"...Phew."
Quietly letting out a small sigh, I took the gold plate from the soldier.
The plate was broadly divided into two sections, top and bottom.
The upper portion recorded the place and date of birth, alongside the names of the witnesses present.
The lower half displayed the bearer's status.
Naturally, the status included a name, and in that field, it read "Chester Noufe."
"This sensation..."
I swallowed the words Is this genuine? right back down my throat.
A quick glance around told me the soldiers were all watching me intently.
Voicing the thought under these circumstances would only make it irrevocably official.
This gold plate served as a birth certificate for those of imperial blood.
When a royal was born, their date, time, and place of birth—along with the names of the witnesses and their status at the time—were inscribed upon it and placed under heavy guard.
Nowadays, magic was applied to the plate to certify its authenticity, but in ancient times, the sheer wealth required to work gold was itself proof of exalted birth; this was merely a lingering remnant of that tradition.
As a matter of fact, the modern standard was to enchant the plate so that no one other than the owner could remove it from its original vault.
Given the present situation, there was no reason for the owner to take it out only to hand it over to someone else, meaning the boy holding this was undoubtedly the genuine article.
As an aside, I naturally had one as well, safely stored away in the imperial palace.
Though, I had never laid eyes on it myself.
Such things were like the umbilical cord saved from one's birth; unless someone possessed an extraordinary level of curiosity, they wouldn't go out of their way to look at it.
Digression aside, the plate was right before my eyes.
And the owner's name was indeed "Chester Noufe."
The name Chester rang a bell.
It had to be the name of Eiler Nuf's eldest son.
I let out another soft sigh.
Meanwhile, a murmur began rippling through the soldiers.
"Hey, isn't that..."
"Does that mean this kid is the False Emperor's son?"
"Smuggling the heir away is standard practice, ain't it?"
It seemed a few of the soldiers recognized the nature of the gold plate, and word spread among them like wildfire.
Then, the mood took a sudden turn.
"I get it! His Majesty saw right through it!"
"He rode out in person just to nip the next rebellion in the bud!"
"Incredible! As expected of His Majesty!"
Capturing Chester had been nothing more than pure coincidence, but that was hardly how the soldiers perceived it.
My feigned incompetence completely backfired...
Humans were creatures prone to wild assumptions.
And when those assumptions were flipped on their head, they bred even stronger convictions, magnified many times over.
Through my act of feigned incompetence, the soldiers had likely written me off as a pathetic Emperor who only picked on the weak.
That was precisely what I had aimed for, so it should have been fine—the ideal outcome, even.
However, by capturing Chester—the heir to the head of the Rebel Army, a figure who would become a seed of future calamity if left alive—my facade had instead been interpreted as "to deceive the enemy, you must first deceive your allies."
At the same time, it undoubtedly came packaged with the impression that "he is willing to drag his own name through the mud to achieve his goals—despite being the Emperor."
As proof that this wasn't just my imagination, every single soldier I had brought along was now looking at me with eyes full of utter reverence.
"As expected of Your Majesty."
Once Henry and I were alone inside the military tent, he spoke those very words.
"Drop it. You know better than anyone that it was pure coincidence."
Saying so, I settled into my chair deep in the center of the tent.
In stark contrast to the tent itself, I placed the gold plate atop a stately desk that wouldn't have looked out of place in the imperial palace.
"Having fortune on one's side is also the mark of a wise ruler. All the more so when it happens at a critical juncture."
"Rely on luck too often, and you'll start leaning on it without realizing. I have no intention of becoming that kind of ruler."
"As long as you remain mindful of that, I doubt it will ever come to pass."
"..."
"What do you intend to do with Chester Noufe?"
"There is nothing for it but execution."
I answered without hesitation. Hearing this, Henry's expression didn't shift in the slightest.
Indeed, execution was the only path.
"He is a blood relative of the ringleader, and the eldest son at that. Even as a cadet branch, House Noufe is a lineage connected to the imperial royals. When an imperial royal takes part in treason, the penalty is waist-chopping, regardless of whether they are a ringleader or an accomplice."
"You chose not to amend that one law, did you, Your Majesty?"
"Yeah."
I nodded firmly.
During my decade-plus tenure as the Imperial Prince Minister of Justice, I had introduced several minor legal revisions.
The law was the law, and as long as it stood, it had to be strictly obeyed.
However, that didn't mean the law was infallible; when a law was flawed, it had to be reformed.
That had been my consistent stance throughout my time as the Imperial Prince Minister of Justice.
"Back then..."
"Hm?"
"Every time you revised a law, I found myself in awe of Your Majesty."
"What makes you say that?"
"Because not once did Your Majesty ever apply a legal revision retroactively."
"Naturally. Applying legal revisions retroactively is functionally no different from bending the law to manufacture exceptions. Doing so destroys the integrity and strictness of the law."
"I could not agree more. Seeing you uphold that principle so rigorously, not merely during ordinary governance but even through legal reforms, struck me as truly remarkable."
"I see."
A faint smile touched my lips, but I quickly wiped it away.
While I was quietly pleased to hear my legal philosophy praised, I had no luxury to bask in satisfaction right now.
"..."
"Is something the matter?"
"Henry."
"...Yes, Your Majesty."
Henry looked momentarily taken aback before assuming a sober expression.
He had likely picked up on something in my tone.
"Do you know why, of all the capital punishments in the Empire, waist-chopping is considered the most severe?"
"Well... That would be..."
Henry struggled to find an answer.
He seemed to grasp neither the question itself nor the intent behind it.
"Let me rephrase. Do you know how long a person retains consciousness during a decapitation?"
"Pardon? That... would be merely a few seconds, I believe."
Confronted with an entirely different question, Henry visibly faltered, choosing his words with deliberate care.
"Correct. While it cannot be formally studied, it is generally believed to be a matter of seconds. It is an empirical truth; anyone who has witnessed a beheading firsthand would give roughly the same answer."
"Indeed... On the battlefield, it feels even shorter, in my experience."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"Because the blood is pumping with such force from the heightened adrenaline—though that is merely my personal interpretation, of course."
"I see. That happens to be precisely what I was getting at."
I smiled faintly. Henry only looked more bewildered, tilting his head.
"The reason waist-chopping is the harshest sentence is because while the wound is fatal, it does not bring immediate death."
"Ah..."
A look of realization flashed across Henry's face.
"Yes. A person severed through the middle of the torso—at the waist—cannot be saved by any medical treatment. They will continue to draw breath until the blood remaining in their upper body drains past the lethal threshold. It is, naturally, an infernal agony. Records show instances where the condemned suffered for up to half a day before finally perishing."
"Decapitation is instantaneous, hanging takes slightly longer, and waist-chopping lasts half a day... The duration of the agony dictates its severity, then."
"Publicly displaying their suffering is part of it, but that is the essence of the matter."
"I understand..."
Henry nodded, his gaze lingering on me.
His eyes plainly asked: I follow the explanation, but what does that have to do with the matter at hand?
Given the disjointed flow of the conversation, it was only natural he hadn't yet connected the pieces.
I cast a brief glance at the gold plate resting on the desk.
"You don't mean... a pardon?"
Henry caught his breath.
It seemed the gears in his mind had finally clicked into place.
Yes, I was speaking of that boy, Chester.
I had simply approached the subject in a roundabout manner.
The dots were connected, but I quietly shook my head.
"Out of the question."
I shook my head once more, driving the point home.
"As the Emperor of the Empire, I cannot simply overlook the male lineage of a traitor. Were it a daughter, she could be spared and put to use in any number of ways, but not an heir."
"Indeed."
"Even so, Henry, your intuition was correct. It pains me to subject an innocent boy to the horrors of waist-chopping."
"..."
Henry held my gaze in silence.
His expression asked: What will you do, then?
"Intentionally loosen the guard."
"You intend to let him escape?!"
"Yeah."
"Your Majesty?"
Disbelief washed over Henry's face.
I met his stare with an unyielding, solemn expression.
"A fugitive must naturally be pursued—dead or alive."
"—Ah!"
"You need only bring back his severed head."
"...As expected of Your Majesty."
"I leave it to you."
"Understood."
Henry offered a respectful bow and took his leave of the tent.
We had carried out a similar maneuver only days ago; back then, it was a sham pursuit staged to fool the scouts.
This time, however, the pursuit was entirely genuine—a hunt to run him down and execute him on the spot.
Left completely alone, I murmured under my breath.
"This is the limit of what an Emperor can do... No."
If I were merely an ordinary Emperor, I could abuse my authority, force my will, and do as I pleased.
Throughout history, such rulers were branded tyrants.
I, however, could never allow myself that indulgence.
"Father..."
If I devolved into a tyrant or a fool, I would only drag through the mud the name of the Father who chose me as Emperor.
Even if it meant binding more than half of my imperial authority with rigid principles...
The law must be strictly upheld as the law.
I believed that to be the bare minimum standard I had to impose upon myself.