Chapter 5 Moonlight Verses Leave Examiners Stunned
1084 Words
August had barely crossed the threshold when he saw his good-for-nothing father presiding from the central dais.
The assembly of examiners flanked the emperor on either side, their expressions stern and attentive.
"All may be seated. Begin!"
With an imperious wave, Emperor Alaric issued the command.
The grand hall fell silent as the competition commenced.
*Snap!*
A crisp bite shattered the stillness like a gong strike.
Every head turned toward the sound.
There lounged August, legs sprawled across his cushion, swaying slightly as he chewed an apple with blatant disregard for decorum.
Eyebrows knitted across the hall.
Samuel and Andy exchanged smirks, their eyes dripping with venomous amusement.
A vein pulsed at Alaric's temple.
You can't teach an old dog new tricks!
All that nonsense about "sharing my burdens" and "winning honors" - just empty boasts!
"August," the emperor growled through gritted teeth, "if you've no respect for this occasion, remove yourself."
Taking another deliberate bite, August murmured, "I'll be quieter, Father."
"......"
Emperor Alaric: "......"
What cosmic debt created this wastrel?
*Utter humiliation!*
Benedict's eyes tracked the exchange before he clasped his hands toward the throne. "Your Majesty, the third prince seems unwell. Perhaps he should retire before his condition deteriorates."
The speaker was a scholarly figure draped in immaculate white robes.
August narrowed his eyes - the man's credentials flashed through his mind:
Benedict. Youngest Left Chancellor in recorded history. Samuel's mentor.
A political heavyweight.
Father's trusted right hand.
No wonder the arrogance.
But—
Since when do you meddle in my theatrics?
"Father," August said icily, "I'm well enough to continue."
"This humble servant only seeks Your Highness's welfare," Benedict countered with a bow. "Do pardon this concern."
August licked his lips, his eyes sharp and calculating.
This man knew when to advance and retreat, offending no one—no wonder he’d risen to Left Chancellor. Having someone like him by Samuel’s side was a real pain.
But so what?
Since when did he fear a mere antiquated scholar?
What a joke!
*"Third Brother, perhaps you’re just itching for a beauty to hold, and that apple’s your poor substitute…"*
Andy tried to mock him, but August brushed it off with a raised brow and another lazy bite.
*"Exactly. Everyone here is third-rate, not even worth my time. You all go first—I’ll enjoy the show."*
**BOOM.**
His words exploded like thunder in the hall.
The scholars stared, dumbstruck. Even Gavin, the revered Grand Academician presiding as chief examiner, flushed crimson with rage. A literary titan, now belittled as worthless by August.
He’d crossed the line.
*"Your Highness, what is the meaning of this?"*
*"How dare you abuse your station to insult us so?"*
*"Your Majesty! The Third Prince’s outrageous behavior demands censure. I formally move to impeach him!"*
At once, officials rose, voices clamoring.
*"I second the motion!"*
*"As do I!"*
*"And I!"*
Alaric’s expression darkened from the throne.
*This reckless brat… Must he always push things to the brink?*
If this escalated further—his own dignity would be trampled too.
*"AUGUST!"*
The Emperor’s bellow jolted the prince to his feet.
*"Father, I speak only truth. Every last person here—save you—is unworthy. None can match me."*
August smirked at their seething expressions.
*"But by all means, step up if you’re eager to embarrass yourselves."*
Alaric’s temple throbbed.
*Has this fool lost his mind?!*
Did he not realize these were Krythoria’s greatest minds?The most revered literary scholars of Krythoria were all gathered here—how dare August, with his half-baked education, challenge them so brazenly?
Over the years, every tutor assigned to August had fled sooner or later. They'd kneeled before the emperor one after another, listing his endless misdeeds. One particularly stubborn tutor had lasted longer than most, only to nearly die of rage. After that, no one dared teach him.
A sharp round of applause rang out—
Andy spoke first, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "Father, if Third Brother is so confident, let him have his moment in the spotlight!"
"Indeed, Your Majesty," Gavin added, bowing slightly before fixing August with a challenging stare. "If His Highness can make us eat our words, let him step forward. Otherwise... he should stop spouting nonsense and disrupting this sacred examination."
Before Alaric could intervene, August stood abruptly.
"If I lose, I'll leave with my tail between my legs. But if you lose, you'll resign as chief examiner and retire to some backwater village."
The hall exploded in uproar. Everyone knew Gavin was the sixth prince's uncle—forcing him out would be a public humiliation for Andy. How could the proud prince swallow such an insult?
Andy's eyes glittered as his lips curled into a smirk. His clenched fists trembled before he slowly unclenched them. Ever since hearing of August's sudden return from the brink, he'd been searching for a way to eliminate him. Now the fool had handed him a gift-wrapped chance. If August failed here, he could be permanently excluded from the succession—killing two birds with one stone.
Andy knew he outshone every other scholar here in both poetry and debate—Samuel being the sole exception. August's recklessness was nothing short of suicide.
Samuel observed from the shadows, his expression coolly indifferent.
Alaric could only rub his forehead wearily.
The emperor couldn't comprehend what gave August the sheer audacity to propose such a wager—this death-defying boldness strangely mirrored his own younger days. Yet he made no move to intervene.
With a regal wave of his sleeve, he commanded, "Begin!"
Gavin rose and projected across the hall: "This contest shall test poetry first, followed by policy discourse."
"Distribute the scrolls!"
The chamber filled with the crisp shuffling of parchment. When August received his, his eyes sparkled with predatory glee. The prompt? A poem about the moon.
Moonlight? Easier than stealing candy!
Quill scratching furiously, he scrawled: "Before my bed, the moonlight glows/I wonder if it's frost below/I gaze up at the mountain moon/Then bow my head, missing my hometown."
Four perfect lines materialized, though his handwriting resembled a chicken's scratch. "My submission!"
A collective gasp erupted. Had that wastrel truly finished in under fifteen minutes?
Gavin's composure shattered. He'd witnessed the prince dash off verses in one continuous, almost disrespectfully swift motion—while even Samuel, the hall's finest scholar, still labored over his composition.
This had to be mindless drivel scrawled in contempt. Gavin reached to confiscate the scroll, then froze at the grotesque yet mesmerizing calligraphy.
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