At its core, the Holy Trial was simply a test—one intended to seek the strength and approval of past monarchs.
In other words, the method of passing was, in truth, dictated by the personal preferences of these former rulers.
A wise monarch required only conversation to grasp all he needed to know. A valorous monarch depended on fist-to-flesh "conversation" to test the challenger's heart. A clumsy yet diligent monarch forced their descendants to overcome trials embedded within their own lived experiences.
Undoubtedly, according to the "script" set by the First Emperor for Linen and the Head of House Morris, the key to passing this Holy Trial was clear: kill the girl born as the reincarnation vessel for the Head of House Morris—an artificial dragonkin, a girl who had been rebuilt.
She had once incited rebellion among a full third of the great knights left in the capital, marking herself among the few true challengers to the First Emperor's rule. In later ages, she earned a fearsome title:
"The Traitorous Dragon."
Even the Empress, who ascended to prominence despite possessing an unremarkable Red Dragon bloodline, was beyond the reach of most people—even those who inherited the First Emperor's blessing of the Holy Light Dragon.
Who knew how many unfortunate Norton descendants, cautiously navigating each stage of the Holy Trial, had ended up blasted apart by the Traitorous Dragon—thrown out without a shred of explanation?
Tonight, the Head of House Morris's spectacular performance had added yet another name to the Traitorous Dragon's kill count.
At first, when the Head of House Morris fought his way through stage after stage and only died after confronting the Traitorous Dragon directly, the Five Great Houses were convinced victory was certain. Some had already popped champagne by halftime.
But once Linen's trial began, those celebrating nobles gradually fell silent—as if their throats were slowly squeezed shut, unable even to utter a sound. All they could do now was hastily sip champagne to calm their nerves.
He'd "CPU'd" the Head of House Callenica, toppled Empress Consort Guineer by sheer gender advantage, and still dared to say it was nothing special. When Linen effortlessly manipulated the Seven Great House heads—each ruthless schemers in their own right—some nobles finally realized how dire the situation had become. Even then, they could scarcely accept it.
But now?
The Traitorous Dragon—once terrifying enough to turn faces pale with her name alone—was blushing innocently, nestled warmly in Linen's arms.
What the hell is going on?!
You were supposed to attack her, not romance her!
The Duke of the North frowned thoughtfully. The Empress's eyes flickered with an unreadable, amused gleam. Quinn, who lived for drama, was already laughing uncontrollably. Clearing the Trial by charming the boss into your harem… honestly, only you could pull that off, little brother.
Yet Quinn flicked a casual glance at the throne beside her—the Empress, expression unreadable—and narrowed her eyes, lips curling with secret delight.
Ordinary nobles marveled at Linen's "strategy," but in Quinn's eyes—as a Norton descendant herself—it wasn't his technique that warranted scrutiny.
It was the Holy Trial's attitude.
Encountering a descendant who'd discovered a loophole, the Trial didn't rage and toss him out.
Instead… it had offered him even more opportunities for blessings?
Compared to Mother… do you like my little brother that much more, Ancestor~?
...
"This brat—why is he so impossible to kill?!"
Within the Holy Trial space, the girl formed entirely of golden light stared furiously at Linen—fresh from driving the Head of House Morris to death, smug as springtime sunshine—and her whole body began flickering violently, flaring as though she might lose her form altogether.
Still feeling confident?
She was starting to hate Linen's guts.
The administrative space had been utterly ruined. To keep the Holy Trial stable, she'd poured in tremendous power—and now even her own existence teetered dangerously close to collapse.
Honestly, if it were possible, the First Emperor, as Administrator, would have simply thrown Linen some random blessing and kicked him out ages ago.
But she couldn't.
When she had walked the continent as a monarch, she had enlisted a powerful Arcana Mage to construct the Holy Trial itself: an immense illusion domain capable of autonomous operation and independent blessing distribution.
As Administrator, she could subtly influence the Trial's progression or have inconsequential chats with challengers. But altering the core processes directly was beyond her authority.
Regardless of the Trial's nature, once an "answer" was set, it could not be changed—to maintain fairness.
The Trial Linen faced had a straightforward passing condition:
Kill the girl who served as the final boss—or die.
Yet, given their current relationship, the only possible battlefield was a bed. Thus, the Holy Trial judged that combat was no longer possible, and the end condition was fulfilled.
But when it was finally time to conclude…
Both Linen and the girl remained alive.
The Holy Trial became stuck, fluctuating endlessly between "end" and "not end," sending the entire space into near-collapse.
In nearly a thousand years of watching over this place, the girl had never encountered such a situation. Left with no choice, she forcibly exercised her authority to grant Linen the full set of trials once again. Only after the space determined Linen's Trial was ongoing did it narrowly stabilize.
But the cost was steep—Linen's Trial was now utterly chaotic. With multiple layers of the Holy Trial stacking uncontrollably, even she no longer knew how Linen was supposed to finish.
No… truthfully, the solution stood right beside him.
All he had to do was plunge the short dagger concealed in his palm straight into the heart of the nameless girl, who pouted and clung to him in his arms.
Initially wary as a wild beast, she still remained distant, cold, and hostile toward everyone else. Only Linen had earned her attachment.
But Linen would never do it.
The girl was sure of that. Even after their brief time together, she felt certain of this.
"What… exactly are you trying to accomplish?"
Having finally stabilized the collapsing Trial space, she helplessly pressed a hand to her forehead.
Now, whether it was Linen or the storyline of the Trial itself, everything had spiraled completely out of control.
All she could do—no different from the nobles in the banquet hall—was watch.
And after the most serious threat, the Head of House Morris, had been confirmed dead, Linen once again shifted his approach.
He ended the seemingly endless war, allowing the vast empire to recover and flourish.
Inside and outside the Holy Trial, countless people sighed in relief at Linen's choice—but as they gazed at an empire more than twice the size of today's Zijinghua, their emotions grew complicated.
More territory required more manpower and resources to govern. One by one, the Eight Great Houses that had long entrenched themselves in the capital applied to depart. Following Linen's command—and the agreement at the war's outset—they would relocate to the lands they'd conquered, ruling as enfeoffed lords.
Only House Callenica—by some twist of fate—chose otherwise.
Lanlost voluntarily relinquished the territory his House had fought so fiercely to gain, instead pledging loyalty directly to Linen and willingly becoming his shadow.
Thus, the Shadow Knights were reborn.
At this decision, ministers who had consistently praised the First Emperor finally voiced their objections.
A wave of protests denounced Linen's policy of distributing land among the Seven Great Houses. Some ministers even resorted to death remonstrance, pleading for Linen to reconsider—arguing it would reverse history itself.
After all, the First Emperor's early reign had focused solely on unifying and restraining the Eight Great Houses of Zijinghua. To reverse that now would be akin to releasing tigers back into the mountains.
So what if the promise had been made at the start of the war? Zijinghua's foundations must never again be scattered.
Yet the following day, before Linen could even respond, the minister who had remonstrated to death committed suicide at home. The matter ended there.
The relocation of the Seven Great Houses proceeded smoothly. Meanwhile, Linen appeared utterly transformed—deaf to changes or criticism from outside. Aside from attending to essential matters in court, he rarely appeared in public.
Because he'd found someone new… someone intriguing.
Naturally, it was still the nameless artificial dragonkin girl.
After Linen casually taught her a few things—and she immediately mastered them—his interest ignited. He began devoting most of his time to guiding her studies, often "guiding" her the entire night, from dusk until dawn.
The next day, people would see His Majesty Linen heading to court—tired yet satisfied—with a girl trailing behind him, cheeks rosy, her energy somehow even more vibrant than before.
Criticism began spreading. Rumors even surfaced that the ill-omened, sinful dragon's daughter had bewitched His Majesty's mind.
Yet unexpectedly, at that moment, someone stepped forward in Linen's defense.
The Eight Great Houses publicly praised Linen's benevolence and generosity—while privately beheading large groups who spoke ill of him. Many ministers seethed with fury but dared not voice their anger openly, resenting the Houses' tyrannical arrogance.
Unfortunately, ordinary people's anger counted for nothing.
The Eight Great Houses continued their orderly withdrawal from the capital, leaving only minimal personnel behind to oversee their fiefs' affairs.
Many loyal ministers could only grit their teeth and watch helplessly as their once-heroic sovereign sank into romantic indulgence—and those vicious tigers leisurely strolled from their cage, one after another.
Two full years passed. Finally, the Seven Great Houses—everyone except Callenica—completed their relocation from the royal capital.
Only then did they grasp just how catastrophic their decision had been.
Linen, who had "generously" handed away vast territories, finally smiled—revealing his fangs—after the Seven Great Houses had left.
The fuse was lit when the reborn Shadow Knights—built from House Callenica and Norton main-line agents—began investigating the truth behind the minister's "suicide" following his death remonstrance.
With lightning-fast precision, the Shadow Knights moved as if they'd rehearsed a thousand times. Tracing evidence back to the source, they exposed House Vorn's role in forcing the minister's suicide by threatening his family. Then they unveiled a series of crimes, each with ironclad proof.
House Vorn was furious.
Because Linen's timing was viciously perfect.
The Seven Great Houses had barely moved out of the capital, their positions in the new fiefs still unstable. The war had ended awkwardly—veterans, dulled by peace, had lost their edge, and new troops were still insufficient to challenge the Norton imperial clan.
When House Vorn tried their usual tactic—uniting the Houses to submit a joint remonstrance—they finally realized a chilling fact:
They were no longer the Eight Great Houses of the capital.
They were hundreds of miles away.
Forget securing a timely audience with Linen—even contacting the other Houses, once effortless, had become a luxury.
House Vorn dispatched a special envoy to the capital, hoping to beg forgiveness first and plan afterward. But before their envoy even reached the capital, the Norton army arrived at House Vorn's borders, bearing imperial orders to crush the rebellion.
In anger, House Vorn attempted to raise troops in resistance. Returning to the warlord chaos from before Zijinghua's founding seemed acceptable—what difference did it make?
They quickly learned the difference.
Because this was no longer a clash between two Houses, two lords.
This was a nation suppressing rebels.
The common folk of the fief never accepted these "new lords." All they knew was that these were rebels His Majesty intended to crush.
Eventually, local militias launched a night raid, seized the city gate, and allowed the Norton army inside. The suppression forces dragged the Head of House Vorn from his bed while he still slept soundly.
The war ended swiftly—and absurdly.
After Callenica's departure, the "Eight Great Houses" shrank again, from seven down to six.
By now, even the dullest minds recognized something deeply wrong.
The remaining Six Great Houses finally understood: it wasn't that the sky was high and the birds could fly free.
They had become caged sparrows—picked off one by one by Linen.
Even worse, when House Sauss rose in furious rebellion, attempting to rally the remaining Houses in resistance…
Three other Houses, led by House Mistry, had already submitted petitions to Linen, voluntarily relinquishing their fiefs and requesting to return to the capital.
The resulting civil war was equally unstoppable. Linen fulfilled his promise.
He did not stain the capital red.
It was the empire that bled.
Only…it was black, poisoned blood.
But unlike House Vorn, House Sauss—and the three Houses determined to rebel—had prepared for annihilation.
Having left the capital, they could no longer truly unify. Yet Linen also could no longer precisely control them.
The rebellious Houses left seeds behind. Rebel organizations continued to sprout…and continued to be extinguished.
Crushing a piece of bread required just two fingers and a gentle squeeze. Crushing crumbs was far harder. Grinding these organizations down became a tedious, endless, exhausting cycle—utterly monotonous and sleep-inducing.
Even Linen thought so.
Then he died.
...
Golden light converged within the Holy Trial space. Linen—having died inside the Holy Trial—appeared once again.
He looked at the girl who stared back at him, her expression tangled and complicated, and chuckled.
"Heh. Long time no see, Ancestor."
The girl's expression remained complicated.
"You…even at the end, you're impossible to read. This was part of your plan too, wasn't it?"
Linen smiled without denying it.
When you're deep in the moment, clarity is difficult. At first, Linen had simply enjoyed cuddling a beautiful girl and effortlessly steamrolling cannon fodder—he hadn't really processed his situation.
But once he had room to breathe, he gradually realized he seemed to be "trapped" in the Holy Trial space. And given Linen's intelligence, figuring out that clearing the trial required killing the girl wasn't exactly difficult.
But unlike everyone else's agonizing, he'd swiftly discovered another method of exiting the Holy Trial.
Death.
He could exit by dying.
In fact, compared to "clearing," death was how most participants left the Trial space.
After he'd killed to his heart's content—and confirmed his score had decisively surpassed the Head of House Morris—Linen deliberately walked into a trap set by remnants of the three rebellious Houses and got himself surrounded and killed.
"Still," the girl squinted, unable to suppress her complaint, "you're seriously twisted."
"You couldn't bear to kill her. Fine. You could've just found a quiet place, drawn your sword, and slit your own throat. But no—you chose to bring that little girl along, deliberately walked into a trap, fought a bloody battle, carved your way out, and then—while stroking her face—said something like, 'This is…the final lesson.' And then you died right in front of her…"
Linen only smiled. "Wasn't that for your sake, Ancestor?"
---
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