Chereads / Royal Resurgence / Chapter 14 - Burden of Power

Chapter 14 - Burden of Power

"My Lord, My Lady," Viscountess Rivelle began, her tone carrying the weight of something both solemn and significant. "Now that you are growing older, there is an important rule you should understand."

Celia and I exchanged a curious glance, leaning forward as she continued. "To prevent any single house from amassing excessive power, marriage between ducal families and the Imperial family is strictly forbidden. Likewise, unions between the dukes themselves are also disallowed."

I immediately understood the gravity of this rule. Marriage, after all, was one of the most potent tools for forming alliances. If, for instance, the Archduke of Ardenfall were to unite his house with the Grand Duchy of Silvaria through marriage, they would form a force formidable enough to challenge the Imperial throne itself.

"Through this rule," Rivelle went on, "the empire ensures that each ducal family remains influential but contained, their power never so great as to rival the Imperial family directly. Likewise, the Imperial family cannot bind the dukes to itself by marriage, and so must maintain its influence through other, more diplomatic means."

"This is why the Empress has typically come from a marquisate rather than a duchy," she explained, her eyes sharp as she watched us absorb the lesson. "The marquises are next in power after the four dukes, making their daughters suitable matches for the Imperial heirs without upsetting the balance of authority."

Celia's brow furrowed as she processed the information, glancing at me with a spark of realization. For all the talk of nobility and tradition, it was clear this rule was less about honoring the titles and more about maintaining the delicate web of power that held the empire together.

"Does that mean they never allow exceptions?" Celia asked, curiosity in her tone. "Not even for love?"

Rivelle allowed a small smile, though it was tinged with a certain hardness. "Exceptions, my dear, are a luxury for those without such weighty responsibilities. And in matters of empire, love often takes a lesser role. Yet history does have its tales—some might call them tragedies—of those who tried to defy this order. None ended happily."

I raised my eyebrows. "And how would they enforce that?"

Rivelle's gaze was steady as she replied, "It's a pact, binding and powerful. If the Imperial family attempted to marry one of their princesses into the Archdukedom, the Grand Duchy and the other two dukes would rise against them, rallying the noble houses in resistance. Such an alliance would spark unrest on an unimaginable scale, possibly a full-blown civil war. At best, the empire would be left in ruins."

Her words hung heavily in the air as she continued. "These matters rarely come to that, however. Even the families of those who attempt it know the risks—they often take matters into their own hands to prevent disaster."

Celia's eyes widened, a small gasp escaping her, while a cold realization settled over me. This was no place for fairy-tale alliances; loyalty here was bound by rules as rigid as iron.

"In truth," Rivelle went on, a trace of irony coloring her tone, "a slave has a better chance of rising to the Imperial throne by marriage than a child of a duke ever would."

Celia and I exchanged glances, the weight of the lesson settling over us. This was the world we were part of—a world where power, status, and loyalty were all locked in a constant, careful dance. The dream of marriage as a path to strength and unity was nothing more than a carefully controlled illusion, one that, if tampered with, could tear apart everything we knew.

Rivelle gathered her notes, casting a final, assessing glance at us. "Remember, power in this empire is held not just by titles, but by the traditions that keep it balanced. Knowing them is as essential as wielding a sword."

"How sad," Celia murmured as we walked side by side after our lesson, her expression thoughtful.

"Why sad?" I asked, tilting my head as a teasing smile crept onto my face. "Do you like Edwin?"

Her cheeks flamed a soft pink, and she shook her head vigorously, though a shy smile betrayed her. I chuckled lightly, but a faint, unexpected pang tugged at my heart. Even if she didn't truly like him now, she had positive feelings for him—something I hoped would fade over time, if only to protect her from inevitable disappointment.

She was young, after all, still in the innocent thrall of childhood friendships and imaginings. All I could do was hope her feelings would pass as naturally as seasons change, for any chance at such a bond would be destined to wilt before it could bloom.

After escorting her to her room, I wandered alone through the garden, the air thick with the scent of late-blooming flowers. Reaching the Green Stage had heightened my senses and strength, making me feel each breeze, each whisper of leaf on leaf, more vividly. If my body were fully mature, I could push through to levels that, frankly, I'd rather not disturb—not in a world so unprepared for the power I carried. My core brimmed with potential that my young form couldn't yet bear, a strength that could shake the fragile balance around us.

I realized it more fully now.

I was a stranger in this world—a force perhaps too dangerous for the peace it sought to maintain.

A voice interrupted my thoughts, smooth and familiar. "What has you looking so pensive, Lance?"

Turning, I found my mother standing behind me, her silver hair billowing gently in the breeze, a serene contrast to the thoughtful glint in her crimson eyes. She wore a gown of understated elegance, beautiful yet comfortable, as though at ease even in her nobility.

Our gazes met, the same scarlet hue mirrored in both our eyes.

"I wonder, Mother… what should I do?" I replied softly, letting the question hang between us like a leaf caught on the wind.

She studied me quietly for a moment, as though seeing through the words to the deeper question beneath. With a soft smile, she stepped closer, gesturing for me to walk with her.

"The answer to that, Lance," she began, her voice gentle but steady, "is simpler than you might think. You are a genius. And that, my son, means you'll have choices most could only dream of."

We strolled along the winding garden path, the light dappling through the trees casting soft, shifting shadows around us. "The path of power can be daunting," she continued. "It can make one feel apart from everything, even as it draws the world to you. But you must remember, it's not just strength that shapes our world, Lance; it's the intent behind it."

"Intent?" I echoed, glancing at her.

She nodded, her eyes warm and knowing. "What you choose to do with your strength defines the difference between ruler and tyrant, protector and destroyer. That's why, even now, I am confident you'll make the right choices. And in time, so will Celia, though her path may be gentler."

We walked in silence for a few moments, her words sinking into the quiet.

As we reached the edge of the garden, she turned to me, her hand resting firmly on my shoulder. "Trust yourself, Lance," she said, her voice steady. "The world may tremble at the force you hold, but with intent, you can shape it, not shatter it."

"Can I, really?" I murmured, meeting her eyes.

The memory of my past life's failures still hung over me, shadowed by faces I could no longer save. I had once been the strongest human alive, but I'd fallen short all the same. I'd failed my family, the comrades who had placed their trust in me, and, most bitterly, the one who had given me a purpose. This life was a second chance, but what was the purpose if I didn't know where to go from here?

My mother's gaze softened, and she lifted her hand to pat my head, as if sensing the weight of what went unsaid. "You will find out soon enough, Lance. You are still young."

"Will I?" I asked, the words slipping out in a murmur.

"You will," she replied with a warm smile. "For now, grow, learn, and spread your wings. Fly as high as you can; life will teach you what your purpose is in time."

But then, her expression darkened, her eyes sharpening with an intensity that made me stand a little straighter. "If there's one lesson I would pass to you, it's this: do not fear your strength. True, power doesn't promise happiness, but it builds a foundation for those things that do. Power can be the shield, the anchor—security against whatever storms may come."

She leaned in, her voice lowering. "Do not fear how strong your sword may become, Lance. Fear only how you wield it. Let wisdom temper your strength."

I nodded, her words sinking deep into a place that had long held nothing but quiet fears. It felt strange and almost comforting, this permission to grow powerful. My mother, the one person who truly understood both the cost and the worth of strength, had granted me freedom—not only to be strong but to embrace that strength without hesitation.

"How strong are you, Mother?" I asked, curiosity threading through my words.

I had a sense of her power, of course, but I wanted to understand where she stood in the broader scheme of this world's might.

She tilted her head thoughtfully, her gaze drifting as she considered. "In terms of strength, there are perhaps four others in this Empire who could be called my equals," she said, almost to herself.

'Four others,' I thought, turning the words over in my mind. That would place her among the top five in the entire empire.

"But there is one," she continued, her tone turning sharp with something akin to respect—and perhaps a hint of frustration. "One who stands above even me. I haven't seen him in years, but I know he hasn't weakened; if anything, he's likely even stronger now."

"Someone stronger than you, Mother?" I asked, eyes widening.

She chuckled, a rare sound that softened her usual sternness. "Yes, much stronger. He's the strongest person in the Killion Empire—Magnus Lumar, the Spear Saint."

I nodded slowly, absorbing this revelation. "What of the other empires?"

"Each empire has its own champion, a figure as powerful as Magnus," she explained. "It's something of a mark of sovereignty—an empire must have one who has reached the level of White core. Without it, an empire is left vulnerable, like a fortress with no defenses."

Her words settled heavily in the evening air, a reminder of the vast power wielded by those few figures who defined their nations. We walked in silence, the weight of her revelation deepening my sense of how vast this world was and how much yet lay beyond my reach.