In the lavish palace, a royal butler wearing a wig walked solemnly down the corridor leading to the emperor’s bedchamber.
Behind him followed a group of equally grim-faced individuals, each exuding a sense of cold determination.
The guards in the hallway initially tried to stop the butler, but one sharp look from him made them back down.
In Gephra, the royal butler held immense authority. Though barred from political matters, he wielded near-absolute power over palace affairs, second only to the emperor.
This structure was a product of hard-learned lessons throughout Gephra’s long imperial history. There had been times when emperors were so weakened that butlers held real power—one scandal even involved a queen pregnant with a butler’s child, nearly resulting in a bastard seizing the throne.
Such inner-outer collusions had occurred too many times. So, when the monarchy finally reclaimed power, they reformed the rules: all butlers had to be selected from within the royal family.
In other words, the butler was usually the emperor’s uncle or brother. Even if the worst happened, power would remain within the family.
This also ensured deeper trust—an emperor would have more faith in someone he personally appointed, and their relationship would be more stable.
At the corridor’s end, the butler pushed open the door to the emperor’s chamber. Inside the vast room, the emperor lay fast asleep on a velvet-covered bed. The room was warm and comfortable.
To maintain this comfort, the walls and floor were threaded with copper pipes that constantly circulated hot steam, making the entire space feel like springtime.
A thin blanket covered the emperor. His chest rose and fell steadily—he was still deeply asleep.
A guard at the door tried to speak but was silenced by the butler’s gaze. In the end, the guard could only remain quiet.
The butler slowly shut the heavy, soundproof door behind him, severing the chamber’s connection to the outside. The guards exchanged glances and sighed silently. They knew what was about to happen.
Ever since the war ended, discontent had been brewing within the royal family. They had spent enormous sums during the conflict but saw little return. Many nobles and royals had been nearly bankrupted.
With the post-war shift in national priorities, Amellia was rapidly developing, while the homeland stagnated—this further angered royals whose interests were rooted in the mainland.
They suspected the emperor’s real motive for building up Amellia wasn’t to escape Gephra’s
island trap
—a theory by scholars warning that Gephra, as an isolated island, would face destruction if invaded.
These doubters believed the emperor’s intentions were self-serving rather than strategic.
Though tensions eased briefly after their defeat at sea by the Federation, the dissatisfaction didn’t disappear—it deepened, becoming more personal. Some began blaming the emperor’s arrogance for Gephra’s troubles.
This resentment wasn’t openly expressed, but it was palpable. The emperor now raged at his ministers almost weekly—something he rarely did years ago.
He was anxious, but had no real solutions. None of the issues were being resolved.
Sometimes, people don’t care how well you rule; they only care whether you’ve acted. And to them, the emperor looked like he had done nothing at all.
Inside the room, the butler approached the bed. The emperor was still asleep, seemingly unaware of anything around him.
The butler picked up a glass on the nightstand—half-filled with strong liquor. He sniffed it. Next to it was a bottle of sleeping pills.
Clearly, the emperor had been struggling with insomnia.
The men who had followed the butler in began setting up. One laid a waterproof sheet on the floor. Another assembled a device—a one-foot-long metal tube attached to a larger mechanical structure. He tested a few switches.
Once preparations were complete, the butler glanced at his watch and smiled with satisfaction.
It was 4:45 a.m.—the quietest hour in the capital. Even the girls selling pleasure outside had gone to rest.
This, he thought, was the darkest moment of the day—but dawn would come soon.
“Begin,” he ordered, stepping aside to avoid any splatter. His outfit was expensive—and a personal favorite.
A plain-looking man in his thirties, who had followed the butler in, raised the contraption and pointed it at the sleeping emperor. The dark barrel looked ominous.
The next second, a completely unexpected sound filled the room—Melysko’s Fourth Symphony, movement titled
Resistance
.
The music roared with the fury of defiance against oppression and fate. Fast, powerful, overwhelming.
As the sound blasted through the chamber, the emperor’s chest heaved violently. The butler watched him with a satisfied smile. He knew the emperor was awake and pretending to sleep. He signaled the band to play even harder.
Eventually, the emperor couldn’t take it anymore. A full orchestra playing in a space smaller than an opera hall was unbearable.
There was no way to keep pretending.
Furious and disoriented, ripped from his dreams before dawn, the emperor grabbed the half-empty bottle and hurled it toward the sound.
But the musicians were ready—two of them expertly blocked it.
The liquor spilled across the floor, but thanks to the waterproof sheet, the carpet was spared.
“I’ll kill you all!” the emperor shouted, sitting up and clutching his head. “Damn it, it’s not even five yet!”
He raged hysterically, thrashing at the air, but the orchestra played on. They had been nervous at first, but now they were desensitized. It was just talk.
In fact, the death threat only made them play harder.
“Aaaargh… can’t you just… let me sleep a little longer?” the emperor pleaded. “Half an hour, dear brother, just thirty minutes!”
The butler—his elder brother—shook his head. He had known from the start that he wasn’t fit to be emperor, and he never resented that. Unlike most siblings who had been executed by this very emperor, he had survived.
He now had a respectable position and earned people’s respect.
Perhaps irritating the emperor was one of his few joys.
“No, Your Majesty.”
“You must work out in the gym for thirty minutes before five, then review the documents delivered last night. At 6:20 a.m., you must wake the crown prince, princess, and the queen. At 6:45, breakfast with the family. At 7:30, the foreign minister will brief you. At 8:30, you must appear atop the palace wall to greet visiting citizens…”
The emperor sat silently on the bed and sighed. He gave in.
The butler, seeing this, raised a hand to end the wake-up service. The orchestra stopped, packed up their instruments, and prepared to leave.Sitting on the bed, the emperor began to adjust. He muttered, “Why didn’t I choose to be a useless ruler?” Then he looked at his brother. “Or a tyrant. At least then you wouldn’t be waking me up at this damn hour—4:45 in the morning!”
The butler walked over to another door, pressed a button beside it, and looked back at the emperor. “You could have—but would you?”
The next second, the door opened, and two maids—each weighing at least two hundred pounds—squeezed through. Grinning, brushes in hand, they said, “Your Majesty, time for your bath!”
This was not a morning anyone could enjoy. The emperor felt like a tiny boat about to capsize in a storm.
When he first ascended the throne, to avoid becoming a depraved or tyrannical ruler, he had all the beautiful maids in the palace replaced with large, heavyset ones like these.
The whole nation had praised him back then as the most virtuous and wise monarch in history. But now, looking back, he thought, What a damn idiot I was—ended up punishing myself instead of anyone else.
As he was lost in thought, one of the maids grinned at him and asked, “Your Majesty, shall we give you a thorough cleaning… even down there?”
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