The King’s Funeral

It was a room so extravagant it could only be described as the pinnacle of luxury. Every decorative pattern seemed to be alive, teeming with the forms of various sea creatures. And wherever lines were drawn, golden threads ran through them—everything appeared to be crafted from gold.

At the center of the room, on a massive bed, blue cloth intertwined with golden threads formed blooming flowers. Lying atop this luxurious bed, a gaunt figure struggled to breathe, writhing in pain.

“Huuk… Ugh…!”

With every labored breath, the figure clenched the blanket with his bony hands. At that moment, a careful voice sounded from beside him.

“Your Majesty, I will administer the painkiller now.”

The speaker was an older man, half of his face covered in a white beard. He was the royal physician. As he brought the needle to a vein, the tormented king gradually calmed after the injection. Yet this was no reason to celebrate.

‘Hoo… What am I to do… The painkillers are taking longer to work.’

Previously, they had lasted half a day. Now, the pain returned in less than thirty minutes. And the painkiller he just administered was the strongest known to him.

At first, even milder painkillers had worked, but now they were useless. The body had built a tolerance. Soon, the effect of even the strongest one wouldn’t last ten minutes.

“I shall now take my leave.”

As the physician quietly exited, the king stared blankly at the ceiling, the pain momentarily dulled. He could feel the end approaching. Never had he imagined his life would end so emptily.

‘How fleeting life is… This is so unfair.’

He thought to himself that if he had known, he would have indulged more. How nice it would have been to live without caring for others’ opinions. He still wanted to live. He wanted more, and he wanted to hold more young and beautiful women.

But contrary to those desires, the king’s body was inching steadily toward the end. Even at death’s door, he thought only of luxury and women. Truly a remarkable man. He had no regrets about how he had lived—only anger at not being able to do more.

While the king was lost in thoughts of his life’s futility, the royal physician, now outside the room, encountered someone waiting in the corridor. Bowing deeply, he said:

“Your Majesty the Queen, I am at your service.”

“I came because I have something to ask of you.”

“Please speak.”

“What is His Majesty’s condition?”

“I apologize, but I am forbidden to speak of His Majesty’s health.”

At this, the Queen’s eyes twitched slightly—she was likely displeased by his refusal to answer. But she quickly changed her expression and spoke.

“I understand. But I’m so worried about His Majesty, I couldn’t restrain myself. Please, is there even a little sign of improvement?”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I understand your concern, but as I am strictly forbidden from discussing His Majesty’s condition, I have nothing I can say.”

The Queen was tempted to press him further. But she felt many eyes watching. Every one of her actions could influence her son, the First Prince’s, claim to the throne. With that in mind, she restrained herself.

“If that is how it is, then I understand.”

Turning her head—and her entire body—the Queen left abruptly. Watching her go, the physician wondered if he’d lose his position should the First Prince take the throne. Still, he had no regrets. As both a physician and by royal decree, he simply couldn’t speak of the king’s condition.

‘To be honest… there’s not much time left.’

He could feel the end was near. Soon the painkillers would no longer work, and the already weakened king wouldn’t last much longer. Blasphemous as it was, this was the medical truth.

‘What comes after worries me more.’

The moment the king died, the First and Second Princes—locked in a succession rivalry—would clash. No one could predict the kingdom’s future in such a state. He was genuinely concerned about what lay ahead.

April 25th.

It had been some time since he was discharged, and Ian’s shoulder had recovered nicely. He could now lift it without pain. It had been nearly two months since the gunshot, and the wound had almost completely healed.

But what mattered now was the ominous mood within the palace. According to his informants, tension inside was high. There was only one explanation for such unrest: the king was dead.

‘This feels… strange.’

Perhaps it was because they were related by blood? He didn’t feel happy, but the feeling was certainly odd. Now that the king was dead, the two prince factions would surely begin to move—though not right away. First, the funeral had to be held.

‘Still, you never know. I should be prepared.’

He had thought the king would hang on longer. His death felt anticlimactic. Still, knowing there was no afterlife, he offered a quiet wish for peace. Hopefully, he’d be reborn as a better person.

‘Or not even a person at all, maybe.’

He brushed off the thought. The relationship was over. For now, he would simply observe. And then, the news came—the king’s death was officially announced across the kingdom.

Radios and other devices had been activated, and every frequency carried the broadcast.

“The Great King Hugo di Polia has departed into the embrace of the distant sea. People of the Polia Kingdom, bid farewell to our great ruler. Remember the times of peace and joy you lived in his embrace. Remember the blessings and comfort of the life he provided. Remember the warmth with which he held us all.”

Ian almost blurted out a curse but held back. Peace? Comfort? Warmth? No one in the kingdom thought that way. The king they remembered only exploited and lived in extravagance.

‘They’ve really lost it. Who believes that nonsense?’

Of course, even the announcer likely didn’t believe it. He was just reading the script. Regardless, the king was truly dead. That meant many things were about to change.

Ian glanced at his butler, who was also listening. His expression wasn’t sad—not at all. That expression seemed to represent the citizens of the kingdom. No one mourned the king.

“Butler.”

“Yes, Prince Ian?”

“Prepare the funeral attire.”

“As you wish.”

Looking at the butler, Ian pictured the now-volatile atmosphere within the palace. The funeral would be held there, with many attendees. Among them, the First and Second Prince factions would be at each other’s throats.

‘Surely they won’t fight during the ceremony, right?’

The image of them snarling at each other in front of international delegates was appalling. Representatives from every nation would be attending. With that in mind, he just hoped the ceremony would go smoothly.

‘Time to get moving.’

He was ready to act. Who was considering him as a contender? No one knew the full extent of his forces yet.

‘This is going to get interesting.’

With that thought, Ian rose to his feet and began to move.

May 1st.

The funeral proceeded under a solemn atmosphere. There was a designated area within the royal palace reserved for events such as royal weddings and religious ceremonies.

It was called the Hall of Kings, and it currently held no fewer than a thousand people. At the very front of this space lay the king’s body. Clad in black, many attendees quietly watched as the ceremony unfolded.

There were many of the king’s women present, as well as his numerous children. In truth, many of the concubines and children gathered here were now facing expulsion from the palace.

With the old king gone, there was no reason for the new king to keep them. The palace would soon be reborn as a place exclusively for the new monarch’s mother, wife, and children.

‘In a way, this solves one of my goals—getting Mother and Charlotte out of the palace.’

After the funeral, having Mother and his younger sister Charlotte leave the Concubines’ Quarters might actually be a blessing. For safety reasons, it would be better to protect them at his own estate. With that thought, Ian glanced over at his mother and sister sitting beside him.

His mother was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Beside her, Charlotte also appeared on the verge of tears. Seeing them cry over that heartless king made him wonder:

‘Mother… did you actually love him?’

He couldn’t bring himself to ask. Perhaps before she became pregnant with him, she truly did love the king. Even now, it seemed she still held onto those feelings. And Charlotte crying for her father… it struck Ian again just how tender-hearted she was.

‘Should I at least pretend to cry too?’

Of course, there were princes and princesses who weren’t shedding any tears either. Most were likely preoccupied with the uncertain future ahead. Ideally, the succession would conclude peacefully, but if things turned for the worse, civil war might erupt.

There was also the fear that either the First or Second Prince—who had the strongest claims to the throne—might decide to eliminate the remaining royal family. History held many such examples of victorious kings slaughtering their brothers. That made the princes’ positions extremely precarious.

‘Frankly, I’m probably not in a great spot either.’

The people praised him and cheered his name. From the perspective of the next king, that made him a problem. A priest-like figure stood in front, saying something over the king’s body, but Ian’s focus was on the attendees around him.

‘Foreign ambassadors from the capital have all shown up.’

Representatives from the Doicheun Empire, the Magnia Empire, the Moria Empire, and the Noma Empire were all present. Dozens of other kingdoms had also sent their delegates. With so many observers, nothing would happen—at least during the funeral.

Just as he expected, the ceremony proceeded uneventfully. Next came the final procession—the transfer of the king’s coffin along the capital’s main avenue by carriage. Naturally, the royal family would accompany it.

Not on foot, of course. While traditionally they would ride in carriages, modern times called for automobiles. Thus, everyone moved to their assigned vehicles for the king’s final procession. Ian escorted his mother and sister to their designated car.

The moment they boarded, it felt as if they had entered an isolated world. His mother let out a quiet sigh, prompting Ian to ask:

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, my son.”

“Once the funeral is over, please come live comfortably at my estate.”

“Then, does that mean I’ll live with you too, Brother?”

Charlotte asked as Ian nodded reassuringly.

“Yes. You won’t have to live in the palace anymore.”

“Really?”

She sounded thrilled. Clearly, the idea of leaving the palace and staying with her brother was welcome. Ian smiled softly at her joy, but when he turned to his mother, her expression still looked troubled—she was likely thinking about other concerns.

As the car began to move, a motorcade followed suit. Outside, soldiers in ceremonial uniforms rode horses in formation. Then Ian noticed his mother glancing at the driver before secretly handing him something.

A note? What did it say?

Opening it curiously, he found written:

[Ian, let’s all flee to another country together.]

It was the same idea Ian once had himself. She was afraid of what the future might bring. That much was clear.

Looking at her, he saw her nod slightly at him.

‘She’s worried about my future. And now that she believes I’m aiming for the throne, she must be desperate to get me out of this country.’

But it was already too late. He had prepared too much, and his resolve had long since hardened. Fleeing now would only lead to a miserable life, always fearing pursuit. Knowing this, Ian quietly shook his head.

His mother looked surprised, then gave him a pleading gaze. In response, Ian simply took her hand and squeezed it gently.

‘Don’t worry. The days you have to live in fear are almost over.’

Unaware of his internal thoughts, she continued to look at him with earnest concern. Meanwhile, the king’s final procession passed through streets lined with citizens of the capital.