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The people of the Empire Must be Strong.
That was the Law of Vollachia. The strong must rule, and the weak shall perish.
By all accounts, Chisha Gold was beloved by the land. As a member of the Nine Divine Generals, he was blessed with strength, standing near the peak of power one could aspire to within the scope of the Empire.
So what was it, then, that inspired this burning desire within him? What was it that compelled him to throw away his future, carefully scheming all so he could suffer a death that was not his?
Of course, the answer was clear as day.
From the moment he got to stare into the eyes of Vincent Abellux, he knew his future was sealed. The moment his then-young body was swept by that unrelenting will, he had unknowingly forfeited the will to craft his own destiny. The capable hands of his emperor were the only one that could do that for him.
“Tell him… I will forever love him.”
Those were the words he told the merchant Flop, who promised to deliver them following his death. As he sat on the throne, under the guise of Vincent Vollachia, Chisha played those words over and over in his head, striving to discover the reason behind him uttering them.
Vincent Vollachia—not Chisha, who was a mere impostor, but the real deal—was the apex of the Empire, a man who stood high above the common folk. Even from their first meeting as young boys, he could recognize that his skill and cunning exceeded even that of most adult generals.
So as the clock ticked, and the hour of fate approached, Chisha reflected on why he, who was no more than a commoner, had displayed such behaviors. Why had he decided, of his own will, to make a stand against fate, and rob Vincent of the death fate had orchestrated for him? Who was he, to claim to know what was better for Vincent Abellux than the mighty Vincent Vollachia himself?
And most importantly of all, who was he, to believe he could love a man of such magnificence? He might be one of the Empire’s strongest, but the law of Vollachia allowed him no such right.
As his thoughts lingered, the door before him opened.
The figure that made his way inside was immediately recognizable to Chisha. The way the man who’d just entered looked, the way he walked, the way he stood. Chisha knew them, he recognized them, he practiced them. He needed to. Only through perfecting his imitation, could he aspire to become Vincent Vollachia, and thus fulfill the prophecy.
The Great Disaster begins with the death of the Emperor, Vincent Vollachia.
Chisha got on his feet and closed his eyes, not saying a word. The world, which should have turned black, turned red instead. His chest felt empty, and his legs suddenly felt limp. He felt his body drop, prevented from colliding with the ground by the touch of soft, almost delicate hands.
“Chisha! Don’t die!”
As he stared one last time into those eyes, Chisha understood. Why he’d walked this traitorous road.
It was because, at the end of the day, he was weak.
Regardless of his status as a Divine General, regardless of his power as a fighter and a strategist. Before the gaze of Vincent Vollachia, he was still that weak boy from a secluded village.
It was only fair, then, that he, who was weak, and who had remained weak his entire life, perished instead of Vincent, who was the proud Sword Wolf of the Empire.
It was all, after all, in accordance to the Law of Vollachia.