Chapter 9 August, Mercy Tempers Justice
1106 Words
The crowd flushed crimson, their eyes burning into August.
The sheer arrogance!
Emperor Alaric had been swelling with pride moments ago, but now his head spun with frustration.
That insolent whelp—still the same unruly, incorrigible wildling!
Subtlety? He wouldn't know it if it slapped him.
"Nonsense!"
August lowered his head at the rebuke, ceasing his antics.
Seeing him compliant, Alaric cleared his throat.
"Ahem! Now that we're here, does anyone still dare accuse the third prince of plagiarism?"
The grand hall fell deathly silent, courtiers holding their breaths lest they provoke the emperor's wrath.
August turned to Edmund with a razor-edged smile. "Chief Examiner, you once doubted my integrity. What say you now?"
Edmund's face turned the purple of a bruised plum. His lips trembled—"Y-your Highness'... intellect is... unparalleled." The words came out in choked fragments as he clasped his hands in a stiff bow.
Push me further, and even a worm will turn!
But voicing such thoughts? Unthinkable.
This was August—the emperor's favorite. Accusing royalty meant a one-way trip to the executioner's block.
August's eye twitched. Is he mocking my hairline? At his tender age?
"Indeed," August drawled. "Since my unparalleled intellect is beyond question, Minister Cranmer should better watch his mouth from now on."
"Not just anyone may slander a prince."
A murderous aura rolled off August, chilling the room—the crushing pressure of a seasoned warlord, the kind earned through decades of bloodshed.
Yet here it emanated from this notorious wastrel.
Edmund's knees hit marble before he realized it. "I—I'd never dare!" he stammered, cold sweat beading his brow.
His knees felt like lead weights as he knelt, frozen in place under the crushing weight of imperial authority.
The entire court bore witness—especially Andy, whose face twisted with barely contained fury, his eyes burning with undisguised hatred as they locked onto August.
This wasn't just an insult to Gavin, his uncle—this was a direct challenge to Andy himself. August had already paraded his superiority all morning, and now he dared target family?
"Third Brother," Andy's voice slithered through the hall like poisoned honey, "even the mighty should know when to yield."
August turned slowly, taking in Andy's trembling form—veins throbbing at his temples like live wires, fists clenched so tight his nails drew blood. One wrong move, and those fists would fly, emperor be damned.
"Sixth Brother," August chuckled, all practiced innocence, "must you always be so serious?"
Playing the naive fool? As easy as snapping his fingers. Let Andy scheme now—soon enough, August would dismantle his power base piece by piece.
Andy had banked on August's legendary temper. A single provoked punch before the assembled nobility would have been perfect: the Lumina Culturae's golden prince revealed as a brute who'd strike his own blood. The scandal would have scorched through every teahouse and alleyway of Krythoria before sunset.
But August just watched him with the detached amusement of a cat observing a mouse's pathetic scheming. This transparent trap? Please. The original August might have fallen for it, but the mind behind these eyes had navigated far deadlier intrigues in his past life—a world where every smile hid a dagger. Compared to the vipers he'd known, Andy was barely an apprentice.
August's smirk didn't waver. Let the boy keep trying. He'd crush far cleverer schemes before breakfast.
Samuel stood rooted in shock.
This third brother of his was behaving completely out of character.
Without hesitation, August had composed two masterpieces in rapid succession. Then, right in the grand hall, he radiated a general's authority that sent chills through the assembly. And now, instead of charging recklessly into his sixth brother's trap as before, he'd coolly sidestepped the provocation.
How far he's come in just three days!
Whether August won the policy debate or not, this performance alone awed the ministers, securing his role in flood relief efforts—and the race for the crown prince's seat. The Lumina Culturae prize now seemed trivial.
Emperor Alaric sat thunderstruck.
Could this decisive, brilliant man truly be his pampered third son August? The same impulsive troublemaker he knew?
Today, August might as well have been reborn. If not for that familiar face and the same reckless stunts, Alaric might've questioned whether this was his own flesh and blood!
Yet one truth remained undeniable: August's literary genius.
"Attendants! Ink and parchment!" the emperor commanded. "These two groundbreaking compositions by the Third Prince shall be bound for scholars across the realm to study!"
"As Your Majesty decrees!"
A middle-aged man in white robes and an ink-black scholar's cap stepped forward with a bow—Paul, the court historian and head of the Imperial Academy, keeper of the kingdom's literary treasures.
Meeting the emperor's gaze with unshakable poise, Paul declared, "His Highness August's brilliance merits an appointment as distinguished lecturer at the Imperial Academy. Does this please Your Majesty?"
Samuel's already stormy expression darkened further. His grip tightened on the fan until its sharp metal edge drew blood from his thumb—yet he didn't flinch.
The Imperial Academy stood as the ultimate institution every scholar dreamed of entering. Even he, who considered himself exceptionally gifted, remained merely one student among many.
And now its headmaster wanted August—*August*—to teach there?
The insult burned like a slap across his face.
Jaw clenched, Samuel shot a glance at Chancellor Benedict.
The chancellor returned the slightest of knowing nods.
*Leave it to me.*"Your Majesty, never in our dynasty's history has a prince served directly as a lecturer at the Hanlin Academy."
"Furthermore, such an appointment would compromise the imperial dignity."
Edmund nodded vigorously. "Your Majesty, Chancellor Benedict's words ring true!"
"We beg Your Majesty to think twice!"
August's piercing, fox-like gaze settled on Paul, the Hanlin Academy dean, and he gave a satisfied nod.
Now here's a man going places!
Deep furrows creased Alaric's brow as his eyes clouded with hesitation.
Just as the emperor wavered, Paul's voice rang out authoritatively: "My lords, scholars are Krythoria's very foundation!"
"We must sweep away antiquated traditions and build a richer literary legacy—only then will our empire thrive."
"Cast aside these petty prejudices!"
"Dean Paul speaks falsely... We must uphold our ancestral rites," Benedict shot back.
Gavin hurriedly chimed in: "Your Majesty, reconsider!"
The argument escalated, tempers flaring as faces turned beet-red.
A mischievous spark danced in Alaric's eyes.
Today, August had shattered all expectations.
Perhaps this Hanlin Academy appointment might yield unexpected dividends.
"Ahem!"
"By royal decree, effective immediately: August shall be appointed Guest Lecturer of the Hanlin Academy."
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