All eyes on him.
He walked slowly, upright, calm, his gaze icy—as if death itself had returned to rule.
Each step echoed, announcing the rise of a new master.
At the far end: the throne.
Not gold, not crystal.
A seat of solid black stone, weathered by time… yet still standing.
Like him.
He stopped.
— So this is where decisions for this rotten kingdom are made…
His gaze swept the hall.
Nobles lowered their eyes, one by one.
He sat. Silence.
Then, with calm, razor-edged authority:
— Begin. Show me what you call a "council."
Murmurs flickered among the nobles.
— Since when did this idiot gain confidence… and such an aura? whispered one.
— And why isn't he being carried? Is he cured? No… impossible.
— You waiting for me to give you permission to sit? he said, gesturing down with his hand.
— Sit down. Why was this meeting called?
There were five nobles.
One stood out: Duke Varnen—reputable, according to the body's memories.
He stepped forward, bowed slightly, and raised a hand in greeting.
— I offer my respects to His Majesty… and request permission to speak on behalf of the council.
Caelum Noctar—Aureluis VI—rested his head on his right hand, legs crossed.
— Permission granted.
— Thank you, Your Majesty. The matter at hand is the dreadful state of our economy and armament. Your Majesty… you seem to observe the situation with great distance… perhaps too much distance.
— Unless, of course, you're showcasing a… unique form of incompetence, he added with a smug smile.
Caelum—Aureluis—smirked without realizing.
<
Feigning ignorance:
— Then tell me, what's your solution?
— Naturally, unlike some, we care about the empire. But we require 40 billion zhons to revive the economy and attract capable knights.
Gasps and murmurs spread. One word dominated: 40 billion zhons—equivalent to perhaps 100 million in his old world.
— Did you say forty billion?
— Yes, Your Majesty.
— And to make things easier for our ailing emperor, I've found a long-term solution, he added with a sly grin.
— We're listening.
— Excellent. Your Majesty, esteemed council… is it not obvious that the solution lies outside? We possess thinking, mobile "vaults" capable of generating that sum.
A short, red-faced man in glittering clothes stood.
— How dare you refer to the people as walking vaults? he sneered.
<
Greed radiated from their faces—but he had prepared for this charade.
— Hahaha… I see. Interesting. he said, laughing heartily.
Murmurs again.
— He's gone mad…
— We're finally getting rid of him.
— May we ask what amuses His Majesty?
— I understand what you meant, Duke Varnen. You propose large-scale taxation.
— Grr… Yes. Of course, Your Majesty. We all want what's best for the empire.
— Perfect. That's what I wanted to hear.
<
— Esteemed council members, what the duke proposes is sound. He claims that all my subjects want what's best for this empire…
— Hahaha… he swallowed it whole. he thought.
— So, taxation it shall be—and the nobles will, of course, lead by example.
Applause echoed from the emperor.
Discontent followed.
— He just got played like a rookie, whispered a woman with a crooked grin.
All eyes turned toward Varnen with scorn.
— Your Majesty, I believe there's been a misunderst—
— Silence in the hall, he roared, his voice resonating like thunder.
— The nobles will lead. The people are in a dire state. Even with taxes, we won't cover all costs—it would take thousands of years to gather that sum.
— This brat… since when can he think? Now they all hate me. thought Varnen.
— But Your Majesty… what's your solution then? In case of failure, I had another offer—marry my niece, chief of Raïka, famed for its precious stones. What say you?
— Haha, trapped now, boy. Refuse, and you'll seem unwilling to sacrifice for the empire. Brilliant. he thought.
— Hmm… that offer is tempting.
— Knew it…
— But I refuse.
— What?! Your Majesty, it's practically our only chance!
— A chance, yes—but not the only one. Give me five days. I'll bring you the 40 billion you need.
— Impossible! thought Varnen and the council.
— May we ask… how?
— Simple. I'm sure Duke Varnen already knows.
— Ahem… Yes, of course, Your Majesty. But it's the others I worry for.
— Very well. It's simple: we're going into debt.
— Wait—what?!
Murmurs exploded.
Caelum Noctar—Aureluis VI—struggled not to laugh at the fools before him.