The Distinguished Mr. Rose Chapter 118: Chapter 117: Charlemagne, My Son

Read chapter 118 of The Distinguished Mr. Rose by QuiteTheSlacker on NovelPedia.

Chapter 117: Charlemagne, My Son From the very moment of Lucius’s arrival to this nation, the Franks had always kept their would-be emperor hidden, never once mentioning his existence unless directly asked. And even then the responses would always be the same. The emperor was busy with other matters; the emperor had not the time to grant them audience. Yet, when a crucial event did come to pass, such as Sir Renaud’s resignation ceremony, it was Ganelon who held the proceedings. It was Ganelon who handled the vast majority of the nation’s affairs. Some of the more keen-sighted players noticed this odd discrepancy and attempted to sate their curiosity by interrogating the Franks further, even attempting to bribe a few loose-lipped looking fellows. But none would give them a clear answer. The corrupt priests, the gossiping servants, nor the elderly paladins. They kept their silence whilst wearing an expression of both discomfort and fear - fear of what Ganelon would do to them. The emperor was this land’s most protected secret, the one treasure they could not reveal no matter what. Now, Lucius understood why; or perhaps it would be better to say he found out a long time ago. It was because the emperor was still a child. “Look how pathetic you’ve become, boy.” Pepin leaned forward, his rancid green breath spewing directly onto Karolus’s face. The poor boy was too confused, too terrified, to comprehend the reality before him. There his father stood, a rotted mess of a corpse that should have perished five years ago, yet he was here now. His voice rumbled in wicked ecstasy. His overbearing gaze pushed down on the boy, and Karolus could only sit there with trembling eyes as he beheld the demonic heart thumping in the former emperor’s chest. Karolus struggled to breathe. He could not bear to meet the figure lingering just above his sight, for he knew to do so would mean acknowledging the impossible: that his nightmares had come to life. Even as tears rolled down his cheeks and his father’s gaze threatened to swallow him entirely, he refused to look up. But such behavior only served to further enrage the one called Pepin. “To think, even with the years and seasons come to pass, my heir has not grown one bit. The sniveling infant of yesterday is still a sniveling brat now, without a single redeeming quality. Charlemagne, my son… truly you are my biggest failure of all.” Pepin shook his head and then glanced around the room. He grimaced at the childish toys and furnishings, and he recoiled in disgust that his own flesh and blood would be so regrettably meagre. Karolus choked on his own breaths and covered his mouth. He desperately tried to make himself seem smaller, unknowing that with his every action, his father’s temper only continued to flare. “But perhaps the most grievous sin is that you willingly sealed what makes you superior - what makes us the shepherds and others the flock. And for what? Because this whimpering, craven little man fit only to be our mutt asked you so?” Pepin grabbed Ganelon and roughly threw him to the ground. The High Tribunal coughed, wheezing from the impact and the countless wounds spread across his body. Karolus’s eyes widened, and he reached out toward Ganelon, only to be stopped at the last moment as Pepin loomed over him whilst uttering a disappointed rasp. “My mind cannot fathom it. For what reason would you allow these lowly beings to control you? They are insignificant, tools. Ganelon… I understand keeping him. The fool is rather entertaining, how easy it is to break him or how he holds in his anger and slobbers over your boots without hesitation. But people such as he must be appropriately tamed, or else they shall desire what does not belong to them.” As if to demonstrate, Pepin turned around and dug his leg hard in Ganelon’s ribs. The man could barely utter a shout in pain, his throat long dried up from his liege’s abuse. And all the while, Karolus could do nothing. “N-no,” he muttered. “Stop—stop