A man sat upon a luxurious throne fixed firmly inside his carriage—a grand vehicle adorned with gold and silver ornaments, drawn by four large black horses moving with elegant precision.
Outside, the afternoon was slowly fading into evening. The sky had begun to glow crimson, as if welcoming the destruction that might soon unfold.
From the carriage window, the man gazed at a large manor in the distance—the residence of a noble family that had long opposed his policies.
His expression remained cold, filled with arrogance.
He had no interest in the beauty of the sunset, the quiet of the evening, or even the fate of the people whose suffering had driven that noble family to rebel.
To him, this was merely another performance to demonstrate his power.
Standing beside him was Rigo, no less cold.
She wore black combat attire, and at her waist rested two short blades—sharp weapons that had ended countless lives in the Emperor’s name.
Her eyes stared straight ahead, waiting for the next command with an unsettling calm.
There was no hesitation within her.
No emotion left.
She was the Emperor’s living blade, ready to cut down anyone, anywhere.
“The building is magnificent, isn’t it?” the man said without turning toward Rigo. His voice carried the tone of a quiet, arrogant whisper.
“But grandeur means nothing without loyalty. Luxury belongs only to those who submit to my will.”
Rigo did not respond. She merely gave a small nod—a silent sign that she understood the unspoken command.
The carriage stopped before the massive gates of the noble residence.
The guards standing there immediately straightened in formation, their faces tense when they saw the Emperor arrive—with Rigo at his side.
They knew this meeting was the final attempt to prevent bloodshed.
One of the attendants stepped forward and opened the carriage door, inviting the Emperor to descend. Rigo followed behind him, her movements measured and alert.
In the wide courtyard stood a middle-aged man dressed in elegant noble attire.
He was Baron Albrecht, the head of the noble house that had stood at the forefront of resistance against the crushing taxes imposed upon the people.
Beside him stood members of his family, including a young son who glared at the Emperor with a mixture of hatred and distrust.
The Emperor stepped forward with arrogance, his sharp gaze fixed on the baron.
“Baron,” he greeted shortly, his voice heavy with threat.
“This is your final opportunity to surrender and submit to my will. These taxes are not merely for my wealth, but for the strength of the Empire. Those who refuse only weaken us all.”
Baron Albrecht showed no fear.
He stood straight, his eyes burning with a courage rarely seen before the Emperor.
“Your Majesty,” he said respectfully yet firmly,
“the taxes you impose are unjust and suffocating. Our people are starving, and I cannot allow them to suffer merely to enrich the palace. This land was built by hardworking people, and I swore to protect their well-being—whatever the cost.”
The Emperor’s face darkened.
The refusal felt like an insult.
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Not merely a disagreement with policy—but a challenge to his absolute authority.
“You believe you understand justice better than I do, Baron?” His voice dropped low, filled with menace.
“You forget that your prosperity exists because of my rule. There is no wealth, no land, no life without my permission. And now you choose your people over me?”
“A foolish choice.”
The words hung in the air.
The courtyard fell silent, heavy with tension.
Even the wind seemed to pause.
Rigo, standing a few steps behind the Emperor, felt the tension—but she did not move.
To her, this was simply another situation where blood might soon be spilled.
Baron Albrecht remained fearless.
He stepped forward until he nearly stood at the Emperor’s level.
“Your Majesty, I do not doubt your power,” he said firmly.
“But I fear my people’s desperation more than I fear your threats. They have already lost so much. If I submit, they will lose everything—including hope.”
The word hope made the Emperor smile mockingly.
“Hope?” he scoffed.
“Hope is merely an illusion that comforts the weak, Baron. Power is the only absolute reality.”
“And that reality… is me.”
With a simple motion of his hand, he signaled Rigo forward.
Rigo stepped ahead obediently, her eyes still empty.
She stood only a few steps from Baron Albrecht.
The evening air grew colder.
“Rigo,” the Emperor said calmly but clearly,
“if the Baron insists on rebellion… you know what to do.”
Rigo nodded slowly.
Her right hand moved to the hilt of the sword at her waist.
The sound of metal sliding against its sheath echoed sharply as she drew the blade, the edge reflecting the fading light of sunset.
The Baron’s guards raised their weapons in alarm.
The tension snapped tight.
Everyone present knew blood could spill at any moment.
Yet Baron Albrecht remained calm.
“If my death can save my people,” he said quietly, “then I will accept it, Your Majesty.”
The Emperor raised an eyebrow.
“Admirable,” he mocked.
“But foolish.”
He turned to Rigo once more.
“Do it.”
Rigo lifted her sword.
But before she could move, a teenage boy suddenly rushed forward and stood in front of Baron Albrecht.
His son.
“Don’t touch my father!” he shouted.
Rigo paused.
Her eyes focused on the boy.
Her face remained expressionless—but something faint flickered in her gaze.
A memory.
A feeling long forgotten.
Something trying to break through the wall she had built around her emotions.
But the moment passed quickly.
Seeing the hesitation, the Emperor’s voice grew sharper.
“Rigo. Do not allow mercy to cloud your duty.”
Rigo raised her sword again.
But before she could strike, Baron Albrecht spoke one last time.
“If this is my end,” he said calmly,
“let the world know that someone chose to resist for those who have no voice. And if I die today, my death will prove that your power is not everything.”
Rigo’s blade cut through the air.
The Emperor watched from his throne inside the carriage with satisfaction.
Yet something unexpected happened.
Before Rigo’s blade could reach the baron, a small child—no older than seven—darted forward and blocked the strike.
CLANG.
The child’s small sword collided with Rigo’s blade, sparks scattering through the darkening evening.
The Emperor frowned in disbelief.
“What…?”
The boy stood firmly before his fallen father.
“Don’t touch my father!”
Rigo stared at the child.
Something about his eyes made her pause.
They were familiar.
There was a certain emptiness in them—the kind she had seen in those who endured the brutal training of the Gelar Clan.
But there was also something different.
Something alive.
A spark that should have been extinguished long ago.
The child attacked.
His movements were surprisingly fast and precise for someone his age.
The guards of Baron Albrecht rushed forward to help him.
Rigo moved like a shadow.
Her blade flashed.
One by one, the guards fell.
In moments, bodies lay scattered across the courtyard.
Yet the child remained standing.
His hands trembled around the sword.
Blood and sweat covered his face.
But his eyes still burned.
Not only with hatred—
But with determination.
Rigo raised her sword again, though her movement slowed.
“Who are you?” she asked coldly.
“I won’t let you kill my father!” the boy shouted.
“What you’re doing is wrong.”
Rigo narrowed her eyes.
How could such a young child speak of morality?
How could he still show emotion after enduring the same brutal training?
The Emperor’s furious voice thundered from behind.
“Rigo! Do not let doubt ruin your mission!”
“Kill them all!”
Rigo lifted her sword again.
The child attacked once more.
She deflected the strike easily.
Yet the boy did not give up.
His attacks were filled with love for the father lying behind him.
Something stirred inside Rigo.
The boy’s eyes… held pain, fear, love, and courage.
Things she herself had lost years ago.
Then—
A blurred memory flashed.
A small girl crying in her mother’s arms.
A warm embrace.
A child who once laughed.
A girl who had once been her.
Rigo froze.
Her blade stopped mid-air.
The boy, breathing heavily, took the chance.
“Why are you doing this?” he demanded hoarsely.
“Don’t you have a heart?”
The words struck Rigo harder than any blade.
Don’t you have a heart?
The Emperor shouted again.
“Rigo! This is a direct order! Kill them!”
But Rigo did not move.
Her hand trembled around the sword.
In front of her, the boy still stood with fierce determination.
For the first time in many years…
Something inside Rigo fought back.
A quiet rebellion rising from the frozen depths of her heart.
For the first time in her life—
Rigo faced a choice.
