Chapter 164. Oasis
That evening, the Crown Prince visited the Sultan's chamber.
"Father," Crown Prince Clark called out.
"My son," the Sultan responded, then pulled his son into a firm embrace.
Sultan Kazir had believed he would never see Clark open his eyes again. But now, here he was, standing before him. The grief and anger he had buried deep inside seemed to melt away in an instant.
They held each other in silence for a long time before Clark finally spoke, a faint smile on his lips, "I came at this late hour because there is something I must tell you."
"When I heard you had regained consciousness, I wanted to rush to your side immediately. But... the circumstances did not allow it. I hope you can understand," the Sultan said.
"I completely understand," Clark replied.
"Are you... feeling alright?" the Sultan asked.
"Saintess Seria has been continuously blessing me. Thanks to her, I can move around a little now," Clark answered.
"Ohad must truly favor you," the Sultan said.
Ohad was the one and only god worshiped by the people of the Pajar Sultanate.
Clark gave a bitter smile at his father's words. The Sultan was attributing the blessing granted by a saintess of the Holy Kingdom to Ohad. He thought that had to be blasphemy.
"Come sit," the Sultan said to his son.
"Yes, Father," Clark answered.
The Sultan gestured for his son to take a seat, and Clark lowered himself onto the chair. Only then did he get a good look at his father's face.
In just two months, the wrinkles on the Sultan's face had deepened significantly. His energy had noticeably waned, but the sharp glint in his eyes remained unchanged.
"You look as if you have many questions for me," the Sultan said as he slowly poured tea into the cup before Clark.
It was made from dried cactus—a tea with a crisp, refreshing aroma that gradually filled the chamber.
Clark took a careful sip, letting the warmth settle within him, then spoke in a hushed voice. "...How much did you already know, Father?"
"About what?" the Sultan asked.
"About Aslan, and all the things he has done," Clark answered.
Second Prince Aslan was the Sultan's second son, and Clark's younger brother.
Clark clenched his fists tightly and continued, "You know exactly where I collapsed, don't you?"
Before ascending the throne, the Crown Prince had to regularly perform sacred rites at the altar of the Ali Oasis. That was why the oasis was revered as a holy place for the royal family—because it housed the altar dedicated to Ohad, the god of the Pajar Sultanate.
"Aslan, he orchestrated everything," Clark declared. He still remembered the smile Aslan had given him right before he collapsed.
Aslan was a brother who had once been affectionate, but something had changed in him over the past year.
At first, Clark had only felt guilt because he thought his younger brother had always lived in his shadow, and that suffering, he had believed, was entirely his fault. So he had wanted to take care of Aslan, to ensure he lacked nothing, to give him everything he needed to be happy.
But at some point, a dark shadow had fallen over Aslan's face. That shadow had grown, taking shape, until it finally gave birth to a monster.
"Do you know what Aslan did at the altar?" Clark asked, his hand trembling as he gripped his teacup.
"He sacrificed one of our people, a child. Right before my eyes," he continued as his voice dropped to a whisper, laced with horror. "And it didn't seem to have been his first time. He was far too skilled for that."
The image of his younger brother, smiling as he took the life of a child, remained vivid in Clark's mind. For two months, as he lay unconscious in bed, that scene had tormented him—his brother's laughter ringing through his nightmares, an endless loop of horror.
"I find it hard to believe that you didn't already know," Clark said.
At his words, the Sultan lowered his head in silence. This was the original sin, and all of it was the Sultan's burden to bear.
"So I must ask you, Father. When did you first find out?" Clark asked.
"My son..." the Sultan said.
"Did you truly intend to entrust this sultanate to Aslan? That man?" Clark's voice grew harsher, his anger spilling over.
The Sultan accepted his son's fury without protest.
How much time passed in silence, neither of them knew.
Eventually, the Sultan set his teacup down with a weary hand, his gaze heavy with regret as he looked upon his son. He said, "...My sight was clouded. I only saw the truth after you collapsed."
Whispers of the deeds of his second son, Aslan, had reached him long ago. They had said that Aslan was veering off the right path. But the Sultan had ignored them, turning a blind eye to his son's growing shadow.
It was common for royals who stood outside the line of succession to fall into despair. The Sultan had believed that once Clark took the throne, Aslan would naturally find his place, that things would settle. But only after the Crown Prince collapsed had he finally realized.
"I should never have left Aslan unchecked like that," the Sultan said. He had made a grave mistake.
"You must act on it now," Clark urged.
"While you were unconscious, Aslan swayed most of the powerful nobles to his side. Without justification, this fight will not be an easy one," the Sultan said.
"Then are you simply just going to stand by and watch? Aslan has already—" Clark said, but was cut off.
"There is no need for you to stain your hands with blood," the Sultan interrupted. He poured himself another cup of tea, watching the steam rise with a bitter smile.
"Samir has brought a chillingly sharp blade into the palace," the Sultan continued.
"...Do you mean Caron Leston?" Clark asked.
"The Ducal Family of Leston... They are nobles of the empire, yet distinct from the empire. They understand honor, and for countless generations, they have fought against demons," the Sultan explained.
A family that commanded respect, even as citizens of an enemy nation. That was the Ducal Family of Leston.
"I heard that you met with Caron Leston as soon as you woke up. No doubt you told him about Aslan. Then that is enough," the Sultan said, then took a slow sip of his tea and let out a quiet sigh. "There is no need for you to dirty yourself with this filth."
"You mean to shift the burden onto Caron Leston...?" Clark asked.
"No," the Sultan said, shaking his head with a tired smile. "The one who must take responsibility for this is not Caron Leston... It is me."
One mistake was enough. Sultan Kazir refused to let his son carry this weight any longer.
He turned his gaze to the window. A full moon shone brightly in the night sky.
By now, it should have begun. The Sultan's thoughts turned to Caron Leston, a mad dog beyond anyone's control.
The sharp blade from the empire would carve out the rot festering within this palace without a doubt.
***
It was a night so silent that not even the sound of insects could be heard.
And in that darkness, an uninvited guest arrived at the chamber of Second Prince Aslan.
Aslan glared at the intruder, his face contorted with fury. He said, "It's you. You ruined everything. You destroyed my plans."
"I didn't ruin them. I corrected them," the intruder replied, not even bothering with courtesy.
There was only one kind of person who would visit someone's chamber at this hour—an assassin lurking in the shadows. Yet this one made no effort to hide. As the moonlight streamed in through the window, it illuminated the intruder's face. His blond hair gleamed like platinum in the pale glow.
"Guards! Where are the guards?!" Aslan shouted urgently toward the door, but no one entered.
"Tsk tsk, what a pathetic struggle," the intruder remarked with a grin, reaching out—then crushed Aslan's hand without hesitation.
Crack.
The sickening sound of twisting bones filled the air, followed by Aslan's piercing scream.
"Arrrrgh!"
"If you're already in pain, what are you going to do? You can't fall apart over something like this when you were the one who tried to kill your own older brother. It's time for the guards to change shifts right now, but for some reason, the change seems to be delayed. In other words, no one is coming to save you," the intruder, Caron, said. He laughed as he drove his foot into Aslan's stomach.
Boom!
Aslan flew backward, crashing hard against the wall.
"To be honest, when the Crown Prince first told me about you, I considered the possibility that you were a victim of dark mana. But now that I see you up close... That's not the case, is it?" Caron asked as he strode toward Aslan, his steps slow and deliberate.
Now that he saw it with his own eyes, there was no doubt. Aslan hadn't just used dark mana. To be precise...
"You, you made a contract," Caron pointed out.
He was sure that Aslan had made a contract with a demon.
"You made a contract with a demon related to sloth, am I right?" Caron asked.
Aslan coughed, blood spilling from his lips.
Sching.
Caron unsheathed Guillotine and pressed the blade against Aslan's throat.
At that, Aslan let out a bitter laugh and muttered, "So... That great father of mine has finally discarded me. Now that my dear brother is awake, there's no need to tolerate me any longer, is that it?"
His voice dripped with hatred.
"What now? Do you plan to kill me here? Go ahead. Kill me. The moment you do, this nation—" Aslan was cut off.
"Are you actually an idiot?" Caron interrupted.
Thud.
He drove Guillotine deep into Aslan's calf.
"If a rebellion breaks out in the Pajar Sultanate, that's good news for me. This place is an enemy of the empire, after all. Why would I hesitate to weaken my enemy?" Caron continued.
Whoosh.
Feeding on Caron's mana, Guillotine darkened with an even deeper, more ominous glow.
And then, the blade began devouring the dark mana that clung to Aslan.
"Greed, yes, humans can be greedy. Humans are creatures that are greedy by nature," Caron said.
There was no such thing as a human without greed. It was greed that had driven humanity forward since the dawn of time.
Caron didn't deny greed itself. After all, even he carried the burning desire for revenge. That, too, was a form of greed.
"But you should have known your limits," Caron added.
As he drove Guillotine into Aslan, the truth became painfully clear.
"Owner," Guillotine's voice echoed in Caron's mind.
This is familiar. I know exactly whose dark mana this belongs to, Caron thought.
The Crown Prince had shared various details about Aslan.
Aslan had once been a man who had never shown much interest in women, but at some point, he'd become obsessed with them, entangling himself in scandal after scandal. Even the Third Prince Amin had become increasingly debauched after associating with him.
Lust, a depraved nature, and a follower of sloth... There was only one kind of demon that corrupted its contractor in such a way.
"Of all the demons you could have made a contract with, why a succubus?" Caron asked.
A succubus was a wretched breed that grew stronger by feeding on their contractor's desires. There was no mistaking it.
At Caron's words, Aslan burst into laughter. He said, "You don't understand... the misery of a royal who could never become Crown Prince. That despair..."
Smack!
Caron's palm struck Aslan's face with a merciless slap, and blood dripped from the prince's split lips.
"You bastards always have some excuse," Caron said coldly. "I know a prince who's close to me—he's a lunatic, but even he's better than you. At least he works for what he wants. Not that he seems particularly obsessed with the throne."
Aslan's words were nothing more than an excuse. No amount of personal suffering justified dragging others into the abyss.
Evil was always diligent. It thrived in unseen places, constantly growing, spreading like a relentless plague.
Smack!
Caron slapped Aslan again, his voice dropping to a murmur. "Come out. I know you're listening. If you don't show yourself, I'll kill your contractor right here."
At that moment, Aslan's head drooped.
Then a few moments later, a sultry voice whispered in Caron's ear.
"Humans grow up so fast. That little boy I met four years ago... I never imagined he'd ripen into something so delectable. Just thinking about it makes me shiver."
Caron recognized that voice. It was the voice of the succubus that appeared at a banquet in the imperial palace four years ago.
A succubus he had sliced in half.
"So you weren't just any ordinary succubus. Well, that makes sense. There's no way a lowly one could wield that kind of power," Caron said.
"Aren't you curious about my name? I can tell you if you want."
Sching!
In a flash, Caron swung Guillotine through the empty air.
Flutter.
Petals drifted down, and from the void emerged a half-naked demon. With Guillotine lodged in her throat, she gazed at Caron, then spread her arms wide and smiled.
"It's Laia. That's my name. I'd like you to remember it," she said.
Laia, the Queen of the Succubi, was smiling at him.