Ch.BONUSSide Story – Anna Kommodus, A Woman with No Eye for Men

# Anna Kommodus and the Empire

※ This story is about Anna Kommodus and the Empire. While it relates to the main narrative, it is not directly connected, which is why it was changed from a regular chapter to a side story. You can understand the main story without reading this. Also, content from this chapter may appear in future installments. I apologize to those who have already read this chapter.

※ Additional note: Since this content is identical to what was posted in the work announcement, those who have already read it need not read it again. This is why it’s being released as a free chapter.

Anna Kommodus was a member of the imperial family and, like other nobles, held long and complex titles and positions.

But if one had to choose her most important title, the one that defined her identity, it would be Porphyrogenita, which literally means “born in the purple.”

The term originated from the purple-colored maternity ward in the imperial palace, signifying a legitimate heir to the imperial throne.

She was also the older sister of the current Emperor, Joannes Kommodus, or Joannes II, and the wife of Niki Brien, the former Imperial Commander-in-Chief who now served as the Emperor’s closest advisor.

Among Academy graduates, she was known as “the greatest mentor in life,” and in historical academic circles, she was referred to as “the master who rewrote the foundations of historical studies.”

But to the world, her nickname was “the woman with poor judgment of men.” The term “failed usurper” was also used, though less frequently due to the stronger impression left by the former.

The origin of this nickname dates back more than a decade, to when the Empire was engulfed in calamity.

The Empire was at war. It fought holy wars against pagans in the north and west, engaged in border disputes with merchants in the east, and was in diplomatic conflict with the southern kingdom it had considered an ally. In truth, almost every region of the Empire was in some form of combat.

It was a situation where one had to push forward or be pushed back. The Emperor, Electors, Knight Orders, and nobles all fought for survival from their respective positions. It was truly a national total war, and the powerful Empire withstood the pressure well.

Until the Demon King appeared.

Emerging from the wasteland bordering the northern pagans and eastern merchants, he rose like bamboo and spread like mold.

As a result, the holy war against the pagans ended somewhat ambiguously. However, the battle on the eastern front escalated from localized conflict to all-out war as the eastern kingdom became more aggressive.

The Demon King focused more on the northern pagans and the western Empire than on the eastern kingdom. For the Empire, this meant one more enemy to face, while from the eastern perspective, “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” made the Demon King a potential ally.

It was around this time that the Pope, who had been sitting idle, cleared his throat. The Crusade had ended ambiguously with little gain, but suddenly a Demon King appeared—there couldn’t be a better opportunity.

However, Pope Innocentius was also a skilled politician. He waited until the Empire gradually weakened and the eastern merchants ran out of funds to maintain their mercenary forces.

Only then did he issue an ultimatum:

“Let the children of God cease their quarrels and fight against the great evil. Those who disobey shall be considered to have defied God’s will and will be excommunicated.”

As if to prove this was no bluff, the Pope took action.

Knights under the Pope and armed clergy began “patrolling” throughout the Empire. Inquisitors became more active, gradually interfering not only with rural peasants but also with mid-level territories.

The declaration that “This count is a demon in disguise!” was essentially a signal that one could dismember the count’s household and legally plunder its wealth. The entire Empire trembled in fear and cursed the Pope.

The next dispiriting miracle occurred when the eastern merchants suddenly declared unconditional surrender and withdrew. If the Empire was furious, the East was stomping its feet in frustration.

The reason was simple: if the Empire collapsed due to the Pope’s interference, the Demon King’s forces would devour the Empire and grow instantly. The East would then have to face a monster the size of the Empire, which was clearly a losing proposition.

Pope Innocentius was satisfied but still hungry, so he took further action. He declared a great crusade against the Demon King and began recruiting crusaders.

It would be a beautiful story if heroes rose up in indignation against injustice, but reality was different. The Pope didn’t spend a single coin and instead sent out mendicant friars.

These friars, though foolish and dim-witted, had two talents: they could recite the Pope’s words without missing a syllable and had good, strong voices.

Empty, high-sounding words echoed throughout the world—words so hollow that even neighborhood dogs would bark at them. There was no loyalty, no justice, no profit—just empty pretenses and appeals to righteousness.

And then a crusade arose—the Children’s Crusade, composed of boys and girls under 16. They were neighborhood toughs, street troublemakers, and dreamers who aspired to be heroes but lacked any sense of reality.

“The children shall purify what the adults have lost.”

This childish cry attracted more than two thousand children.

Even the dark-hearted Pope could not tolerate this. He threw everything at hand and dispatched inquisitors. For once, the people of the Empire actively cooperated.

Eventually, the Children’s Crusade was disbanded, and the mendicant friars who had recruited them were burned upside down. As for the fate of the boys and girls, nothing is known. Who would care about war orphans?

The Empire’s power declined, and hope faded. The Electors and nobles were busy watching each other. They recommended one another for the crusade but didn’t go themselves. Only the imperial army went to the front lines. They fought bravely, but there was a limit to what secular power could do against the Demon King’s forces.

As the Empire faltered, the eastern merchants became desperate. The Empire at least had an imperial army, but the merchant association only had mercenaries. Moreover, having depleted the treasury for their so-called imperial army, the merchants had neither cash, future prospects, nor troops.

But they could still get loans.

The eastern kingdom borrowed enormous funds from the southern kingdom and scraped together every coin they had to offer to the Pope.

“Wishing for the eternal future of the crusade, we humbly seek to prove our faith.”

At this declaration—essentially “we’ll pay, so please send a crusade”—the nobles finally participated. The Pope’s army, which had spoken of “the cause,” finally got off its backside and sounded the trumpet of departure. The Pope had raised a crusade without spending a penny of his own money.

What followed is a story of tragedy upon tragedy.

A story no one could laugh at. A time when the noble and brave became feasts for carrion birds on the front lines, while the cowardly and fearful boasted of the achievements of the righteous as if they were their own.

Then seven heroes appeared to put an end to it.

Humility. Charity. Kindness. Patience. Chastity. Temperance. Diligence.

Embarrassingly old-fashioned names, but they were proud heroes blessed by the Pope.

After tremendous sacrifice, they defeated the Demon King and returned triumphantly. When the shadows dispersed, a bright morning revealed the field of corpses in its entirety. Through it blew winds of lamentation, and rivers of anger flowed in curves.

The Demon King, who only knew how to parasitize and not create, left not a single coin behind. The damage was entirely borne by the survivors. The Empire. The pagans. The eastern kingdom. All declined. As a result, the influence of the Pope, the Church, and the southern kingdom soared.

Even so, it would be an exaggeration to say that Emperor Alexios I died of grief. The Emperor was vigorous, brave, and hot-tempered enough to berate weak-voiced nobles and drive them to the battlefield, but he was also an old man who had lived more than 20 years beyond the average noble lifespan.

But the Emperor knew how to shed tears for his people, open granaries, and reduce taxes. Though he couldn’t compel the nobles’ territories, he saved the imperial direct territories by economizing on expenses to the imperial household.

Residents of the direct territories were envied by people from other regions. The people of the Empire mourned the death of their heroic Emperor but accepted it calmly, having somewhat expected his passing.

Immediately, the issue of succession rose to the surface of conflict.

Alexios I had neither designated which of his children should ascend the throne nor established a priority. He had not deprived either of their rights.

So both Anna and Joannes were fully qualified to ascend the throne. If one were to argue legitimacy, Anna, being the elder, had priority.

But the imperial throne could not be claimed by priority alone. It required the votes of the seven Electors and, ultimately, the Pope’s approval.

The problem was that the people and imperial officials in the capital supported Anna, while the nobles supported Joannes.

Anna Kommodus had inherited her father’s policies. Participating in state affairs as her father’s advisor, she had witnessed firsthand how selfish and self-preserving the nobles were.

She had indirectly reformed the imperial army by recognizing the potential of Niki Brien, then a young unknown officer, and proposing to him.

Naturally, she faced fierce opposition, but tigers don’t give birth to dogs. Anna’s temperament exceeded even her father’s. Eventually, through sheer stubbornness, she obtained the Emperor’s approval.

There was much gossip about a man who overnight went from being the third son of a count’s family to the husband of the future Emperor, but Niki Brien silenced all the backbiting with his abilities and achievements.

The shift in perception from “a man who seduced an innocent princess” to “the princess’s genius in finding a pearl who had been overlooked by everyone due to his humble family” was evidence of this.

While he benefited from his wife’s reputation in making a name for himself, he proved through his abilities why he had become the partner of a genius. Niki Brien rose to the position of Imperial Commander-in-Chief with overwhelming support from the military and defended the Empire despite unfavorable conditions.

But Anna had watched from beside him how much her beloved husband had struggled. She knew how upset he had been, how the nobles had tried to embezzle from the already meager supplies rather than cooperate.

A government not swayed by selfish nobles. An Empire ruled by a strong, wise, and good Emperor. That was Anna’s goal.

Her brother Joannes Kommodus, who unintentionally stood as her opponent, also despised the nobles. In some ways, he was no less than his sister. He too had assisted his father as an advisor.

Joannes was considered talented. Though perhaps not matching the genius of Anna, when compared to the abilities of past monarchs, he was by no means inferior.

But Joannes believed the Empire’s future lay in close consultation with the nobles. He thought the nobles’ authority and responsibilities should be strengthened beyond their current level. This was also why he was unpopular in the capital.

To this, Joannes would counter:

“No Emperor has wielded power as strongly as Father. The nobles surrendered their authority, either voluntarily or reluctantly. But now that the war is over and the Demon King is dead, is it right for the Emperor to maintain such authority?”

Historians speculate that Joannes might have seen his father’s shadow in the Demon King. After all, the Demon King resembled Alexios I in many ways. The theory suggests he was wary of how excessively concentrated power could cause greater harm if it fell into the wrong hands.

Some saw his un-emperor-like humility as an inferiority complex of a brother overshadowed by his sister. The difference was that Joannes respected Anna’s genius, recognized that his own abilities fell short of his sister’s, and found courage in seeking help from others to compensate for his deficiencies.

Naturally, the nobles sided with Joannes. Rumors circulated, half-serious and half-joking, that if Anna ascended the throne, they would need permission even to breathe. Meanwhile, the imperial citizens and people of the capital supported Anna.

The Empire envisioned by a solitary genius and the Empire dreamed of by a talented man who descended the stairs to join hands with others were put on trial.

And Anna knew she would not be chosen.

The Emperor could only ascend the throne after passing through the Electors’ vote and receiving approval from the Pope.

An Elector could either declare candidacy for Emperor themselves or exercise their voting right for one of the current succession candidates.

In other words, it was possible for an Elector, with the Pope’s implicit support, to forcibly suppress the current imperial family and declare, “I will become Emperor!”

Fortunately, the seven Electors had also suffered massive damage and wanted to focus on recovery rather than expanding their influence. They wanted to eat the fruits of the Empire, not sort its garbage, so they all held back.

But they could at least decide who would become Emperor and who would not. And the Electors were nobles. Even a fool could predict Joannes’s overwhelming victory.

Anna grew desperate. Though she loved and cherished her brother, she believed only she could save the Empire from its ashes.

So she tried to persuade her brother, directly and indirectly, to support her as the sole imperial candidate, to lend her his strength.

“I can do it, Joannes. I really can save the Empire.”

“I think so too, sister. You certainly could.”

“Then why won’t you give up?”

Joannes didn’t explain. He just stubbornly persisted. It was obstinacy by anyone’s standards. Was it because he knew he couldn’t persuade his sister? Or did he want to beat his sister just this once?

Either way, Anna made her final decision. She persuaded her husband, Niki Brien. At that time, Niki Brien was known by the strange nickname “the lamb that crushes the lion’s head.”

He was known for being humble, quiet, kind, thoughtful, and famously devoted to his wife. He shared a deep friendship with Joannes, like brothers or friends, but it couldn’t compare to his love for his wife. Though clearly a good and kind person, he seemed too gentle to be called a general of the Empire.

But the imperial army under his command knew better. They knew his boldness—how he won without fighting, how he dared to accept defeat and withdrawal to spare his troops, how he would retreat from a hungry, charging lion only to deliver a crushing blow to its head once it had weakened.

This was possible due to Niki’s tactical insight and Anna’s strategic vision. They were a couple who, even after passionate lovemaking, would discuss attack and defense, counterattack and retreat, echelon deployment and delaying tactics at their bedside.

They knew each other’s perspectives well, quietly pointed out what the other missed, and developed ways to highlight and expand each other’s strengths. That’s why the military respected Anna just as much as they loved Niki.

To such a devoted husband, his wife’s suggestion was tempting.

“Let’s stand at the pinnacle of the world together. I want us to walk together in the future, just as we’ve walked together until now. You are my partner, and therefore qualified to be the Empire’s greatest man. Together, let’s become Emperor.”

Anna dressed her husband in armor and girded a sword around his waist. As always, Niki Brien obeyed his wife’s words and touch, shyly embraced his beloved wife, and then proceeded to his brother-in-law’s quarters with his most trusted subordinates.

No guard was brave enough to block the Imperial Commander-in-Chief who suddenly appeared in the middle of the night. As everyone fled, Joannes walked out proudly. Though he had no time to don armor and wore only a robe, he did not forget to wear the imperial sword.

“It seems you couldn’t sleep well, brother-in-law?”

Niki Brien drew the imperial sword.

And thrust it into the stone floor.

The sword, planted upside down, remained silent.

“Imperial Commander-in-Chief Niki Brien greets His Imperial Majesty. The Empire belongs to the Emperor, and the imperial army is the Emperor’s sword, so I present this sword to its master. Accept the veneration of the sword.”

Niki’s subordinates also drew their swords and thrust them into the floor.

“Accept the veneration of the sword!”

At that moment, Joannes Kommodus disappeared.

“Imperial Commander-in-Chief Niki Brien. Rise and receive my command.”

The new Emperor, Joannes II, ordered.

“Close the city gates but open the doors. Wake all men and women and arm them. Light the night streets like day but avoid commotion. Harm no one but permit attacks against intruders. Increase security personnel and maintain order. Summon all Electors. Arrest the main culprit who attempted usurpation.”

Niki Brien immediately arrested his own wife—by placing down his empty scabbard before his subordinates, pressing his forehead against hers, kissing her, and embracing her affectionately.

Anna did not cry. She did not get angry. She did not tremble with betrayal, asking how he could do this. Perhaps she was too shocked to know how to respond.

However, it is certain that she smiled sadly and left behind those famous words, confirmed by cross-verification:

“I had poor judgment of men.”

Whether this expressed her sense of betrayal toward her husband or praise for her brother’s unexpected courage remains unclear.

Joannes’s ascension happened quickly. To nobles asking about Anna’s fate, Joannes responded indifferently:

“Aren’t you making too much of a family quarrel at a funeral?”

Thus, he co-opted even the extremists who had pledged loyalty to Anna.

No one knows why Niki Brien made such a choice. However, the most widely supported hypothesis is this:

If they had declared a joint emperorship, the Electors would certainly have rebelled, and Anna would have immediately defined them as traitors, massacred them, and abolished the Elector system. Niki Brien would not have been able to disobey that order.

In that case, the Elector system would be abolished. The Emperor would no longer need to consider anyone’s opinion except the Pope’s. The Empire would become solely the Emperor’s, standing as the only sun.

It was possible.

The imperial army was large enough to overwhelm the Electors, and the Imperial Commander-in-Chief’s leadership had already been proven.

To imperial citizens groaning under noble oppression, Anna had an image close to the Holy Mother and was portrayed as a genius who would save the Empire. If Anna’s plan had succeeded, the nobles would indeed have needed permission even to breathe.

So Niki Brien’s choice should be seen not as giving up because it was “impossible” but as a decision he himself made.

But history has no “what ifs.” Niki took responsibility for his choice, and Joannes II lived up to that choice.

What happened in the imperial capital was read as a message of unity by the nobles, and they voluntarily pledged loyalty to the imperial family.

Niki Brien stepped down from his position as Imperial Commander-in-Chief. Instead, he became the chancellor who assisted the Emperor from his inner circle. With as much political talent as military ability, he actively supported the Emperor, and the Empire quickly found stability.

Let us unite.

Let us overcome together.

Let us stand tall together.

Let us firmly hold each other’s hands, as those seven heroes showed us, as the Emperor’s siblings showed us, beyond social status, region, race, old grudges, and hatred.

Together, there is nothing to fear.

People of the Empire.

It is time to move forward.

Order was established. People regained their faith and beliefs. Yesterday’s enemies joined hands for tomorrow.

As the Empire stabilized, Anna’s political standing rapidly diminished.

She still had a good relationship with her husband. They neither divorced nor separated. She still cherished her husband, and he loved his wife. Her brother occasionally invited her and visited her with gifts to share jokes.

But eventually, Anna embarked on a long journey.

She exchanged knowledge with the world’s intellectuals and gained learning at foreign universities. She went on pilgrimages and conversed with the Pope. She diligently wrote letters about important news or matters the Emperor should know. After all, it was not unusual for a member of the imperial family to serve as a diplomat.

Anna was welcomed wherever she went. No one disrespected her. Rather, the opposite was true. The story of a failed imperial successor aroused the curiosity of all rulers.

Endless wisdom, a kind heart, strong inner strength, and witty humor—she knew how to put people at ease and seemed to know everything. She never forgot what she heard once, and when told one thing, she understood two.

Even the supposedly uncivilized pagans boasted of their friendship with Anna and, for what it was worth, resumed friendly relations with the Empire.

Conversations with her were enjoyable, flowing without obstruction, and rulers, reluctant to see her go, sent her off with various gifts. Standing at their gates, they would murmur:

“That woman, if she had just a little judgment of men, or at least had her own army, she could have ruled the world.”

Rulers lamented and became more careful in choosing spouses for their children. After all, if a wife doesn’t listen to her husband, or a husband to his wife at a critical moment, they might lose the imperial throne.

Time passed, and Anna returned to the Empire. She had two children she had so desperately wanted. Meanwhile, she became a professor of history and wrote remarkable papers with her outstanding intellect and analytical skills.

She also actively participated in the Empire’s development. One example was her reform of the Academy, making it accessible to anyone intelligent enough to study there.

Whether commoners like Kain or nobles like Lily, once they passed the entrance exam, they had no worries about tuition or fees—it was completely free. This was possible because Joannes II actively incorporated his sister’s advice into policy. Thus, the brother created positions for his sister one by one.

Niki Brien reformed the Imperial Guard. He disbanded the security force known as the Emperor’s Dagger and incorporated them into the new Imperial Guard. He believed they should be brave enough not to flee even if the Imperial Commander-in-Chief suddenly burst in.

Instead, following his wife’s advice, he filled the newly created Security Bureau with Academy graduates, introduced a class system to eliminate discrimination based on social status, and selected personnel through internal examinations to identify talented individuals.

As the Security Bureau proved to be a competent institution, all bureaucratic institutions in the Empire adopted the same policy. Noble or not, it didn’t matter. Any imperial citizen intelligent enough to pass the exams would do. As meritocracy took hold and motivated young people entered, the Empire spread its wings again.

It was excessive growth.

Too rapid for the Empire’s weak national power to handle. The overly quick recovery produced side effects.

The Electors’ power grew strong again, but the Emperor’s authority relatively did not. Regions with existing foundations recovered quickly, but those without became poorer. Regional wealth disparities worsened.

The treatment of war veterans was an even bigger problem. Emperor Alexios I had selected many knights because he needed responsible fighters. The problem was that while they were brave on the battlefield, they were idle good-for-nothings in peacetime.

When the war ended, many became unemployed. Instead of common bandits decreasing, knight-level bandit groups with proper equipment and training appeared everywhere. Civilian life became impoverished again, nobles focused even more on self-preservation, and the Emperor’s prestige was not what it once was.

The people sang with hungry stomachs and tattered clothes:

Where has the promise of a brilliant tomorrow gone?

Where has the expectation that things would get better gone?

Why do we keep going backward despite running with all our might?

The only thing that increases is age, while body and mind only slow down.

Simultaneously, stories depicting the seven heroes became widely loved.

They told how the seven heroes of the Empire defeated the Demon King who had risen amid chaos in the Empire mired in hardship. They described how, while the capable Emperor was too far away and the nobles were incompetent, only the seven pure and righteous knights stood with the people.

By creating and sharing folk hero tales, people momentarily forgot their troubles. But the imperial crown was rapidly cracking.

And near Count Lorenz’s territory, one hero was found fallen in misery.

One of the seven heroes, a noble holy knight who had become an inquisitor and then an archbishop.

The Knight of Chastity, William.