Chapter 270: Choose your price..



The Emperor of the Empire, Leopold Luvenitia White Germonia Leven, was a man of unparalleled renown.

A ruler of boundless ambition and vision, he was hailed as the harbinger of a new era for the Empire, a figure whose leadership ushered in prosperity and strength.

To some, he was a symbol of unwavering justice and benevolence; to others, a ruthless despot who would stop at nothing to secure the Empire’s future.

His qualities seemed endless-a leader of extraordinary gifts, a protector of his people, a father of unmatched kindness, and yet a man whose path was fraught with the duality of divine blessing and hidden curse.

For all the grandeur and mystique that surrounded him, none of it mattered to Luther.

To Luther Heavens, Leopold was not the Emperor adorned in the trappings of power or cloaked in divine light. He was simply a friend-a brother in all but blood.

A man Luther had sworn to protect with every ounce of his strength, not because of his titles or his destiny, but because of the bond they shared.

That bond was why Luther understood better than anyone the importance of the Emperor’s weakness being kept hidden.

It wasn’t just a vulnerability; it was a secret so dire that Leopold himself had gone to unimaginable lengths to ensure it remained buried.

He had eliminated anyone who might exploit it, a grim necessity that weighed heavily on the Emperor’s soul.

“What do you mean by that, Father?”

Riley’s voice cut through the tense air, laced with cautious defiance. The question lingered as Luther observed the boy, his crimson eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

‘He’s not lying…’

Luther’s instincts told him the truth of Riley’s words, but instinct wasn’t always enough.

In a world rife with deception and illusion, certainty was a luxury he could never afford. The blade of aura that hovered near Riley’s throat began to fade, its sharp edges dissolving into nothingness as Luther dispelled the manifestation with a thought.

Letting out a deep sigh, he turned his gaze toward Riley, his expression unreadable.

“Forgive me, son,” Luther said, his voice steady but solemn. “Matters such as this demand directness, even when dealing with family.”

As much as Luther didn’t want to harm Riley, everything ultimately hinged on the truth behind the boy’s words.

Because right now, Riley was anything but ordinary. He was suspicious, a puzzle with pieces that didn’t quite fit, and that unsettled the ever-cautious Duke Heavens.

“It’s alright, Father. I understand your suspicion,” Riley said, his voice calm but laced with subtle determination.

Luther’s stern gaze softened slightly at Riley’s composed response.

The boy’s demeanor had always been an enigma to him, and this moment was no exception. He allowed himself a faint smile, though it carried with it a weight of unresolved doubt.

When Luther had first heard of the situation from the Shadow Knight-one of the most trusted operatives under the Emperor-he had struggled to believe it.

The claims seemed outlandish, almost laughable. And yet, the unwavering truth in the knight’s report had forced him to confront the matter head-on.

His eyes flickered with faint doubt as they lingered on Riley.

In all the time Luther had known his future son-in-law, he had always found him to be peculiar perhaps even a touch enigmatic.

Riley was undeniably intelligent, with a sharp mind and a respectful demeanor that earned him favor among those who met him.

Despite his physical weakness in the past, Luther had always seen a spark of potential in him, something buried deep beneath the surface.

But even with that potential, Riley had always seemed… insufficient.

Someone whose status, power, and influence paled in comparison to Liyana’s.

The stark disparity between them had always made Luther question their compatibility-not because Riley lacked merit, but because the gap in their standing was a chasm too vast to ignore.

And yet, here they were.

Despite everything, there was one irrefutable truth: Riley was the man his daughter had fallen in love with.

Liyana, his precious daughter, cared for him deeply.

That fact alone carried immense weight in Luther’s eyes.

He had spent his life protecting his family, and he wasn’t about to let anyone or anything jeopardize his daughter’s happiness.

Still, it was hard to shake the feeling that Riley was hiding something.

The sudden changes-the strength, the knowledge, the confidence-were too drastic to ignore.

And now, the trail Riley had left in his wake led directly to the Empire’s most sacred and dangerous secret.

Taking a small sip of the warm tea on the table, Luther let the soothing flavor wash over him.

For a fleeting moment, it calmed his mind, allowing him to push aside the cacophony of thoughts swirling in his head.

The reports he had received—the tales of Riley beating up an entire academic staff, defeating

a Shadow Knight, and even invoking the sacred Trails of Light-could all come later.

They were grandiose, yes, but they weren’t the heart of the matter.

No, there was a far more pressing question, one that demanded an answer.

“How did you know about the Emperor’s-no, how did you know Leo was cursed, son?” Luther’s voice was low and firm, each word weighted with suspicion and authority.

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“I just saw it in a dream,” Riley finally replied, breaking the tense silence.

“A dream?” Luther repeated, his brow furrowing.

“Yes… a very peculiar yet vivid dream. It felt real, like I was experiencing someone else’s life.”

Luther’s sharp eyes narrowed as he analyzed the young man before him. Riley’s tone was calm

and unshaken, his gaze steady.

But Luther was no ordinary man.

As a swordmaster whose senses had reached the absolute peak, and as a seasoned political figure accustomed to navigating a world of deception and intrigue, Luther had honed his ability to detect lies to near perfection.

In his line of work, seeing through falsehoods was a basic survival skill.

The subtlest shift in tone, a flicker of unease, or the faintest inconsistency in speech could

reveal a lie.

Even a master manipulator’s facade wouldn’t last long under Luther’s scrutiny.

And yet…

For all his expertise, Luther found himself at an impasse.

He couldn’t comprehend why Riley’s statement—a blatant absurdity about learning a deeply

guarded imperial secret from a dream-felt so unnervingly true.

….

What makes a good lie?

Is it a meticulously planned one, where every possible angle and consequence has been

accounted for?

A lie so well-concealed that no one, no matter how perceptive, could ever suspect it?

Or perhaps it’s a lie blended skillfully with just enough truth to blur the lines?

The answer was simple. It was all of them.

A good lie wasn’t merely a fabrication.

For a lie to truly succeed, it had to feel indistinguishable from the truth. It needed to weave

itself seamlessly into reality, becoming a factor at least, a version of it.

The trick wasn’t just to tell the lie convincingly.

It was to believe it yourself.

Only then could you carry it with the conviction necessary to deceive even the most

scrutinizing of eyes.

“You’ve been experiencing symptoms of Weaver’s Dream… since when?”

“Just around the time the incident at the academy happened,” I answered, keeping my tone

calm and steady.

“…I see.”

Fuck.

Does he believe me or not?

The Duke’s face was as impenetrable as stone, his expression unreadable.

Normally, he was an expressive man, someone whose emotions could be gauged with ease-

when he wasn’t wearing the mantle of his office.

But right now, sitting across from me as the Empire’s Sword, his crimson eyes sharp and

unyielding, he was a completely different person.

Trying to guess what he was thinking was like staring into a bottomless abyss.

Despite my outward composure, unease prickled at the back of my mind. I couldn’t afford a

single slip.

Although the structure of my explanation was fabricated, at its core, it was built on truths.

Explaining everything that happened through the excuse of Weaver’s Dream was the best alibi

I could muster at the moment.

After all, I couldn’t exactly tell him that I knew most of it thanks to a video game, could I?

Weaver’s Dream-a rare and mysterious affliction-was the perfect scapegoat.

It was obscure enough to explain my sudden awareness of deeply hidden imperial secrets, yet

plausible enough not to arouse immediate suspicion.

Most importantly, it provided a context that I could subtly manipulate without outright

contradicting established facts.

“I saw the emperor… struggling to take control of his curse before dying on his bed.”

The weight of my words settled into the room like a heavy fog.

“The Empire fell into ruin as a great calamity occurred.”

Each syllable cut through the silence, and the Duke’s crimson eyes sharpened, narrowing as he

absorbed the gravity of what I was saying.

“Princess Snow is a key figure in helping delay the inevitable.”

I paused, the memory fragments from the game rushing through my mind like disjointed

pieces of a puzzle.

“I saw you…” I hesitated, my voice dropping into a somber tone, “…ultimately giving up, Father. Abandoning everything.”

His gaze flickered, a subtle reaction, but one that didn’t escape my notice.

“In order to prevent it…” I pressed on, my voice steadier now, “…reaching the end of the Trail

is a must.” These weren’t just words strung together for persuasion; they were declarations of

inevitability, echoes of events that I knew would unfold from the game’s narrative. Fragmented scenarios of absolute facts-that’s what I laid before him.

For Luther, my words must have been both perplexing and plausible, a confusing mix of

cryptic foresight and undeniable urgency.

But with Weaver’s Dream as my shield, he couldn’t outright dismiss them.

He leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable, though I could see the weight of

contemplation in his eyes.

He wasn’t doubting me outright; the plausibility of my statements, paired with my conviction, made them hard to refute.

After a long silence, his voice came low and deliberate, cutting through the tension.

“Do you know how long Leo has?”

The question was serious, devoid of any hesitation.

“I don’t know the exact date,” I admitted, my tone reflecting both truth and frustration. “Everything felt fragmented, like pieces of a broken mirror… but it will happen soon.” The room fell silent again, the air thick with unspoken questions and looming uncertainty.

Well, I knew it wasn’t too far into the future, I thought grimly, but seeing how messy things have already become, how certain butterfly effects could override what I once knew… even I can’t be sure anymore.

There was a reason why the other Riley was rushing me, driving me forward despite the risks.

“You mentioned that the Trail of Light was the way to prevent the calamity from happening…

Is this true?”

“Yes,” I replied with a firm nod.

The Duke’s sharp eyes scrutinized me, searching for even the smallest crack in my response.

I couldn’t afford to falter-not now.

In truth, there were other ways to avert the calamities, paths tied to the game’s mechanics.

Upgrading the protagonist’s specs to the max level, acquiring ultimate-tier skills, or obtaining the legendary weapons scattered across the empire and the world even upgrading the heroines to their full potentials-all of these could lead to victory. However, in this specific event tied to Snow’s arc, the Trail of Light was the defining route.

I could tell from his expression that the Duke likely believed my warning centered on the

calamity that would unfold after the Emperor’s death.

He wasn’t entirely wrong.

In [Bad End No. 94: Emperor’s Demise]-a personal bad ending tied to Snow’s route-the

empire collapsed in the wake of the Emperor’s passing, and chaos ensued.

The tragedy of that timeline still haunted me. It was the only scenario in the game where

Snow could be lost, even with her love percentage maxed out at 100%.

The thought sent a chill down my spine.

“Not even I have the qualifications to enter the Trail,” the Duke said suddenly, his voice

somber.

“What?” I blurted out, caught completely off guard.

“Even Leo-the Emperor-tried once,” he continued, his gaze distant, as though recalling a painful memory. “He was qualified to enter, yes… but he ultimately failed. That failure cursed

him. While he achieved greatness within the Trail, the price he paid was severe.”

The weight of his words left me stunned.

The Duke doesn’t have the qualifications to enter the Trail of Light?

This revelation wasn’t in the game. Nowhere in the lore or narrative had this ever come up.

If what he was saying was true, it shattered a fundamental assumption.

The Duke was a legendary figure in the empire, his level and abilities far exceeding most.

By all accounts, he should have been able to conquer the Trial with ease.

And yet, he couldn’t even enter.

Why?

Does that mean the requirements in the game were nullified?

It was possible.

After all, level 150 was only the recommended level for entering the Trail of Light, not a strict

prerequisite.

Since there was no way to rush to this scenario so early in the game, most players probably

never had the opportunity to attempt the trial this fast.

This realization opened a floodgate of possibilities and uncertainties in my mind.

Before I could dwell further, the Duke’s voice brought me back.

“Are you certain you’ll take on the trial… son?”

His tone carried both concern and a hint of doubt, as if he was still gauging whether I truly

understood the enormity of what I was about to face.

“…Ye-“

I started to answer confidently, only to be cut off by an unexpected-and chaotic-

interruption.

GWACK!

“Ah!”

SMACK!

The heavy wooden door next to us suddenly buckled inward, splintering at the edges.

Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface as the magic barrier placed on it flickered and then

shattered with a faint hum.

“O-Ouch…”

A soft, quiet voice filtered through the commotion.

From behind the collapsed door, a young woman stumbled forward, struggling to regain her

balance.

Her hands pressed against the splintered frame as she slowly lifted herself upright.

Her wide, violet eyes met mine, and her face immediately flushed a deep shade of red.

“U-uhm, t-this is…” She stammered, her voice trembling. Her gaze darted between me and the Duke, as if caught in a crime she hadn’t meant to commit. “Princess-” The Duke’s words faltered as he stared at her in disbelief.

“I-I’m so sorry! Please forgive me! I didn’t mean to pry!!”

She straightened herself immediately, bowing so deeply that her silvery hair spilled over her

shoulders like a curtain.

Her obvious nervousness and desperation to explain herself only made the situation more

surreal.

I blinked, trying to process what just happened. This girl…

She was Princess Sophiel White Germonia Leven.

Snow’s half-sister.

And the villainess of her route, known infamously as “the Fool Princess.”

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