In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities-Chapter 216 - No Hope Feft For The Empire

In the imperial palace of the Pamir Empire, the inner chamber where the Emperor resided was a dazzling display of gold and amber. Every wall was adorned with ornate decorations, a blinding testament to wealth and power.

Yet, despite its brilliance, the chamber's atmosphere was oppressively dark and heavy. The Emperor, consumed by rage, sat with a stormy expression, his eyes glinting dangerously.

His son, held captive by Lania, had not yet been released, and though the Emperor's concern was far from paternal, it was worry nonetheless. It stemmed not from love but from practical concerns tied to his lineage.

Seething with anger, he unleashed his fury on his chancellor, Mufasa, who knelt before him.

"How has it come to this? Why are the negotiations still at a standstill?"

The Emperor's wrath, backed by his formidable presence as a seasoned warrior, filled the chamber with an almost tangible pressure.

"The Crown Prince is my only son! Do you intend to let my bloodline end here? And still, you dare call yourself the Chancellor of the Empire?"

His impatience was evident. Mufasa, having heard the rumors circulating about the Emperor, cautiously lifted his head.

The Emperor's youthful black hair, devoid of a single gray strand, and his unblemished, smooth skin seemed unnatural. Compared to his own white-haired visage, the Emperor looked as though he hadn't aged a day since their first meeting decades ago.

"Why did I never question this before?" Mufasa thought, a chill running down his spine.

The Emperor's anger didn't resemble a father grieving for his child; it felt more like the fury of someone denied sustenance. Suppressing the unease welling up within him, Mufasa lowered his gaze.

Rumors had spread, suggesting that the Emperor had discovered an ancient rejuvenation technique and was using it solely for himself. But if the Crown Prince's allegations were true, the reality was far more horrifying.

Oblivious to his Chancellor's unease, the Emperor stared at his own hands. A small liver spot had appeared near his thumb—a telltale sign of aging. His face froze in shock. The signs of decay were returning to his body.

This was why he had hastily launched the war: to secure more captives. But the supply had fallen far short of his expectations. Fear gripped the Emperor, and he barked an order.

"Bring me the prisoners in the dungeon. I will have them executed to avenge my son."

Mufasa hesitated. Over the years, the Emperor had frequently imprisoned and executed powerful individuals under various pretexts. He had personally overseen these executions, claiming to mete out divine punishment, and the bodies had vanished without a trace.

Pale-faced, Mufasa recalled the Crown Prince's claims. If they were true, the Emperor had been draining life energy from his own sons and from skilled warriors awakened to aura or magic.

Unable to meet the Emperor's gaze, Mufasa's fear deepened. He excused himself, hastily exiting the chamber. His steps quickened as he moved away, occasionally stumbling in his haste.

The Emperor, meanwhile, remained seated, staring at his hands, lost in growing dread.

Back in his private residence, Mufasa entered his chambers and locked the door securely. He retrieved a letter from his secret study—a missive from Crown Prince Oswald, delivered just the day before.

The letter contained shocking revelations: the Emperor had been consuming the life energy of his sons and other powerful individuals to sustain his own vitality. Blood relatives yielded the best results, but knights awakened to aura or mages attuned to magic also served as viable sources.

Mufasa gripped the letter tightly, letting out a long sigh. At first, he had dismissed its contents as baseless.

But after facing the Emperor today, he realized the horrifying truth might lie within those words.

Now, he stood at a crossroads. Should he remain loyal to the Emperor, or side with the Crown Prince?

"How can I swear loyalty to someone who devours his own children?" Mufasa's face twisted in anguish. Yet the idea of supporting a prince who sought foreign aid to overthrow his father also felt wrong.

Tears streamed down his wrinkled face as despair engulfed him.

"The Empire… there's no hope left for it."

The Orlando Fortress was brimming with unprecedented vitality. News of the capture of Pamir Empire's Crown Prince and five tribal leaders, along with the Empire's army advancing toward the Pasha Kingdom, had sent morale soaring.

Among the soldiers under Michael's command, spirits were especially high. This was largely due to the success of the merit-based reward system he had implemented.

Under this system, each soldier earned points based on their contributions—from basic duties like guard shifts to significant feats such as defeating enemy forces and defending the fortress. These points could be redeemed for substantial rewards, allowing even the lowest-ranking soldiers to secure enough gold to buy land and support their families back home.

This system didn't just offer monetary compensation. It provided a tangible acknowledgment of the blood and sweat they shed, giving them a profound sense of satisfaction and purpose. For Michael's soldiers, it made the reasons for their sacrifices crystal clear.

The soldiers under his command carried themselves with visible pride, their shoulders squared and their steps confident.

"Haha! This time, I'm finally going to do something for my parents. They've toiled as tenant farmers their whole lives—I'll exchange my rewards for a field they can call their own!" one soldier exclaimed, punching the air in excitement.

His comrade, resting a hand on his hip, nodded approvingly. "Good thinking. Gold is fine, but if you spend it recklessly, it won't last. Land is the way to go."

The soldier glanced around, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Besides, our lord Michael seems destined for greatness. Burying wealth in the ground might bring even better opportunities in the future."

Though his tone was hushed, his smile brimmed with pride. Other soldiers overheard and quickly joined the conversation.

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"You think so too? I feel the same. Our lord isn't one to stay confined to the title of Count. He's bound for much greater things!"

They exchanged hearty pats on the back, laughter and cheers filling the air. Throughout the fortress, Michael's soldiers boasted about the spoils and rewards they'd gained from the latest battles, spreading the word far and wide.