House Zahav was a terminal patient on the verge of death.
That was the assessment from the imperial family, and the Third Imperial Princess herself—who had come to the succession ceremony as the Emperor's representative—agreed with it.
'But we need a breakwater to hold back the dungeon.'
The Empire's Third Imperial Princess, Cornelia, hadn't come to offer pure-hearted congratulations like other royals might.
She had come for her own position and to carry out the Emperor's orders.
Succession struggles were an inevitable fate in prestigious houses, but House Zahav had gone too far.
It went beyond gnawing at their own flesh—it was like ripping out their own hearts.
'The fact that they hastily put some bastard rolling around in Calypso Territory of all places on the Patriarch's seat... that means they're that desperate.'
Cornelia reviewed the documents she'd received in advance from the imperial intelligence department.
Not long after entering the family, he'd scorned the Knight Order Captain and ended up hospitalized.
After that, he'd toyed with the daughter of a venerable retainer house—supposedly his exclusive attendant—even though their marriage was promised for the sake of preserving the bloodline. And he'd been sneaking in and out of his sister's room, who hadn't even had the ceremony yet.
Recently, he'd even been summoning the Knight Order Captain's humiliated daughter as his home tutor every day.
That said, there was a note that he'd properly inherited his Bloodline Ability and performed well during the last dungeon break.
'In other words, he's average for a Zahav. Shouldn't be too hard to grill him.'
To Cornelia—who had never actually seen a Zahav up close and only knew them from distant rumors or rare anecdotes from their visits to the capital—this was an utterly obvious judgment.
Vulgar as expected from a Zahav, but with the power to block a dungeon break as expected from one.
The difference was that the house's overall strength had been whittled down considerably.
But someone had to hold back the dungeon, didn't they?
In that case, all she had to do was promise moderate support and negotiate to reclaim a few of the grand duchy privileges.
Having the imperial family step in directly would be too costly, so the best option was to keep entrusting it to the Zahavs—problematic as they were, they still had power.
Cornelia would simply swallow a few key interests in the process.
If she could pull it off successfully, it would open some breathing room against the pressure from her siblings.
'No, if I play it right, maybe I could even gain the upper hand against everyone except big brother.'
The Empire was a vast nation. As such, it had distinctly different cultures by region.
Just as the south prized strength, the central region where the Emperor resided prized bloodline.
Unlike the Zahavs, who obsessed over blood purity to preserve their Bloodline Ability, the central region boasted theirs to prove their purity.
Naturally, the south viewed such central nobles with contempt.
What good was a noble bloodline if you didn't hone your Bloodline Ability, aura, or magic into real power?
To southerners, strength wasn't the central nobles' top priority—it was a mere byproduct. They looked like fools squandering treasures.
But that was only for ordinary nobles.
Things changed with imperial blood.
They were descendants of the man who had conquered the continent through sheer power—monsters born with immense Bloodline Abilities and talent, strong enough even without diligent training.
That was why the southern nobles attending Enoch's succession ceremony admired Cornelia while keeping a proper distance.
A powerhouse you couldn't fully trust was someone to be wary of.
Meanwhile, Cornelia—who was used to people from the central region approaching her first—felt nothing at the southern nobles keeping their distance.
It was only natural.
To imperial eyes, most nobles were all the same.
Only a grand duchy like House Zahav truly stood out.
And so, as Cornelia mentally reviewed her plans, she popped one of the nearby desserts into her mouth.
"Oh? The south really knows how to make their sweets."
Her cat-like, sharply upturned eyes softened for a moment. Her long, wavy pink hair swayed as a bonus.
For a brief time, Cornelia set aside her complicated political troubles and simply enjoyed the banquet purely.
Then House Zahav's butler finally announced the arrival of Enoch, the true star of the succession ceremony.
Up until this point, Cornelia had viewed Enoch lightly.
Partly due to her confidence in the innate power of her imperial blood, the fact that even a notoriously unruly house like Zahav had almost never caused trouble against the imperial family, and her perception of Enoch as a half-baked Zahav bastard.
However, the moment she laid eyes on Enoch entering the banquet hall behind his petite silver-haired butler, she had no choice but to instinctively realize it.
That she'd been thinking wrong.
Flawless, radiant golden blonde hair without a trace of impurity. His skin, tanned like it had been scorched by the sun, was packed tight with muscle.
Unlike his languid expression, his aura evoked a beast ready to pounce at any moment.
But it wasn't mere savagery. It carried the inherent dignity unique to those who stood above others.
Cornelia only knew one person who exuded such qualities.
'Father...?'
Of course, they were similar in vein, but the gap in level was like that between an adult and a child.
The title of Empire's Emperor wasn't that easy.
What mattered was that Enoch's presence surpassed not only Cornelia's but that of any prince or princess.
He looked about her age, yet he was already a complete existence.
A figure that proved the four great grand duchies had once been regional lords.
She knew the south worshipped strength. Then Enoch must be the very ideal lord they envisioned.
Their eyes met, so she smiled it off for now, but Cornelia's mind was a whirlwind of complexity.
'Bastard? Half-blood? I need to grill the intelligence department the second I get back. No matter how you look at it, that's Zahav's secret weapon.'
Yes. For Cornelia, who held an extremely bloodline-purist mindset, it was impossible to believe Enoch was a bastard.
It made far more sense to see him as the previous Patriarch's successful bloodline improvement project.
...Not that he even had Zahav blood to begin with, though Cornelia never suspected that part.
To her, Enoch was House Zahav's secret weapon, raised in hiding in Calypso Territory. The other blood relatives who died in the succession struggle were failed experiments unworthy of the previous Patriarch's eyes.
If he wasn't some uneducated bastard, then her plans for dealing with him naturally had to change.
Cornelia mentally readjusted her negotiation lines: what to offer, what to demand, where to draw the line if talks happened.
But her shock didn't end there.
Sitting with his legs crossed like etiquette was for dogs? That didn't matter. What was important was the final rite of the succession ceremony: the proof of bloodline.
The moment he grasped the Blue Blood. The magic tool, accepting Enoch's blood, emitted an intense light from massive overload and exploded.
The blue solution scattered on the floor, its faint glow scattering beautifully as it hit the shattered glass shards.
Cornelia knew this sight. It was her first time seeing it firsthand, but she knew from records.
Yes. Back when the magic tool called Blue Blood was first invented. An excited mage had presented it to the founding Emperor, the master of the time. The moment he grasped it as a test.
'The magic tool shattered, unable to handle the founder's power.'
Just like when Enoch grasped the Blue Blood moments ago.
Of course, it was merely a tool to gauge Bloodline Ability density.
House Zahav's Bloodline Ability was powerful, but it couldn't compare to the imperial family's.
Having similar purity didn't mean Enoch had the founding Emperor's level of potential.
It simply meant he had inherited blood just as dense.
For Cornelia—a typical central native who valued bloodline purity over raw strength—it went beyond shock to awe.
By this point, her assessment of Enoch had completely flipped.
All that remained was how to naturally approach him and continue negotiations.
Cornelia, revising her plans in real time, raised a crafted smile on her lips.
And then, in the midst of the confused atmosphere, as she tried to speak to Enoch.
BAM!
A gravely wounded soldier kicked the door open and burst in.
Cornelia's face, which she'd just forced into a smile, twisted in an instant.
Even if it was urgent, she couldn't stand a commoner interrupting a noble event.
And the content itself wasn't even that important.
Finding the cause of the sudden dungeon break was praiseworthy, and the soldiers' deaths were tragic, but...
It wasn't something worth interrupting the succession ceremony of Enoch, who was about to become Patriarch, and committing rudeness before all these distinguished guests.
For good reason: mobilizing the army would take time right now, and a black mage would require priestly support—which would also take ages.
Above all, to catch the ones who snuck into the dungeon depths, they'd have to plunge in. That, too, would take time.
In short, no matter what, the soldiers left behind would die.
The one who sent that soldier must have known he'd end up buried in the dungeon, yet sent him anyway.
Yes. It was sad, but inevitable.
That was the way of the world, and the way of politics.
But why? Even knowing that, Cornelia couldn't bring herself to look straight at the soldier kowtowing on the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut.
And.
"Those filthy bastards are here, huh."
A chilling voice rang out.