The Martial Unity

Rui sharpened his eyes at the Emperor’s ruthless eyes.

The Emperor shared a nuance that he hadn’t considered before. In hindsight, Rui wasn’t surprised that part of the grooming, education, and raising of royals included instilling a drive to inherit the throne.

In that case, it was true that the royals who had still failed to retain a drive for the throne simply were not temperamentally inclined towards inheriting the throne. In that case, Rui understood why the Emperor had simply dismissed them as candidates for being his heir.

“Regardless of the reason, the fact of the matter is that I do not desire the throne in any way,” Rui narrowed his eyes. “You, who claims to know me better than myself, still chose to name me as your unofficial heir. What am I to infer from that?”

“You can infer what you want, my son,” The Emperor replied.

The air grew electric.

“Alright then,” Rui glared at his father. “What I am to infer is that you stayed out of my life my entire life, and now that you need a good heir for the throne, you have decided to drag me out of my previously normal life and exposed my identity as a prince and crowned me an unofficial heir in order to make me participate in the Kandrian Throne War, win, and become the next Emperor of Harmony.”

A tumultuous tension boiled between father and son.

The Emperor met Rui’s accusatory glare with clear eyes.

A single remark escaped his mouth.

“Everything you have uttered is accurate.”

Rui stirred, surprised that the Emperor readily admitted to exploiting Rui to fulfill his own political visions for the future of Kandria.

“You would disrupt your son’s life for the sake of the nation?” Rui stared at him, his anger overtaken with astonishment.

The Emperor stared at Rui, heaving a deep sigh. “A good father would do the opposite. He would prioritize the well-being of his son over that of the Empire, but…”

He closed his eyes. “I am not a good father.”

He inhaled deeply, meeting Rui’s eyes again. “I am a good emperor. An emperor who does what is necessary for the future of Kandria.”

Rui furrowed his eyebrows as his father readily admitted to exploiting his son for politics. “At least you admit it. You’re not nearly as bad a father as you would be had you tried denying it.”

“I don’t deny my intentions,” The Emperor affirmed. “However, your well-being and the life that you led up until now do not entirely need to come at the cost of becoming Emperor. I hope you realize that.”

Rui snorted. “You think I can pursue my Martial Path while simultaneously running a Sage-level powerhouse nation?”

“It’s not necessarily impossible,” The Emperor remarked. You don’t need to micromanage the Empire. Your most important role is giving direction to the Empire and ensuring that you push it in the right direction. What that means is that there is immense room for delegation. Let tasks be handled by people who have dedicated their lives to specializing in handling those tasks.”

Rui narrowed his eyes. “That will still be an enormous responsibility even if things go as smoothly as you think they will. Worst of all, I will be shackled to the throne. I will not be able to explore this world and expose myself to it on my voyage to fulfilling my ambition. I will be unable to partake in any meaningful real battle that will give me the experience I need to refine my Martial Art as I develop it.”

As Rui began fully regaining his calm and composure for the first time since the revelation, the many disadvantages of being Emperor came flooding back to him as his mind accurately extensively projected and extrapolated many possible models of what his life would be like.

“Considering the division of power within the government and the delicate balance of powers within the Kandrian Empire that require delicate tending to…” Rui snorted. “The theoretical absolute best-case scenario is that I have around forty percent of the day to myself.”

The Emperor smiled appreciatively. “Those were indeed around my estimations as well, perhaps even less depending on how much of how large the error parameter centered around your inexperience with administrative and managerial responsibilities is and how well you delegate them.”

“I’m a Martial Artist,” Rui growled. “Spending sixty percent of my day on the duties of the throne is not something that I am inclined to do. I gain absolutely nothing from this proposition!”

While Rui had suffered more heart attacks than he could count on this day, he had not been shocked to forget knowing what mattered to him personally.

“Come now, I understand your sentiment, but we both know that’s not entirely true,” The Emperor smiled. “You cannot begin to fathom the kind of resources that I can get my hands on. Resources so unfathomably precious that Martial Artists would die to get their hands on them.”

Rui cursed inwardly as a hint of greed flashed in his eyes. “…

What kind of resources are we talking about?”

The Emperor’s mischievous smile deepened. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Rui glared at his father. “You really are a horrible dad.”

“Hahaha!” Emperor Rael began laughing heartily as Rui began cursing him.

“Ohhh…” The Emperor heaved a pleased sigh. “I cannot recall the last time that I had such a good laugh.”

His eyes returned to a grumpy Rui. “Think about it. I won’t force you to become Emperor. I cannot, anyway. If you publicly announce your abandonment of the throne, you will not have to become Emperor, although you will not be able to get rid of the status of Prince. Ultimately, it is your choice. Making hasty, ill-thought decisions is not your modus operandi. Besides, there is one variable impacting your decision that we haven’t spoken about.”

Rui winced; they both knew what he was talking about.

“The orphanage,” The Emperor remarked. “You now have the opportunity to give them the life that you always desire they had.”