Ch.256Coronation (6)

“So you’re not putting on airs anymore?”

After discussing the coronation, Llewellyn asked the Emperor.

When he first met the Emperor, she had put on quite a show of superiority toward Llewellyn.

Based on that behavior and attitude, Llewellyn had made his judgment, eliminating any uncertain possibilities.

The Emperor, created in Lucilla’s image, who should rightfully be treated as a sister figure, actually possessed the mental age of someone he could call a younger sister.

Of course, in sibling relationships, hierarchy is determined by actual age rather than mental age, but that would make things much more complicated.

Llewellyn was Lucilla’s younger brother and born after her, but the Emperor was a being created in the past based on the future Lucilla.

In terms of age, the Emperor would be the oldest, but if one considered who was the original without regard to chronological order, Lucilla would be calculated as the eldest of the three.

The Emperor was created first, but she was modeled after Lucilla, and Lucilla was born later and fell into this world…

The more he thought about it, the more complicated it became, and he couldn’t reach a clear conclusion. Therefore, Llewellyn had no choice but to take a more intuitive approach.

That approach was mental age.

A fluid number that doesn’t necessarily increase proportionally with lived time, nor remain at a fixed value.

Llewellyn regarded the Emperor as a younger sister based on that number.

In fact, her childish side that seemed disconnected from her lived experience even planted the thought that this is what having a younger sister would be like.

There was also almost no hostility between them.

If they had to fight, they would, but facing someone with his sister’s face was a considerable burden for Llewellyn.

Fortunately, the Emperor didn’t seem to have any hostile intentions either.

‘Even during the previous subjugation, perhaps she never intended to be hostile from the beginning.’

The same went for Netel. Netel seemed to have wanted to help Llewellyn. Perhaps he had been hoping all along that Llewellyn would make this decision and take his place.

So he couldn’t help but think of her as a younger sister. However, the Emperor considered herself the eldest, and Lucilla thought she was the eldest.

It was complicated. Perhaps the only consolation was that the Emperor, who liked putting on airs, had stopped doing so.

As Llewellyn was thinking that at least she knew how to be embarrassed, he noticed a gaze directed at him. It was a puzzled look.

“…Isn’t that what you’re saying?”

It was Lorian. Only then did Llewellyn realize that it wasn’t the Emperor who had changed.

It was himself who had changed. Not the Emperor.

He realized that his ears had been mishearing due to his inability to properly process the Emperor’s fluctuating presence and his connection with Netel.

And he vaguely understood how it might sound to others. Llewellyn’s expression hardened.

“You change quickly,” said the Emperor. Llewellyn met her eyes, and she spoke with her characteristic haughty gaze that always seemed to look down on others.

“It must be because you faced your ‘mother.’ This is a joyous occasion.”

“What’s so joyous about it…”

He felt strange, sensing that he was becoming less human. Even though in terms of species, he was already far from human.

Yet his cognition hadn’t changed. Rather, with his perception unimpaired, he had been able to live with a human heart.

Feeling that this was changing made him uncomfortable. What if he suddenly became unable to recognize humans like Netel? What should he do then?

‘No, I can’t be certain that will happen.’

Even if he were certain, he would seek a solution. Llewellyn quickly cut off these unnecessary thoughts and gave a gentle smile to his sister, who was looking at him with concern.

“The coronation. What exactly do I need to do?”

“Considering the special nature and symbolism, it would require unprecedented splendor and scale in history, but…”

The Emperor glanced at Llewellyn.

“Your personality wouldn’t tolerate such things.”

She spoke as if she had already figured him out.

“Just as giving a commoner a title doesn’t make them a noble overnight. Your way of thinking and behavior are too distinctive to be those of nobility. Therefore, what the coronation needs is unexpectedness.”

“By unexpectedness… do you mean something barbaric?”

Surprisingly, Eshatherna joined the conversation. Perhaps due to her identical appearance to Lucilla, her expression remained neutral and unremarkable.

The fact that she wasn’t emanating killing intent was itself a positive sign. There were very few people toward whom Eshatherna didn’t show killing intent.

Pretty much only Llewellyn and Lucilla, and even then, she would sometimes show killing intent depending on the situation.

Wondering if Eshatherna had a preference for his sister’s appearance, Llewellyn imagined a barbaric coronation.

Tearing into meat, hunting, decorations made of leather or bones—that kind of coronation came to mind.

But even that didn’t seem unexpected enough.

‘To begin with, what kind of coronation would be unexpected?’

Llewellyn couldn’t tell. The coronation he knew of was simply one where you put on a crown, and that was it.

Sometimes accompanied by a banquet, sometimes with offerings of various things in hopes of a long reign.

So is the opposite of the conventional unexpected?

Llewellyn knew that wasn’t necessarily the case. Often, the opposite of convention was itself conventional.

As Llewellyn wore an ambiguous expression, the Emperor spoke.

“If you want, I’ll take care of it.”

“…Can I trust you?”

“If you give up, it will be my position. I’m just polishing the crown I’ll wear.”

Bold words. Words she spoke while not really believing he would give up.

Llewellyn thought that if he said he would give up, her face would crumple with disappointment, but he didn’t voice this thought.

Instead, Llewellyn said:

“No.”

“Hmm?”

“I just thought of something.”

This was the Pantheon, and Llewellyn was to reign as the master of the Pantheon and the three clans.

Therefore, the coronation must necessarily be fitting for that role.

Imagining the crown that perhaps his “father” had prepared, Llewellyn spoke.

“There’s something I need to prepare. Could you help me find it?”

*

Isla was alone. Finding it difficult to organize her thoughts no matter where she went, she had been wandering and was now sitting in a suitable spot.

Snow was falling. It was snow falling after spring had already passed.

It seemed to be the influence of that massive sphere Llewellyn had arrived on. Isla could only guess as she let out a long sigh.

She wasn’t feeling good. In truth, she hadn’t expected anything, and there was no reason to expect anything.

Yet when she heard that Netel wouldn’t be defeated, she felt uncomfortable.

Even though Selma herself wouldn’t want revenge, Isla seemed to have been acting selfishly. Knowing she wasn’t being rational, Isla had left her place.

Isla didn’t know how to say words that went against her heart, words that would cut into her own feelings.

She was a person of action rather than words. That’s how she had lived, and she had liked that about herself.

But that principle seemed about to break. Imagining the enemy leader still alive and the future to come.

So Isla had left her place. She sat in the snowy forest, staring blankly into space.

The breath she exhaled lingered long in the air. The sight of it turning white was familiar.

Before meeting Llewellyn, she had lived looking at such scenery, thinking she would eventually die. It was almost like a slow suicide.

Coming to the new continent was part of that. She had never thought she would do anything significant after leaving her homeland and running away.

She had no ambition, no particular dreams. No goals either.

But she didn’t want to be used, and she didn’t want to do things humans shouldn’t do.

So she had frequently changed her hiding places to avoid the cannibals who persistently pursued her. She had stayed near the area, not venturing deeper into the new continent because it was dangerous.

Until that strange something fell from the sky.

Isla remembered the first time she saw Llewellyn.

Clearly a dead lump of meat.

But still alive, so she had inadvertently looked at the form.

As it gradually became human, and finally collapsed on the ground, moaning.

It was so surreal that Isla had stared at Llewellyn for a long time before carrying him to her campsite.

She cleaned his body, checked for wounds, and laid him on the bed where she always slept with her eyes closed.

She lit a fire and covered him with a mat in case he was cold.

It didn’t take long for him to wake up, but Isla had secretly hoped that this Llewellyn would be a chosen one who would save her and change many things.

That wish was only half fulfilled. He was indeed a chosen one, and he did save her, but…

He hadn’t come down for her sake.

Isla, knowing that Netel wouldn’t die, let out a long sigh and fiddled with her necklace.

That necklace was the coffin in which Selma slept.

A necklace containing Selma’s soul and body. A tool that allowed Isla, a half-shapeshifter, to use shapeshifter powers.

Ortemilia’s masterpiece. She herself had said she didn’t know it was possible.

Isla recognized that the aura between those words and the completion of the necklace was similar to what she had felt when Selma transformed.

This was Netel’s arrangement.

Netel had helped Selma be placed in the coffin.

Thinking about it made her uncomfortable. She vaguely knew that Netel had no such intention, but…

Still, the discomfort was real.

Isla tried to compose herself, and then a familiar footstep reached her ears.

Her ears perked up, and Isla slowly turned her head, rubbing her eyes.

“Your eyelids will freeze.”

Though he spoke lightly, it wasn’t so light. Isla tried to choose her words in response to Llewellyn’s considerate yet hesitant remark, but stopped.

She quietly closed her mouth. Even her unconscious tail-wagging stopped as she turned her head back.

It was dismissal. That was the most moderate thing she could do.

She thought he might feel bad about being ignored, and her heart softened a bit, but Llewellyn was generous in such matters.

“You’ll hurt your eyes if you rub them with your hands. Use this.”

He had approached and offered her a cloth.

Isla hesitated before taking it, but she didn’t wipe her tears and just stared blankly into space.

Llewellyn followed her gaze and also stared blankly into space.

Snow was falling. He was reminded of when he first met Isla, when this whole journey began.

When he jumped from the sky and fell to the ground like a star.

The memory of being fatefully rescued by Isla and starting all his adventures.

Llewellyn gave a bitter smile at the memory that already felt like the distant past.

It had snowed a lot like this back then too.

This was Llewellyn’s original heart, the catalyst that brought him to this place.

If Llewellyn’s coronation was to represent and define who Llewellyn was…

He knew it must inevitably take this form.

And that his first companion should be with him.

Llewellyn had sat down beside Isla, and after some hesitation, she leaned her head on his shoulder.

There was no need for words of comfort. Isla leaned on Llewellyn’s shoulder for a long time, letting the snow fall on her.

Only when the sun began to set did Isla droop her ears.

“Be a good king.”

What she left unsaid was obvious.

And Llewellyn’s answer was just as obvious.

“I will.”

Though there were still wounds in her heart, and what had accumulated wouldn’t disappear…

Thanks to Llewellyn, Isla could endure and persevere.

When Llewellyn returned with Isla, the coronation began.