The air within the royal court is frozen, suspended between the Princess's desperate confession and the executioner's raised weapon. Mikhail, however, has long passed the point of hesitation. The mace, heavy and unforgiving, is the ultimate tool for delivering absolute finality. With the trained, immense strength of his warrior body, he brings the weapon down in a terrifying, sickening arc.
The blow lands with a dull, wet, bone-shattering thwack. Before Princess Meilin can utter another plea, before the gasp fully leaves the Queen's throat, the air is suddenly ruptured by the sight and sensation of blood and pulverized flesh. The crimson spray erupts outward from the point of impact, an unholy mist that splashes across Princess Meilin's tear-streaked face and the pristine marble floor. She looks down, her gaze tracking the immediate collapse of the man beside her. Ren Takahito, the man she loved, is now reduced to a motionless, unrecognizable corpse, half of his skull violently absent, his body crumpling instantly beside her knees.
The shock is total and physical. Meilin's desperate plea curdles into a soundless, horrified retch. She topples backward, falling directly onto the warm, sticky body of the slain Hero. Her initial despair transforms into a torrent of primal grief—she begins to scream, her cries echoing off the high ceilings, an uncontrolled, raw sound of pain, loss, and terror.
The entire court is paralyzed. The ministers, the nobles, even the Eldrath Palace Guard, despite being armed and present, stand rigid, their expressions masks of utter disbelief and fear. Moving now means challenging the Crown Prince, an act of war against the Great Empire itself, a force far superior to their own. The threat of annihilation hangs palpable in the air.
Mikhail raises the heavy mace again, not for another strike but to point it slowly, deliberately, around the stunned room, his voice ringing with cold fury. "All of you," he spits, his eyes blazing with an unholy mix of calculated rage and genuine power. "You think of the Empire as a joke, don't you? You believe you can plot behind our backs, compromise our heir, and steal our alliance with impunity? I could kill every last one of you for what you tried to do to me! You wanted me to marry a pathetic bitch like her? To accept a commoner's leftovers?"
He pauses, letting the fear build, and then turns his deadly focus toward the throne.
"Queen Yuehua, are you ready to suffer for trying to humiliate the Empire, me, and the Emperor? Now she," he gestures dismissively toward the sobbing Princess, "shall also receive the wrath of the Empire."
The Queen, who'd been reeling from the shock, finally finds a desperate, terrifying strength. With tears streaming down her face, she climbs down from her throne, her royal dignity utterly forgotten. She walks past the body of Ren and the hysterical figure of her daughter, right up to Mikhail. Without hesitation, she drops to her knees beside her child, bowing until her forehead presses against the polished leather of Mikhail's imperial boot.
"Honored Crown Prince of the Great Empire," her voice is a ragged whisper of agony. "I beg for your forgiveness. Just this once, please, spare her. I beg for your divine mercy." She's begging, the sovereign ruler of an entire kingdom reduced to a supplicant groveling at his feet.
Mikhail looks down upon the two kneeling women, one hysterical with grief, the other broken by politics. He feels the intense, dark urge to complete the job, to end the Princess's pitiful existence, but his pragmatic mind intervenes instantly. By doing that, I'll lose the upper hand. A dead princess is a martyr; a humiliated, captive princess is a powerful political tool and hostage.
As he's making this strategic decision, his eye darts to the immovable shadow beside the throne—Miyako. Her head still cast down, but he doesn't need his skill to know her intent; he sees the faint, tell-tale twitch of her fingers on the sword hilt. She'll definitely take action if I try to kill any of them. Hehe. A terrifying prospect. He's successfully avoided the plot-armored Hero, but now is certainly not the time to engage in a duel with the woman destined to be one of the game's greatest warriors.
Fine. The decision is made. He needs a hostage, not a martyr. He lowers the heavy mace and hands the blood-soaked weapon back to a stone-faced Hilowat. "I'm not going to kill her," Mikhail announces, his voice carrying the authority of one who's just granted a monumental favor. "But I have a condition."
Queen Yuehua immediately raises her head, relief flooding her expression despite the surrounding carnage. "Yes, anything, my lord. We will pay any price."
Mikhail smiles internally, the ultimate predator about to claim his trophy. Let's collect the rewards then.