Chapter 3 First Try, Top Scholar—Easy as Pie
1129 Words
He marched over, rolling up his sleeves like he was about to thrash the boy senseless.
In his past life, Prince August had been a notorious troublemaker, yet before Emperor Alaric, he'd turn into a scaredy-cat—meek as a lamb.
Heart pounding, August bowed low, disguising any tells as he murmured, "Your son pays respects to Father!"
Alaric studied the boy—pale but sharp-eyed—and realized August had cheated death. His raised hand froze mid-air.
Eunuch Oscar, ever the shield, stepped between them. "Your Majesty, the third prince just recovered! Show mercy!"
Everyone knew the emperor doted on August. Even at his worst, the prince never faced more than a few days' confinement—never a beating.
Seizing the moment, August clutched his chest with a dramatic wheeze. "Imperial Father... *cough*... my chest feels like it's splitting!"
Alaric's eye twitched. '...'
This act was thinner than rice paper. Of all times to play sick—now?!
Veins bulging in his neck, Alaric turned beet red, pointing at August with a shaking hand before finally exhaling sharply. "Rise, boy. Let your father behold you."
After half a month unconscious, August had seemed lost to the grave. How could Alaric ever explain this to his late love beneath the yellow springs?
But now—seeing that familiar face, the same old lust for wine and beauty—the emperor finally felt it. His son had truly returned. Same vices. Same infuriating charm.
"As you command!"
One second wheezing like a dying man, the next August was bouncing over like a puppy, guiding Alaric to a chair with a roguish grin. The grimacing, hunched-over prince had vanished without a trace.
A smirk tugged at Emperor Alaric's lips—this brat... changing moods faster than the weather!
Same old spoiled brat of a prince, not a shred of change!
"You're looking well. Seems you're out of danger—just rest a few more days."
Then his voice dropped, eyes glinting like frost-edged steel as murderous intent rolled off him in waves: "As for the assassination attempt, I've ordered the supreme court to investigate. If they fail to crack the case within a month, their chief magistrate can kiss his position goodbye."
"Once the mastermind is caught, I'll hand them to you for... disposal."
August nodded, though privately he held little hope. The culprits? No prizes for guessing—it had to be Samuel or the sixth prince.
Samuel had Benedict, the Left Chancellor, plus a cabal of schemers shielding him. No investigation would ever trace back to him.
As for the sixth prince? A snake with silver-tongued cunning, still commanding followers—even turning Gideon, the Pillar-General guarding the western frontier, to his cause.
"The Lumina Culturae competition proceeds in two days. I'll attend."
"You've never cared for such events before. Since you're recovering, just rest in your chambers."
Alaric clapped August's shoulder, brow still knotted. Earlier, ministers had bombarded him with petitions:
Now that the third prince has awoken, he must prove himself in the Lumina Culturae—top three marks—to qualify for flood relief efforts and the succession race. Else, the court won't accept him.
Dozens had jointly demanded August's participation. Yet the Emperor hesitated.
August was all bark and no bite—utterly unfit for the throne. Perhaps an ordinary life would spare him greater peril...
Little did he know—August nearly leaped out of his skin. Miss the Lumina Culturae? Lose his chance to show his mettle and recruit allies?
Without my own faction or wealth, my life would dangle by a thread—like fish on a cutting board, utterly at others' mercy!
Besides, this is my chance to make waves and intimidate my rivals, forcing them to take me seriously.
"Father, I heard the Lumina Culturae offers fine wine and beautiful women! I'd like to attend!"
"What?"
Emperor Alaric stared at August, jaw slack with disbelief.
Perhaps this was for the best—the courtiers couldn't complain now.
Let him learn his limits and back down!
Before he could finish, August cut in: "August, truth be told," the emperor sighed, "the ministers jointly petitioned for your participation. You must rank top three to qualify for flood relief efforts."
"I'd planned to excuse you, given your recovery... Perhaps an ordinary life would suit you better—"
August interrupted with a smirk. "Father, the Lumina Culturae just tests poetry and policy analysis. I could take first place blindfolded—no sweat!"
Back in elementary school, he'd memorized three hundred Tang poems.
With poetry masters backing me up, what's there to fear? he thought smugly.
As for strategy—armed with five millennia of historical knowledge and modern ingenuity, how could these antiquated scholars possibly challenge him?
To him, they were mere relics. A snap of my fingers would outmatch them.
Alaric: "..."
What's gotten into this brat?!
Normally he'd cower before me, dodging exams like the plague. Why this sudden enthusiasm?
Eyebrows knitted, the emperor studied him. "August... has the fever addled your wits?"
After being rescued from drowning, August had burned up with fever for days. When it finally broke, he'd fallen comatose.
This bizarre behavior could only mean one thing—his mind was damaged.
If August turned into a mindless simpleton... the emperor would regret it to his dying day!
The thought pierced him like a dagger's thrust, sending waves of grief through him.
"Dad, my head's been way clearer since I woke up," August said earnestly.
"This Lumina Culturae competition to recruit talents—it's about those barbarians threatening Krythoria, right? You need smart people to solve this problem for good."
"While the ministers keep boosting our enemies' morale while cutting ours down, I won't let them shame our family. I'll defend the royal honor myself!"
When the barbarian threat grew severe, Emperor Alaric had wanted to lead the army himself. But his ministers had objected, even suggesting outrageous solutions—giving up land, arranging royal marriages—like they were slicing pieces right off him!
Alaric stared in shock. Since when could his usually stumbling son speak with such concern for country and family?
This only confirmed it: August must have hit his head too hard.
Still... compared to the boy's usual foolishness, this almost sounded... reasonable.
"Fine," Alaric said. "Make the top three, and you'll get a mountain of gold—plus one favor from me."
"Thank you, Father! I won't let you down!" August clasped his fists, bowing eagerly.
Rewards AND a royal promise? His plans were falling into place. Just thinking about all those gorgeous women waiting for him made his mouth water.
"I'll be watching," Alaric said.
The chances were slim... but for once, he wondered—could his son actually surprise him?
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