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“Ugh.” Emperor Contas let out a groan and frowned as he lay sprawled on a wide bed. “Never in this life have I ever lost in a show of strength…”
“Your opponent was that man, Your Majesty,” an aide tried to comfort him.
“Whose subordinate are you?! Your emperor just got beaten to a pulp, and yet you’re not even thinking of raising the army right now!” Contas snapped irritably, glaring at his aide who just stared back at him with half-lidded eyes. “What? What’s with that smug look?”
“Your Majesty, you’re the one who provoked him despite knowing this would happen. Is there anyone on the continent who doesn’t know he’s famously obsessed with his wife?”
“Hah. Isn’t it all so funny?” Groaning, the emperor grabbed his waist with one hand and sat up.
This was all thanks to the so-called sparring match that was, in truth, nothing more than a beating from Davey. That a mere duke from a small kingdom could thrash the emperor of an entire empire so thoroughly—any other ruler would’ve taken that as a declaration of war.
Yet, not only did Contas never publicly acknowledge the incident, even the handful of others who knew of it didn’t demand any retaliation. They were just thankful it ended there.
“Saint Davey O’Rowane doesn’t give a damn about international politics, national image, military strength, or political standing. You know that better than anyone, Your Majesty. So why provoke him?”
“Aren’t you curious? Why would a man, who could conquer and rule the entire continent in a short time if he wanted to, choose to live quietly in society?” The emperor scanned the map of the continent with amusement. “There’s not a single region...
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