The Incompetent Emperor Who Changes the World from the Shadows: Iron, Gunpowder, and the Young Maidens of Favor - Chapter 18: Interlude: The King’s Head and the Feast of Evil

Chapter 18: Interlude: The King’s Head and the Feast of Evil

The high-class club in the imperial capital, The Chamber of Zeldarm.

Late at night, a private room shrouded in thick curtains is heavy with the scents of liquor and tobacco, laced with the air of conspiracy.

Viscount Arthur von Lapis-Danes leans back in his chair, slowly swirling the contents of his glass.

His gaze falls on the same self-serving faces as always.

The cunning Senator Gregor Falkan, with his weathered voice.

The hulking Colonel Alfred MacDall, almost out of place in his bulk.

And his daughter, Sabine, with her doll-like face, vertically rolled blonde hair, and lavish dress.

Each sets their glass on the table, exchanging words through glances alone.

Tonight’s topic is too quiet, too dangerous.

“…Honestly, that emperor.

Utterly spineless.”

Falkan speaks first, his raspy voice carrying a venomous smile.

“He sits on the throne but can’t decide a single thing for himself.

Always watching the chancellor’s or military’s faces—a puppet beyond measure.”

“To the common folk, that’s good enough, I suppose.”

Viscount Lapis-Danes responds in a calm tone, but his mind swirls with other calculations.

Colonel MacDall clinks the ice in his glass.

“Frontline soldiers just wait for orders from above.

Under a spineless emperor, morale’s bound to suffer.”

Falkan chuckles bitterly, continuing, “But that very incompetence works in our favor.”

“As long as the emperor does nothing but sit dazed on his throne, we can do as we please.”

Sabine traces the rim of her glass with her fingertip, whispering in a saccharine voice.

“But it’s boring.

An emperor who moves like a doll is no fun.

Father, I want a more exciting game.”

The viscount offers a thin smile at his daughter’s words, fully aware of the weight of tonight’s agenda.

“It’s ideal for siphoning off profits when the throne is obedient.

But… a spineless emperor can sometimes sow troublesome seeds.”

Falkan narrows his eyes.

“We don’t want ‘outside’ forces taking advantage when the time comes.”

“Or some servant or aide goading him into foolish actions—that’d be a problem.”

MacDall adds in a low voice.

Viscount Lapis-Danes sets his glass quietly on the table.

“Letting a weakling roam free isn’t bad, but it gets tricky if someone tries to ‘use the emperor.’

It could spark messy factional disputes.”

Falkan nods, lowering his voice.

“The church or foreign powers might try to prop up a new emperor.

It’d be safer to establish a rock-solid system ourselves.”

MacDall snorts.

“The masses will bow to whoever’s emperor.

Too many puppets make management a hassle—better to ‘clean up’ now and be done with it.”

Sabine flashes an innocent smile and nods slightly.

“Right, Father?

I want the new emperor to be a doll I like.”

The viscount brushes off his daughter’s whims but continues to subtly steer the conversation in his favor.

Gregor Falkan speaks cautiously.

“An overt coup would only stir public unrest.

But an ‘accidental death’ or ‘sudden illness’—the world wouldn’t make much fuss.”

Colonel MacDall laces his thick fingers together and says quietly.

“A ‘falling accident’ at a banquet or official event—or poisoned food.

We have capable people for either.

I’ve got skilled men under me.”

Falkan nods, adding coolly.

“Doctors and chefs turn easily for money these days.

We should prepare double or triple precautions, just in case.”

Sabine lifts her glass, smiling dreamily.

“It’d be so fun to see the boring emperor collapse at a banquet.

Father, I want to see everyone’s faces when it happens.”

The viscount returns a perfunctory smile to his daughter’s words, discreetly gauging the reactions of the other three.

No one has yet revealed their true intentions about profit distribution or the next puppet’s appointment.

This is where the real game begins—Lapis-Danes licks his lips inwardly.

“So—what about the ‘throne’ afterward?

To keep chaos in check, we’ll need a truly obedient ‘figurehead.’”

MacDall’s lips twist.

“There are plenty of prominent royals or bloodlines, but controllability is key.

The military has a few pieces in play.”

Falkan, with a smug look, declares:

“Are you familiar with King Rafael of Marizlant?”

Viscount Lapis-Danes claps his hands, beaming as if it’s a brilliant idea.

“Indeed, the two-year-old king?

Marizlant, where his mother, Isabella, serves as regent, correct?”

Colonel MacDall adds:

“Marizlant is one of the old royal houses.

He’d carry strong legitimacy as the next emperor.”

Sabine smirks, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“There are three other old royal houses, aren’t there?

Got a plan to shut them up?”

“As Sabine says, Rafael himself is easy to control, but what about interference from the other royal houses?”

At the viscount’s point, Falkan responds with a calm expression.

“The Vittels, Hohenz, and Askar houses are all weakened individually.

Marizlant is the only one among the royals still governing a kingdom.

Dangle some money, rally them behind Rafael’s ‘support,’ and we’ll be secure even after the current emperor’s assassination.”

“What about Isabella, the regent?

If Rafael becomes emperor, she’d effectively hold the same power as Vogler does now.”

MacDall still seems wary, but Lapis-Danes counters confidently.

“Isabella’s just a naive noble girl.

This isn’t the age of absolute monarchy.

I doubt she could manage parliament or the military.”

Falkan seems deeply satisfied with this.

He addresses the group again.

“Then, no objections to installing King Rafael?”

“None.

Your words put me at ease, Viscount.

Let’s aim for a new era.”

“Your proposal makes perfect sense.

A two-year-old emperor will be entirely in our hands.”

“A two-year-old emperor is practically a doll… so fun to manipulate.”

“Indeed.”

Viscount Lapis-Danes nods at his daughter’s words, but his eyes flicker briefly to the corner of the room.

A man in black sits on a chair by the wall.

His masked face doesn’t move, arms crossed in silence.

He isn’t an invited guest but a “tolerated presence.”

No one introduces him, no one speaks to him.

But everyone in the room knows who he is.

Yusuf Var-Delia—Commander of the Silent Guard.

His silence, a symbol of the church’s “power,” is tantamount to approval.

(…So, this is a secret meeting sanctioned in God’s name.)

The viscount raises his glass with a smirk.

“Here’s to the dawn of a new era.

To the ‘boring emperor’s’ exit.”

Yusuf remains still.

But his mere presence makes the clink of glasses sound colder.

Everyone here believes they’ll be the next ruler, all while scheming to outmaneuver the others.

As the glasses touch coldly, malice dissolves into the room’s air with the sound.