"The Brave" Rogman sat on his favorite soft chair in the living room. His face was ruddy, his physique was as strong as before, his eyes were a mixture of fire and storm, but his broad and powerful palms trembled slightly.

It all started more than a dozen days ago.

The Reich's reluctant 'peace talks' did not shake his position. The soldiers remained loyal to him, as did Barak and Cullen. The lost officials have their own new ones to fill in, and it won't be long before the people forget their previous failures.

The kingdom can continue to function without anyone but him.

Having experienced this defeat, next time, he will not repeat the same mistakes. He had enough time to be methodical, spending dozens or even hundreds of years to make the Oren Empire strong from the inside out. At that time, as long as there is a good enough opportunity, he will regain the original glory of the empire with the power of destruction.

Until that morning.

The day before, he had been reviewing government affairs and reading books as usual, and he had not changed his clothes until the early hours of the morning and went to bed, and then woke up before the morning sun came. This routine had been going on for months—since he had been blessed by the Lord of Heaven, he had an inexhaustible amount of energy, and sleep was just a waste of time for him.

He called his attendants, changed into his regular clothes, and walked into the courtyard in early autumn to practice a set of swordsmanship routinely. Rogman had never set foot on the battlefield himself, but the Empire's king was confident that he would be able to defeat most of the Empire's famous swordsmen. Of course, excluding Barak, he was not yet arrogant to that point.

At this moment, a strange feeling of weakness swept over him from the inside out. It surged up like a wave and disappeared like a low tide, but Rogman could barely hold the sword in his hand.

He gasped for breath, and the hot blood that had risen from sword training unconsciously condensed into cold droplets of sweat on his forehead. A vague thought crossed his chest - it couldn't be, his body ...... What's going on?

Rogman stood still for a long time, finally leaving behind a trace of fear in his heart, and slowly returned to the palace to start a new day's work.

It's just that I've been overworked lately, and everything will be normal after two days off, he told himself. After all, his sword-holding arm was still strong, his mind was still incomparably clear, and the momentary weakness just now could not change the fact that he was still full of energy.

But reality betrayed him once again.

In the afternoon, the feeling of weakness returned, much milder than in the early morning, but it took a long time for it to subside completely. It was a paradoxical feeling—his vitality had not diminished in the slightest, nor did he feel tired or sleepy, but the instincts of his body were really warning him.

He put down the official document in his hand and planned to go back to the living room to take a nap. At this point, Rogman was surprised to find that he couldn't sleep. Even when he closed his eyes and tried to slow down his breathing, his heart was still beating violently, and his brain was ...... There was also no sign of any readiness to rest.

That night, for the first time in months, Rogman had a nightmare. The dream was equally vague, and he woke up gasping for breath, his body was drenched in heat, and he looked out the window, the sun had not yet risen, and the sleepiness was long gone.

The situation is getting worse every day. He began to lose his appetite for food, but his body kept reminding him that he needed to replenish his energy; At first it was just a fluff in time, but now it was like a haunting devil, clinging to his nerves and soul. That had affected his actions, and Rogman had to use a strong will to allow him to complete his daily routine as he had done in the past.

His appearance was still the same, his face was not wrinkled, and the muscles in his arms were solid and powerful. But the inside of this body is rotting. Rogman could feel that the end might be ...... It's not far ahead, but when did it all start?

He put his hand on his forehead and closed his eyes, trying to find a moment of peace. At this time, a forgotten piece of advice from an unknown girl returned to his thoughts—

"Your body is full of life, Your Majesty Rogman, but it's not what you should be. Overstretched bowstrings are prone to breaking, and our bodies need to rest to work better. And, pardon me...... Any acquisition, there may be some kind of price, Your Majesty. ”

Rogman's eyes snapped open, his gaze falling on the stack of official documents on the table. He struggled to his feet, opened the cabinet beside him, took out a dossier from not long ago, and flipped to the report that Barak had handed back from the battlefield as fast as he could.

"The power of the Lord of Heaven acts on the flesh of these soldiers. Every time they are injured or killed, they recover at the expense of their body's vitality. I can't pinpoint the exact limit, but nearly ten deaths or bruising are enough to bring a young soldier to life, who should have lived more than a hundred years."

It seems that everything is understood. From the time he received the 'blessing' of the Lord of Heaven, the man in the black robe had foreseen the present. Ironically, he also thinks that soldiers are nothing more than consumables worth 'reusing'...... But he never thought that he himself was.

"Guards!" He put the file back on the shelf and yelled with all his strength, "Where's Cullen!" Spread my word...... Let him come over to me, now! ”

The guard saluted respectfully, and the words instantly extinguished his anger. "Lord Cullen is not in the palace. When he left last night, he said he was going to pray to the Lord of Heaven. The lord also said that he would come back when your majesty really needed it. ”

Come back to witness his death and then treat it as a ...... A sacrifice to the Lord of Heaven? Rogman struggled to keep his hands steady and motioned for the guards to step back into place to avoid seeing a hint of fear on his face.

The next day, Rogman did not go to the main hall. He shut himself in his living room, quickly recalling the experiences of his life. The short happy time of childhood, the lofty ambitions of youth, the sweet love that once had, the joy of ascending to the throne for the first time, the desire that is gradually smoothed out by reality, the ideal rekindled under a certain 'miracle', and finally—

All that was left was ashes and a dream.

Am I afraid of death? He asked himself. The answer seems to be pretty simple – anyone can be afraid; But he couldn't figure out what he was afraid of. Is it an unfinished ambition, the future of the empire, an heir yet to be determined, or ...... The unknowable world after death?

Probably neither. Only then did he realize that he had made the wrong decision more than once...... It's a pity that there is no chance for him to make up for and correct it.

There was a soft knock at the door. Rogman looked up and saw the familiar black-robed figure that had been trusted, finally standing in front of him again.

"Here you go...... Do what. "All this," he whispered, "...... It's all in your plans, isn't it? ”

The black-robed man approached slowly, placing his palm on his forehead. The flame that burned his life disappeared for a moment, and he calmed down.

"You will be the beginning of a new era, Your Majesty." Cullen Dahl bowed down respectfully, "Legend has it that my father created a 'new star' and turned it into our world. To Lord Heaven, you are the star...... part. ”

Cullen removed his palm, and the exuberant flame of miracles returned, devouring his few remaining lives.

He didn't ask the black-robed man for forgiveness, that was his last dignity. He grabbed the teacup on the table, drank the cold liquid from it in one gulp, got up as usual, and strode towards the throne that was still his own.

He withdrew from everyone in sight, including Cullen Dahl. The guards looked a little puzzled, but they still faithfully carried out the order. He leaned alone on the solid and spacious throne, looking down at the empty hall, and his heart welled up with indescribable satisfaction.

This vast kingdom, and this splendid temple, at least for the moment, are his. As for who the right heir would be, he thought it was a no-brainer...... So now, he's too lazy to care.

Whether it goes well or not, even without him, the empire can continue as always. Rogman thought.

A feeling of weakness finally invaded his brain, and his thinking gradually became sluggish. He rested his elbows on his forehead so that he could hold the position.

In the end, what flowed through my thinking was a reminder that I was too far away and couldn't remember the specific situation—

"It's late, it's time to rest. Sleep well to grow up faster, honey. ”

……

In the year of San Leon four hundred and fifty-eight, the month of autumn, the twenty-first day. The twenty-fourth emperor of the Oren Empire, Rogman III Olaire, died on his throne at the age of ninety—the prime of life for the Kamals.

In the moment before his body lost his life, he still retained his vitality and youth. Cullen wasn't lying.