IYAMD: Episode 6

There were far too many reasons to kill that man.

A brutal criminal who had slaughtered a noble family, an easterner who couldn’t communicate, someone whose sanity wavered unpredictably—and most importantly, he was stronger than Marsilia had expected.

The Setora family must have had bodyguards. If he was skilled enough to cut through them all and kill every last one, then at the very least, he had to be at the level of a Sword Expert.

Of course, the East trained differently from the West, so their ranks might have different names.

No, perhaps he was even a Sword Master.

Recalling the terrifying strength the man had displayed, Marsilia frowned deeper.

The royal physician, who had been tending to his injured arm, hesitated before speaking.

“Does it hurt, Your Majesty?”

“No. I was just thinking about something else.” Marsilia glanced at him. “Physician, in your opinion, what is that man’s condition?”

Attendants moved quietly through the room, cleaning up the aftermath of the incident. The man lay limp as they carried him, undressing him and changing his clothes, not resisting in the slightest.

Once he had been dressed, a servant brought a basin of water and wiped away the remaining traces of blood and dirt from his skin.

“It’s difficult to diagnose properly, but… he seems to be suffering from madness. In Eastern terms, I believe they call it ‘Zhou Hua Ru Mo’ 【走火入魔】. It occurs when one’s qi flow is disrupted due to mental or external disturbances.”

Marsilia didn’t understand the term.

“What?”

Seeing the emperor’s face darken further, the physician hesitated before rephrasing.

“In the Western lands, we would call it… a berserker state.”

“Ah.”

Now it made sense.

A berserker—someone who lost their mind before death, swinging their sword at both enemy and ally alike.

Most berserkers burned through their life force and died, but a rare few survived. Those who did were unable to reintegrate into society. They either wandered until they perished, took their own lives, or went mad again and met their end.

No matter the path, death was inevitable for them.

All living beings eventually met death, but the fate of a berserker was particularly miserable. They were human, yet no longer truly human.

Hearing the physician’s explanation only deepened Marsilia’s dilemma. Berserkers had never recovered—not once. At least, not in any recorded case.

He has to die.

That was the conclusion Marsilia reached.

And yet, making the final decision wasn’t easy.

It had taken ten years to find him—was he really going to kill him with his own hands?

Noticing his hesitation, the physician cautiously suggested,

“Your Majesty, it seems he is reacting to your divine power. Perhaps it would be wise to observe him a little longer.”

The physician had been in the palace for a long time, ever since the previous emperor, and knew Marsilia’s circumstances well. Even so, he wasn’t one to speak out so boldly like this.

Marsilia, feeling a rare sense of curiosity, asked,

“Do you think he could recover?”

He already knew the answer.

No, it was impossible.

And yet, like a fool, he still waited for the physician’s response—like a priest seeking guidance from the goddess.

Unconsciously, Marsilia clasped his hands together.

“The Eastern martial arts methods are vastly different from ours, so nothing can be said for certain. However… berserkers have never been known to react to divine power before. It may be worth trying.”

Now that he thought about it, after using divine power in the prison, the man’s awareness did seem slightly improved.

The vacant gaze from before and the eyes that had met his just earlier were undeniably different.

But was it foolish to hold on to hope?

For years, Marsilia had chased after the faintest glimmer of possibility in search of his fated partner.

The first year or two had been filled with hope.

Then, years three to five had been spent killing that hope, struggling with disappointment.

And after that, he had all but given up.

If he were meant to appear, he would have by now.

If he could be found, he already would have been.

After five years of failure, wasn’t it time to accept the truth?

Every time his expectations began to rise again, Marsilia crushed them before they could take root.

Was he going to live like that again?

A hollow laugh escaped his lips.

“Ha.”

He raked a hand through his hair, roughly rubbing his forehead in frustration.

The physician, sensing his irritation, wisely fell silent.

Marsilia sat in silence for a long while before finally speaking.

“Go rest for now. We’ll assess his condition in the morning and decide then.”

He dismissed the remaining attendants after they finished tidying the room.

“You may all leave as well.”

“Shall I assist with undressing before I take my leave, Your Majesty?” one of the attendants asked.

“I’m not in the mood. Just go. I want to be alone.”

At his wave, the attendants all bowed and exited.

Left in solitude, Marsilia turned his gaze to the man lying in bed.

Then, with a sigh, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

It was going to be a long, sleepless night.

The hours stretched endlessly, time refusing to move forward.

Marsilia stared at the paintings on the domed ceiling, trying to push his thoughts away.

If he didn’t, he feared he might kill that man the moment morning came.

Yet, even the murals depicting the goddess’s divine power offered no comfort.

Instead, they only fueled his long-standing resentment.

If the goddess is so powerful, why must I live like this?

If a fated partner is truly a divine gift, why is finding him so impossibly difficult?

Before his thoughts could spiral further, Marsilia clenched his eyes shut.

—

Morning arrived, but Marsilia remained in his chambers, waiting for Jaha to wake.

No matter how long he waited, the man remained unconscious, as if dead.

Eventually, Marsilia left orders to station five guards outside Jaha’s room before heading out to attend to his imperial duties.

At the main palace, Serez noticed his mood immediately.

“You look exhausted, Your Majesty. Should I postpone the morning meeting?”

“No, I need to return to the palace in the afternoon. Keep the meeting as scheduled.”

Serez nodded, understanding despite the lack of specifics.

“As you wish. What about the temple? Should I inform them?”

So word had already spread.

Marsilia frowned slightly.

“Put it off for now. There’s no need to announce anything until we’re certain.”

The Grand Duke had likely heard rumors, but there was no need for an official statement—especially when Marsilia himself hadn’t decided whether to kill Jaha or not.

And at the moment, killing him seemed far more likely.

It was better to remain silent.

Being known as the emperor who hadn’t found his fated partner was preferable to being the emperor who had killed him.

Marsilia let out a bitter laugh.

What a wretched choice.

To go down in history as the first fool to never find his fated partner, or to stand alongside the tyrants who had murdered theirs.

Either way, it was a losing battle.

If he had to choose, though… he should at least pick the path that might not end in complete disaster.

Suppressing a sigh, he gave Serez an order.

“Find someone who knows the Eastern language. They don’t need to be nobility, but they must be fluent in both reading and writing.”

“Viscount Sonnet runs a trade company that deals with the East. I’ll start there.”

“Make it quick.”

“Does he not speak the Western common tongue?”

“Probably not.”

Marsilia let out a frustrated breath. If I’d even had a conversation with him, I’d at least know if he understood a word I said.

He thought back to the man writhing in pain, not making a single sound.

“He didn’t cry out, even when he was injured,” Marsilia muttered to himself. “Maybe he can’t speak at all.”

Serez glanced at him. “You mean him, Your Majesty?”

Who else?

Marsilia scowled. A murderer, out of his mind, and now he might not even be able to talk. Just great.

In just one day, he had uncovered a series of flaws in the man he had spent ten years searching for. Each one was worse than the last.

At this point, he almost looked forward to seeing what new problem would arise next.

“The palace physicians say his condition resembles that of a berserker,” Marsilia muttered. “They gave me some Eastern term for it too, but I have no idea what it means.”

“If it’s related to Eastern martial arts, perhaps you should ask General Des? I recall hearing he spent a few years training in the East when he was younger.”

“Good idea.”

“If you don’t give him a reason, he won’t suspect anything. He’ll probably just assume you’re curious.”

Marsilia nodded. “Tell him I want to see him after the meeting.”

“Understood, Your Majesty.”

The thought of getting answers—even a few—improved his mood.

But that didn’t last long.

During a meeting regarding financial support for the Ferento territory, a servant entered the room, whispered something to Serez, and quickly withdrew.

Serez immediately approached and murmured, “Your Majesty, you need to return to the palace.”

Jaha woke up.

That much was clear.

But from the grim look on Serez’s face, that wasn’t all.

Marsilia swept his gaze across the gathered officials.

“We’ll pause here. Something urgent requires my attention. If it turns out to be a minor issue, I’ll return soon. Otherwise, you’ll receive further instructions later.”

With a brief nod, he left the hall and headed straight for the Sun Palace.

Even before reaching the entrance, he felt the disturbance.

The chaotic energy from the third floor reached all the way down to the grand hall on the first.

Marsilia clicked his tongue. What the hell is going on?

Taking the stairs two at a time, he arrived at his chambers—only to be met with a scene of absolute disaster.

The room was in complete disarray.

Every window near the bed was shattered, jagged shards of glass scattered across the thick carpet.

The heavy canopy surrounding the bed had been torn apart, its fabric hanging in ragged strips, swaying in the wind.

And in the middle of the carnage, a gaunt man stood barefoot, covered in blood, his body tense as he warily observed his surroundings.

Near him, four people lay motionless.

Two knights. Two attendants.

One of the attendants had already returned to the goddess’s embrace—his head severed clean from his body.

Marsilia’s expression darkened.

What the hell happened here?

He wanted someone—anyone—to answer.

But the remaining attendants were paralyzed with terror, barely able to breathe, let alone speak.

From the way they trembled, it looked like they were using every ounce of their strength just to keep from screaming.

Grinding his teeth, Marsilia locked eyes with the man standing on the ruined bed.