PART I: The Confession of Madness
In those turbid, sickly eyes, a chilling light of excitement, unique to a pathological sadist, now flickered! Disgust, mingled with a frigid, profound "understanding," sank like a lead weight into Dipper Aureus's stomach, leaving him profoundly cold.
He was now utterly certain: his father, Emperor Dipper Huang's mind, had long since derailed from the path of sanity, galloping wildly across a barren plain built of evil, suspicion, and madness—and enjoying every moment of it!
Dipper Huang struggled, using his emaciated, breakable arms to feebly prop up his dessicated, wood-like upper body. He began to babble, boasting in a tone of arrogant showmanship about how he extended this cruel testing to the entire court, how he designed traps, how he savored the ugly breakdown of those who "failed the test" in their terror, and—most sickeningly—his smug, grand blueprint for the mass execution of officials deemed "not loyal enough" or "foolish enough to be caught."
That foul, twisted plan, which treated human life as a mere plaything, spewed forth from his shriveled mouth. Every syllable seemed to contaminate the air.
"Father, you are truly..."
Dipper Aureus's voice again trembled uncontrollably. But this time, the tremor contained not just fear or anger, but a profound, desperate resolve, like the gathering power of a volcanic eruption—a determination to burn all bridges after being driven to the absolute edge!
After endless torment, suspicion, and psychological abuse; after witnessing the tragic ends of his Eldest and Second Brothers; after confirming that the man before him was completely mad and beyond redemption—a single thought, like molten lava stewing deep beneath the earth, surged with scorching, furious, destructive force. It instantly breached all restraints of filial piety, morality, and loyalty that had bound him!
He slowly, deliberately, extended his hand. That hand, which moments ago had tightly gripped a sword hilt and cut down enemies on the battlefield, now reached across his father's withered, hideous body, reeking of sickness and medicine. It closed firmly around the large, soft, comfortable down pillow at the head of the bed.
Ailing, feeble, and utterly lost in his own sick fantasy, the Emperor was pathetically vulnerable before the sudden, overwhelming force of his own son, offering no resistance whatsoever.
When the soft but lethal pillow was slammed over his mouth and nose, he couldn't even let out a recognizable cry for help. Only a few muffled, bestial, and futile gasps—the crude wheezing of a trapped, throttled creature—leaked from beneath the pillow.
Dipper Aureus was momentarily surprised by his father's sheer physical weakness—a stark, ironic contrast to his spiritual tyranny. But the surprise was instantly replaced by a cold, almost cruel resolve.
"You should have died long ago, Father."
He whispered, as if not addressing the man before him, but pronouncing a final judgment upon the dark destiny that had shackled him for over twenty years. The muscles in his arm swelled, his veins bulged. He threw his entire strength into the act, pressing that soft "instrument of execution" down harder, deeper, onto the face that had once inspired such fear.
"A man like you... who wantonly plays with human hearts, treating kinship and loyalty as cheap games... A man like you, who trusts no one, turning all men into pawns and playthings in your hand... A man like you, simply does not deserve to wear this crown!"
"Your existence was a curse to this Empire, to your sons, and to all who were forced to live under your shadow!"
"For the sake of everyone... you must die!"
PART II: The Frozen Confession
The muffled groans of his father's death throes, the small, desperate tremors of his body, passed through the thick, sound-dampening pillow and stubbornly registered on Dipper Aureus's hand and arm. That dying, feeble vibration was like countless icy needles stabbing into the deepest core of his heart.
A sudden, overwhelming wave of terror seized him—Patricide!
Though he had a thousand reasons to convince himself this was just, necessary, and even an act of eliminating a public menace, the ultimate taboo, rooted in his bloodline and branded on his soul, now let out a piercing shriek! The immense panic of violating natural order surged violently from his chest, clamping his throat tight. The strength in his arms, enough to shatter stone tablets, involuntarily slackened for a fraction of a second.
But!
It had gone too far! There was absolutely no turning back!
If he let go now... if he allowed this demon, who was just moments ago boasting of his cruel schemes, to draw even a single breath... what would await him?
A retribution one hundred, one thousand times more insane! Torment worse than death! Total annihilation! Not just for himself, but potentially for everyone who had ever been associated with him!
No! Absolutely not!
The last shred of hesitation born of human morality was utterly crushed and frozen by this brutal reality! He violently clenched his jaw, again exploding with force. His arms, like red-hot iron tongs, poured his entire body weight, his entire resolve, all his hatred and fear, utterly and completely into the soft square of the pillow.
Pressing down...
Pressing down rigidly...
Pressing down even harder...
Until all sound, all struggle, all signs of life beneath the pillow completely ceased, finally devolving into an eternal, suffocating silence.
The heavy red oak door slowly creaked open again in the midst of the oppressive silence.
The figure of Han Aureus Duke Dipper Aureus reappeared before the breath-holding, calculating ministers.
The young commander, famed throughout the Empire for his valor in battle and his composure in crisis, now looked ashen, as if he had just survived a long, debilitating illness. His lips were utterly bloodless, and his eyes were hollow, as though his soul had been forcibly extracted. His silver armor, still stained with road grime and sweat, did not emphasize his heroism, but instead made him appear utterly crushed by some invisible, unbearable burden. Even his posture, usually straight as a pine, seemed slightly stooped.
Noblemen, noblewomen, high court officials, personal attendants... a "human wall" composed of luxurious clothing, glittering jewels, and countless pairs of scrutinizing, conjecturing, or falsely sympathetic eyes, silently surrounded him.
After a brief, uneasy silence, someone finally, cautiously, broke the frozen air, asking in a tone designed to sound respectful and mournful:
"Your Highness Han... has the farewell ritual... with the Late Emperor... been completed?"
Dipper Aureus's gaze slowly focused, as if he had just escaped a distant, terrifying nightmare. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he gave a stiff nod.
To most onlookers, his demeanor perfectly confirmed "deep filial love and overwhelming grief"—a safe and logical explanation that caused them to secretly breathe a sigh of relief. Consequently, words of false, yet intensely "sincere" and "heartfelt" comfort—"Your Highness must temper your sorrow," "His Majesty has ascended to the Dragon Chariot, a great misfortune for the Empire, which we share," "Please take care of your health, the Empire still needs your command"—rained down like a sudden, well-timed summer shower.
Following court protocol, several of the most senior and highest-ranking ministers were then permitted to enter the bedchamber to pay their respects to the "Late Emperor's remains" and prepare for the subsequent funeral arrangements.
PART III: The Confrontation in the Shadows
Amidst this atmosphere of genuine or feigned sorrow, one person stood notably apart.
He did not rush forward to offer cheap condolences, nor did he hasten to exchange glances or information with the other power brokers. He simply leaned quietly, almost invisibly, against the wall in the shadows, his eyes, sharp as a hawk's, calmly and dispassionately observing the human drama unfolding before him.
This was Mont Mentiel, the twenty-six-year-old Raven Lord, one of the six Elector Dukes with the power to select the Emperor.
He had soft, black-brown hair, deep black eyes, and a medium-to-slender build. His features were so delicate they bordered on fragility, seemingly incongruous with the iron-blooded, intrigue-ridden Imperial high society. No one who first saw him would easily associate him with weighty words like "power," "authority," or "ambition."
But should anyone peel back that highly deceptive, gentle, and harmless exterior, they would be shocked to discover a mind of formidable resilience and icy intellect, and an ambition as fathomless as the abyss, surging beneath that seemingly delicate frame.
Few were capable of truly seeing this.
Dipper Aureus, fresh from the storm of regicide, happened to be one of those few—they were not only peers but former classmates in the Royal Academy, who had lived, competed, and understood each other intimately.
The young Raven Lord now unobtrusively separated himself from the torrent of false grief. A sharp, barely perceptible glint, like the edge of a blade, flashed across his habitually placid, seemingly harmless face.
His gaze, seemingly casual as it swept the hall, paused deliberately, and with great precision, on the object lying casually discarded at the foot of the massive bed just inside the open chamber door: a highly conspicuous down pillow.
Something is wrong...
Mont Mentiel's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
He strolled slowly and naturally toward the chamber, pretending only to get closer to the open door. As he passed the pillow, he bent down, feigning to adjust the hem of his robe. In the same motion of rising, his fingertips subtly brushed the surface of the pillowcase.
His action was swift and utterly discreet.
But his eyes, like those of a master hunter, captured the tiny, yet fatal, evidence—
On the surface of the expensive, gold-embroidered silk pillowcase, there remained several almost imperceptible, slightly darker damp spots... were those... traces of saliva?
And in the folds near the pillow's edge, there seemed to be... a faint... trace of... a tooth mark?!
Could it be...
Mont Mentiel breathed in sharply, his inner voice pausing for a beat. A conclusion, shocking yet the only rational explanation, flashed through his composed mind like lightning!
He slowly lifted his eyes, his gaze sweeping again over the men and women busy performing grief or engaged in subtle probing—these ornate, vulgar people, layered in wealth, status, and power.
Just then!
Another gaze, like a tangible, razor-sharp sword, tore through the air and stabbed violently toward him!
It collided with Mont Mentiel's cold, scrutinizing gaze with a silent crash!
It was Dipper Aureus!
In the instant their eyes met, the air seemed to solidify and burn! Their gazes, like two invisible, venom-tipped snakes, instantly coiled, wrestled, and fought a fierce duel! The silent confrontation reached its peak!
Yet, after only a fraction of a second, the first to look away was Dipper Aureus—
This was not due to an inner retreat or submission, but an external interruption: the Court Scribe had approached him, bowing low, and was respectfully consulting him in a hushed voice about the tedious procedures for officially announcing the Emperor's death to the foreign envoys stationed in the capital.
Dipper Aureus took a deep breath, suppressing the turmoil in his heart, and nodded. He took a heavy step, yet imbued with a certain forced, unquestionable willpower, across the mirror-smooth marble floor that reflected his pale face, walking toward the depths of the hall. His silhouette finally disappeared behind the thick oak door that seemed capable of isolating all secrets.
Mont Mentiel's sharp gaze, like that of a falcon locking onto its prey, followed Dipper Aureus's figure until the door shut, cutting off his view.
In the young Raven Lord's beautiful blue-gray eyes, two bright, almost untamed flames instantly ignited and danced! But after only a breath, he swiftly lowered his eyelids, allowing a mask of neutral, harmless amiability to settle back upon his face, meticulously concealing all the inner turmoil and raging fire within.
But deep inside, he was absolutely certain.
As expected... Dipper Aureus committed regicide.
There was no direct evidence, not even circumstantial evidence. But he trusted his observations, his instincts, and his deep understanding of the twisted relationship between Dipper Aureus and the old Emperor.
"The ice has shattered..."
He thought silently, feeling something long suppressed awakening and expanding within his chest.
"Once shattered, it can never be restored to its original state..."
The colossal dragon named Ambition, which had been dormant in the deepest part of his heart, now sensed a blood-soaked, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It slowly, excitedly raised its hideous head and opened its long-coveted maw.
Its target was the entire, soon-to-be-volatile Divine Frostbreath Empire, and the vacant seat of supreme power—The Imperial Throne!
The young nobleman, harboring this latent giant dragon, silently observed the chaos about to be unleashed before his eyes, then asked himself in a low voice only he could hear, laced with cold excitement:
"Then, what shall be my next move?"
END OF 1-4