Within the royal castle, inside the king’s court, sat
King Aurelius V. Aetheria
upon the throne.
Resting beside him was an artifact sword sheathed in its scabbard engraved with the ancient crest of House Aetheria. Passed down through countless generations, the blade was a symbol of royal bloodline and sovereign strength.
He appears to be in his middle-ages, his features calm, his posture composed, carrying the unmistakable dignity of a king—yet he feels like a friendly neighborhood uncle.
Dark circles hung beneath his eyes as signs of exhaustion. He looked tired—yet beneath that weariness lay a quiet, passive strength, steady and unyielding.
He wore a deep purple robe, simple in design yet unmistakably regal, perfectly suited to his restrained demeanor.
In this magical world, appearances were deceiving. A person’s true age often far exceeded what their body revealed, and the king is no exception.
Standing just beside the throne was the
Royal Steward
, a man seemingly in his early thirties. Compared to the king, he looked youthful, yet his sharp eyes and rigid posture spoke of experience gained through years of service within the court.
The royal court itself was a vast hall of stone and marble, its high ceiling supported by towering pillars carved with ancient runes. Seats were arranged strictly according to rank: the dukes sat closest to the throne, followed by marquesses and earls. Counts, viscounts, and barons were afforded no such privilege—they were expected to stand along the sides of the hall, their status deemed unworthy of a seat in the king’s presence.
Aurelius surveyed the court, despite the court session having already begun, he found many seats remained conspicuously empty.
Despite being in the presence of the king, numerous nobles lazily lounged in their chairs with slouched bodies and indifferent expressions, murmuring and whispering among themselves without restraint. It makes one wonder if this is a royal court or a fish market.
Only a small group of the king's loyal retainers and a few steadfast ministers remained proper and attentive. They sat upright, eyes forward, faces grim. Even they could not hide their displeasure as they observed the disgrace unfolding before them.
Aurelius however, remained calm, slowly turned his gaze toward his Royal Steward as if asking for an explanation.
The steward bent slightly and leaned closer, lowering his voice, he whispered, “My lord, many of the nobles are absent. Others have only sent representatives in their stead.”
The king nodded in quiet understanding. “Just like always, just a bit more empty, I suppose.”
The steward smiled bitterly before he straightened and returned to his posture beside the throne.
Once again, the king’s gaze swept across the court.
“Where is the representative of Duke Silas?” he asked.
A ripple of murmurs spread through the hall as nobles glanced at one another, confused, searching the crowd but no one answered.
As if waiting for this moment, a large, burly man strode inside, his broad frame wrapped in expensive silks that struggled to contain his bulk. His face was round and fleshy, his neck thick—more resembling a muscular pig.
His two subordinates followed closely behind him as he walked briskly toward the throne.
“Ah—sorry, sorry!” the man laughed loudly, scratching the back of his head. “Please forgive me, Your Majesty, for being late.”
Silent snickers echoed through the hall.
Aurelius smiled—just slightly.
“Oh? If it isn’t Duke Silas,” the king said mildly. “Aren’t you usually far too busy to attend court yourself, preferring to send a representative instead? What special occasion brings the duke here in person today?”
“Hahaha!” Duke Silas laughed again, unfazed. “My lord, I must show my face at court from time to time no matter how busy I am”
Without waiting for the king’s permission, he turned and strode to his seat. He dropped into it heavily, crossing his arms as his two subordinates positioned themselves behind him.
In the royal court, it is usually the king who arrives last. Lower-ranking nobles were expected to arrive early, waiting patiently as a sign of respect and acknowledgment of their place beneath the throne.
Yet Duke Silas had arrived late.
Late enough to be noticed.
Late enough to be insulting.
Wantingly undermining the king's prestige
Whether it was intentional or not is hardly worth discussing—in this court, it made no difference either way.
His disrespectful behaviour caused soft snickers to ripple through the hall. Some nobles smirked openly. The king’s loyal subjects frowned, their displeasure plain, while the steward’s expression darkened.
Yet the king remained unfazed. There is no anger or helplessness. Just calm.
His expression remained warm as he spoke once more.
“Shall we begin the court, then?” the king said evenly. “What is the first issue on today’s agenda?”
At his words, the
Grand Chancellor
, the kingdom’s chief advisor and highest-ranking minister, rose from his seat to speak.
“The appointment of a new lord for
House Vaelxen,
as the current lord has formally declared his intent to retire and requests that his son inherit his title and responsibilities.”
The king nodded slowly, “House Vaelxen has long been virtuous. They have defended the kingdom on numerous occasions and are renowned for their valor. I trust that the new heir will continue to uphold the virtues forged by his ancestors.”
His gaze shifted slightly, thoughtful.
“Make preparations for the anointment ceremony. Also, inform the temple of their house, to prepare the contract.”
A brief pause followed.
“After assuming the title, send him to
Thornhold
. Let him gain experience first.”
The court remained silent, while fear flashed in many of the nobles' faces.
No objections were raised.
Seeing this, the Grand Chancellor inclined his head respectfully. “As you command, my lord.”
“Next,” the Grand Chancellor continued, “is the matter concerning the magic academies.”
He paused briefly before going on.
“The academy was established under the principle of
equality by law
—a place where all students stand equal regardless of birth or title.
“It has only been a few decades since the count of commoners who started to attend has increased. But this law applies to all including the commoners.”
A subtle shift ran through the court.
“However, we have received repeated reports of noble students abusing their status—causing disturbances, harassment, and other troubles within the academies.”
Before the king could respond, a voice cut through the hall.
“Sir Chancellor,” Duke Silas interjected lazily, waving a hand, “what you’re describing sounds greatly exaggerated. These are merely children’s squabbles. There’s no need for the crown to interfere.”
A few nobles nodded along.
“Besides,” the duke continued with a crooked smile, “we are allowing
mere commoners
to study in the same halls as our noble children. It’s only natural that they struggle to adapt.”
He shrugged exaggeratedly.
“I’m sure they’ll learn their place—and get along soon enough.”
Then, with a feigned look of curiosity, he added, “To begin with, have any commoner students come forward in person to lodge a complaint?”
Silence filled the court.
No one answered.
Inwardly, many nobles snickered.’
Of course not. How can there be any?
‘Everyone knows what happens when a commoner dares to accuse a noble.’
Duke Silas spread his hands. “No, right? Then it can’t be anything serious.”
As if he is the king, he leaned back comfortably in his seat, “Let’s leave it at that and move on to the next issue.”
The Grand Chancellor clenched his jaw but said nothing. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the king, who gave a slight nod gesturing to him to continue.
“The third agenda,” the Grand Chancellor continued, steadying his voice, “concerns the recruitment of officials and military officers based on
talent and ability
rather than nobility. Under this proposal, commoners should also be permitted to participate.”
“Hahaha!”
Duke Silas burst into laughter, loud and unrestrained.
“Sir Chancellor, surely you jest,” he said, shaking his head. “How can we possibly grant official positions to commoners?”
His smile widened, thick with disdain.
“They are low-born and largely illiterate. How could such people manage matters of governance or command?”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the hall.
“Official positions have
always
belonged to the nobility,” the duke continued. “They are passed down through families who have ruled for generations. What could those lowly people possibly contribute?”
The Grand Chancellor did not raise his voice.
“That is precisely why proper examinations should be established,” he replied calmly.
“To verify talent. Those who demonstrate ability will be assigned roles suited to their skills.”
Silas scoffed.
“Again with the wasted effort and money,” he said dismissively. “People learn from their parents. What you are proposing is nothing but a waste of time. Let’s go to the next.”
He waved his hand.
The Grand Chancellor exhaled slowly, the weight of frustration visible in his eyes. Still, he pressed on.
“The fourth agenda,” he said, voice quieter now, “concerns the military—”
“The current command positions are largely inherited. This has led to severe losses—avoidable losses—because talentless individuals are placed in positions of authority.”
A murmur stirred.
“We must rank soldiers through a
merit-based system
,” he said firmly.
“We need true talent to lead our armies. Among commoners as well, there exist individuals capable of command.”
“Sir Chancellor,” Duke Silas interrupted once again, amusement dripping from his voice, “what are you talking about?”
He leaned forward slightly.
“All those so-called sacrifices occurred because of the soldiers' reckless actions—failing to follow orders. The fault lies with them, not their commanders.”
A few nobles chuckled.
“And even if losses occur, they are inevitable. How can one become a great general without experiencing loss and sacrifice?”
He spread his hands.
“Besides, even if we
did
promote commoners, what do they know of military strategy? Of logistics? Of command? Those ‘talented’ individuals you speak of are just lucky, succeeding once or twice due to chance.”
“That is precisely why,” the Grand Chancellor replied without backing down, “we must teach military arts and governance at the academy.”
Silas laughed softly.
“As I have already stated, this is a waste of time and effort. They cannot learn such things.”
“How can you be certain without even trying?” the Chancellor pressed.
Silas’s smile vanished.
“Because they are commoners,” he said coldly. “They are not like us. We are born with noble blood—
fit
to rule.”
“Don’t forget duke Silas, ancestors of Aetheria’s noble houses were once commoners too.”
“Yes, Sir chancellor. They were. But not just any commoners. They were blessed by Gods with artifacts and talent in magic.”
He leaned back.
“There is no argument here. Please go to the next one.”
At his words, the majority of the court nodded in agreement. Some voiced their assent openly.
“Yes, what Duke Silas states is true.”
“We concur with Duke Silas.”
The Grand Chancellor clenched his fists, then slowly relaxed them.
Unable to push further, he continued gritting his teeth.
“We must also reduce the tax burden on the people. Noble houses should bear a share of the collection.”
This time, the court stirred sharply.
“How can that be allowed?” Duke Silas shot back immediately, leading the argument. “If taxes are reduced, how can the noble houses function and maintain their territories? The treasury will be drained. Such a proposal is reckless.”
….
….
The Chancellor continued with his list of agendas, his voice growing hoarse, “certain businesses and drugs causing harm to the kingdom must be banned.”
“It’s mere entertainment,” Silas replied dismissively. “If it were truly harmful, the people would stop it on their own.”
…..
….
In this manner, it continued.
Issue after issue was raised—each one rejected. Twisted. Dismissed.
Duke Silas offered excuse after excuse of illogical and nonsensical explanations, arguments riddled with arrogance and convenience, yet never challenged. The rest of the court watched the spectacle with thin smiles and quiet snickers, supporting the duke.
Those few who still cared could only frown, jaws tight with frustration.
Throughout it all, the king remained silent.
His expression never changed.
Then—at one point—the king interjected.
“There is one agenda that I would like to raise.”
The king’s voice made the court fall silent at once.
Many nobles straightened at once, expressions turning solemn and alert. Very few remained slouched in their seats, faces unreadable, eyes dull with indifference.
Copyright © [January] [2026] [The Rainy Imp]. All rights reserved.
“In one of our territories,” Aurelius said evenly, “the daughter of a count was publicly assaulted and humiliated by a noble’s son after she rejected his demand to become his concubine.”
A stir passed through the hall.
“There were numerous eyewitnesses,” the king continued. “The girl’s parents have come forward to lodge a formal complaint.”
His gaze was steady.
“The evidence is clear. Such behavior is unacceptable—and a violation of the law.”
A brief pause.
“What do you all believe should be done? What punishment should be passed?” the king asked.
The hall erupted into whispers.
‘It’s only a count, what's the fuss?’,
one voice muttered.
‘
If the boy dared to act so openly,
he must be the son of a high noble—at least a marquess.’
another replied.
‘
If that’s the case, then forget a mere count’s daughter
,
even a countess will have to obey him if he wants her in his bed.
‘He gave her enough face by asking her as a concubine. She doesn’t even know her place.’
someone scoffed.
‘
Still
,
he should have been discreet. How could he have done it with all those people watching? He should have at least silenced the witnesses before they reached the king.’
another whispered.
‘What an idiot.’
After biting each other’s ears for some time, one by one, nobles began to declare with righteous faces and firm voices.
“Since the evidence is clear, punishment is necessary,” one declared, rising from his seat. “If it were a commoner, that would be one matter—but this involves a count. Some form of discipline must be imposed.”
“He should receive one hundred lashes,” another added.
“Compensation should be paid to the victim’s family,” a third said.
With the facts undeniable, everyone chose to play their part as virtuous nobles of the kingdom.
Aurelius listened without comment.
Then his gaze shifted—to the lone figure lounging comfortably in his seat.
“And you? What do you think, Duke Silas?”
Even though he is clearly uninterested, when the king addressed him, Duke Silas rose just like the others, adopting a mask of righteous indignation and began spouting whatever nonsense came to his mouth.
“Of course, my lord, such a person must be punished,” he declared loudly. “If one intends to do something vile, the least he could do is act silently.”
A few nobles snickered.
“How could he commit such an act in public, with so many witnesses?” Silas scoffed.
“Is he an idiot? Doesn’t he know that if there is evidence, it is possible to get punished by law? Truly—how did his parents even raise him?”
He shook his head in exaggerated disgust.
“Such fools, lacking even basic sense, should be hanged. Just hang their entire family if you ask me. Only then will it serve as a warning to others.”
“To begin with—who is this idiot?”
“Your son.”
(End Of Chapter)
Copyright © [January] [2026] [The Rainy Imp]. All rights reserved.
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