Imperator: Resurrection of an Empire-Chapter 397 - 392 -

The battle was over and with it the kingdoms fate was sealed.

In the arms of the Romanus Emperor Julius lay the limp form of the stripped and defeated Saint Joan or as she should be called once more, Princess Yurasia of the Roserun kingdom.

Julius having his prize simple held the limp princesses form for a while in a sort of hug before shifting his weight taking one arm under her legs before standing up with her in a princess carry.

Before he turned round and casually walked away without a care in the world.

As if nothing else truly mattered in this moment.

This was the true regret of the King.

~

The Francian King sat upon his throne his morale utterly broken, his families last chance for survival had just been snatched away before his very eyes.

His one locked on the regal form of the warrior king before him even as he left the throne room.

Forgoing the glory of claiming the throne for himself, as he had other matters more important to deal with.

The weary kings eyes shifted to the room around him.

The battle had only been over for a minute and alrady the Imperial guard had begun to move.

They had advanced in formation advancing towards those nobles who had cowered in fear hoping beyond hope for the success of the final challenge.

Only for that hope to be snuffed out.

The Francian champion who was not even one of our own people had fallen in combat.

And now the death knell was coming.

These nobles... sucking the lifeblood out of our kingdom.

Even my own royal guard... *Sigh* they are just the sons of these noble lords, all except the captain of the guard having little to no real combat experience.

Having experience only in practicing showy forms of combat for competitions or just displays for the women of the nation to gaze up as if they were conquoring heroes.

But against us...

the imperial guard of Romanus...

It was very clear they were of a different breed.

Even as they marched against the last dozen forces within the castle they remained vigilant.

Keeping senties at the doors against a possible reinforcing force.

All the while advancing in formation towards us, no glory seekers among them looking to charge forward and get the title of kingslayer, or the reward of slaying an important noble or even the prince.

Ah that damned prince, i mean son of mine.

Whatever in the seven hells was the boy thinking.

He had acted foolishly before but to think he’d have gone far enough to kidnap a noble lady of another land, worse than that a women known far and wide as the paramour and eventual wife to the Romanus King who became an Emperor in record time.

Even as the last brave souls charged the iron clad wall before us, and the screams of pain and battle sounded off.

All while the shrieks and displays of panic and fear showed many of the nobles their true selves as even trapped as they were they attempted to bargin, to plead, even to escape.

Some shouted out offering up their fellow nobles as sacrifices if it would save themselves.

Others had surrounded the crown prince before all but throwing him before the oncoming Praetorians shouting out about how this was all his fault.

His actions not the nations that had brought about this outcome.

Others who held some modicum of honor turned their blades upon themselves, choosing a swift end at their own hand rather than a slow and painful death at the ends of the enemy.

Blood flowed in the throne room, for the first time in my long reign... possibly even since the founding of the Francian kingdom.

But even still i did not stir.

I was the king of this nation, and this nation would die when i did, but i was honorbound.

I had used the old custom to demand a chance to live, not for myself but for my wife and daughters, willing to offer up my brainless son even if the emperor lost the duel.

To appease him, knowing to withhold the one truly responsible would only make the rest of the territory suffer instead.

But now having lost the last gamble i was prepared for the end.

Sitting upright on my throne, watching as i became the last of my line.

My own son getting gutted right in front of my eyes.

First when a Romanus blade slashed as his arm, then by a nobles blade as he tried to run away seeking asylum behind the others.

In the end my sons end was far from pretty.

He suffered more at the hands of his allies than he did the enemy he provoked.

His wounds were numerous, legs heavily wounded to the point he could only crawl, torso slashed open with his innards spilling out.

Aside from the slash to his arm, the only other wound my son received was the beheading that came once the Romanus battleline had almost overtaken him, and by that point death was a mercy, compared to the suffering he was already going through.

The Praetorians were acting rather strange however, supremely disciplined no doubt about it, but when their line reached about 10ft from my throne they stopped marching with their lines on the flanks carrying on, as the formation that was five rows deep became 3, then 2 as the formation moved from a line into more of a U as they moved to surround the throne itself.

The action was clear to me, the king, aka I would be the last to fall, but the legion would not haul me from my throne as was the respect offered to a monarch.

Instead they would make sure i bore witness to the fall of my kingdom.

The end of our nobility.

And only then when the hall was filled with the corpses of their damned souls would the final blow come.

The mercy granted to a tortured old man bearing far to many psychological scars created in the last few dozen minutes.