“There’s something I need to discuss with the Church. Please arrange for the Pope to be invited,” said the Emperor.

“As you command, Your Majesty,” replied Count Julius.

In the most heavily guarded part of the Imperial Palace, where the Emperor resided, only the Emperor and the count were present.

With the task of inviting the Pope in mind, Count Julius began mentally drafting the wording for the invitation.

‘I haven’t seen him since the New Year began; I’ll use that as an excuse to extend the invitation.’

Since he was practically the Emperor’s proxy, he had to be meticulous with every word that would go into the letter. However, it couldn’t be too formal either, lest it make the Emperor seem overly rigid. Julius’s primary task was to keep the tone approachable while clearly conveying the Emperor’s intentions.

“I didn’t expect him to criticize the Empire so openly,” murmured the Emperor as he held a book in his hand, a weary smile on his face.

“Perhaps, Your Majesty, you’re reading too much into it,” said Julius, attempting to offer comfort, though his own expression remained troubled.

“I recently finished reading the storybooks he created,” the Emperor continued.

Since finishing The Alchemist of Steel, he’d started reading Rupert’s storybooks as well. At first, he thought they were just stories for children, but somewhere along the way, Rupert’s books began delivering sharp critiques of the Empire’s current state.

From The Dog of Flanders to Pinocchio, and now to Hansel and Gretel.

What seemed like simple tales of joy or sorrow through the eyes of a child came across to the Emperor as thinly veiled petitions directed at him.

“Was it all for nothing?”

Rupert’s latest storybook, Hansel and Gretel, opened with the tale of impoverished parents who abandon their children in the forest following a devastating war.

The devastation of war was plainly spelled out in the pages of the book.

Emperor Leonious Bel couldn’t help but recall the war with Silvania a few years prior—a war waged without clear justification or benefit to the Empire.

-The nobility has grown too powerful of late.

The war had been an attempt to reduce the influence of the nobility, whose power had swelled during the prolonged peace. It was meant to curb their control over their lands and holdings.

At the time, he had thought it a prudent decision as Emperor, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Leonious Bel found himself reflecting, wondering if there could have been a better way.

‘Regret? Is this really me?’

A feeling of regret—once unimaginable—now crept into his heart as he gradually began to change.

Rather than feeling anger upon reading Hansel and Gretel, he thought instead of how to help children who had been abandoned, prompting him to hastily summon the Pope.

The Church already ran projects to help orphans and the impoverished, and the Emperor realized that Imperial support would amplify these efforts.

“It seems the Somerset bloodline hasn’t faded away.”

“Is there some secret to the Somerset family, Your Majesty?”

Count Julius was puzzled. To his knowledge, the Somerset family was merely an old, southern noble house without any particular distinction.

They were not renowned knights, nor did they wield political influence; they were simply one of many regional lordships.

“Do you know what ‘Somerset’ means?”

“Doesn’t it mean ‘somersault’?”

Somerset, in the ancient language, indeed meant ‘somersault.’

“Their ancestor, John Beaufort, bore the nickname Somerset.”

Julius still appeared confused by the Emperor’s response.

It was only natural; stories about Somerset were passed down exclusively to those next in line to the throne.

In the early days of the Empire’s founding, a shadowy organization called the “Acrobatics Troupe” had operated in secrecy, carrying out all manner of unsavory tasks for the first Emperor.

The leader of this group—and its last—was John Beaufort, the founder of the Somerset family, though now the Emperor believed he might be the only one who remembered.

After the Empire was established, John had disbanded the organization, fearing it would hinder the new Emperor, and moved to the provinces, erasing his past entirely.

It was a history that no one remembered.

But the Emperor believed that blood would always reveal itself.

As he thought of Rupert Somerset, who had sprung forth as if he couldn’t be hidden.

“Step aside, Owen.”

The girl, who was perhaps around 120 centimeters tall, with short golden hair, spoke firmly to the man blocking the mansion’s front gate.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, young lady,” Owen replied, unmoved by her threats. He’d faced countless threats from her, so his response was no different than usual.

‘The combined attacks from Rush and the young lady are no joke, but all I have to do is guard this gate.’

Ada, who wanted to escape, and Owen, who was tasked with stopping her—this ongoing clash had become a primary source of entertainment for the mansion’s residents.

In the beginning, Ada had consistently lost, but over time, she had grown noticeably faster and often managed to escape with Rush’s help.

It had gotten to the point where Owen, who had failed to catch an eight-year-old child, had experienced an epiphany.

-A thousand strikes a day, a debt of gratitude.

He had once been a talented youth who earned a place at the Imperial Academy, but he had grown complacent, thinking his meager talent was enough, which had stunted his growth.

After barely graduating from the Academy, he hadn’t managed to find work in the capital and had ended up drifting south to Somerset.

Even in Somerset, Owen had been lax, assuming that the knights here would be weak, until Ada’s repeated escapes forced him to change.

Returning to the basics, he began waking up at dawn to train, swinging his sword vertically ten thousand times a day.

At first, he could only complete his practice by dawn, and the physical toll of training, even with a knight’s body, was almost unbearable.

Yet he persisted, repeating the routine for over a month, until he experienced a breakthrough.

‘I was so dazzled by flair that I never realized how much I could improve.’

The simplest vertical slash, the foundation of swordsmanship.

He had mistakenly believed that he had perfected it, only to realize how many unnecessary movements and wasted strength had been holding him back.

That was when Owen advanced from sword user to expert.

‘You’re slow, even in your escape.’

And so, he demonstrated to Ada and Rush just what it meant to be an expert knight.

Sometimes with sheer speed, Sometimes by setting traps, And sometimes through strategy and tactics.

Guarding Ada with relentless vigilance, Owen had earned the title of an unbreakable fortress.

But today, Ada, who faced Owen with such determination, was no longer the same.

“Ada will defeat the witch today!”

Her body sprang upward like a trampoline, spinning in the air to deliver a heel strike aimed right at Owen’s head.

It was a high-level martial arts move that was difficult to believe had come from a child.

But Owen, now an expert, was ready for her.

Wham!

Owen raised his arm to block his head, standing as solid as a mountain.

It was a duel between Ada, who was as free as a bird, and Owen, who was like a sturdy steel shield.

“Snacks!”

Count Bradley and Rupert watched this from the side, munching on treats as if they were spectators at a show.

“Sir Jorge, come here and take a seat.”

Princess Iolin, the only princess of the Empire, had recently begun calling her shadow guard Jorge over with that phrase, and each time, his heart skipped a beat.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He wanted nothing more than to leap out the nearest window, but he couldn’t disobey the princess, so he reluctantly took the chair next to her.

“Is my work really that boring?”

“No, of course not! That’s slander from people who don’t understand the first thing about manga!”

By now, it was an open secret that Iolin was serializing a manga in Manafia.

But, due to the Steward Aiten’s earnest pleas, she could only work on it within her quarters. She often summoned Jorge to get his opinion on her manga.

At first, Jorge hadn’t found it burdensome at all.

Her work, The Puppet Play, was genuinely interesting, and he’d given her his thoughts without hesitation.

However…

‘Hmm… The theater scenes are a bit dull, aren’t they?’ ‘Isn’t this story dragging on too long?’ ‘I just want to see the puppets fighting already!’

Now that her manga had been running for nearly two months, complaints about The Puppet Play had started to crop up.

‘Rupert! That man!’

Jorge cursed Rupert inwardly.

Since Iolin couldn’t directly hear feedback on her work, Jorge typically relayed the comments he heard. But recently, Iolin had scolded him after learning about criticisms of her manga during a conversation with Rupert.

‘If you don’t relay objective opinions to me, I can’t improve.’

As a result, she had ordered him to share even the harshest criticisms, and now, whenever she called him, Jorge braced himself for the worst.

Delivering negative feedback on a princess’s work was a weighty task for him, even if she had requested it.

“Well then, share the readers’ opinions on this week’s chapter.”

“…Would you like to hear the positive or negative feedback first?”

Realizing that if he only reported good news and she found out otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to handle the fallout, Jorge asked with a resigned expression.

“Start with the criticisms.”

As soon as she spoke, Jorge recalled an overheard conversation between a father and son on the street.

So he took a deep breath and began.

“Son, you said The Puppet Play was interesting… were you just tricking me?”

And Iolin’s face turned to stone.