A Certain Duke’s Story
The Granzur Empire has many ducal houses.
He was the head of one of them—the House of Duke Albald.
“Just a little longer… just a little longer and my family’s dream will be fulfilled.”
Duke Albald was the elder brother of the current Emperor.
So why was the Emperor’s own elder brother merely a duke?
The reason lies in the Granzur Empire’s succession system. The throne was not passed down by primogeniture. Instead, the Emperor personally designated the successor, meaning the eldest son did not automatically inherit.
Primogeniture is often stable, but the Empire rejected it for reasons dating back to its founding.
The first Emperor of Granzur was without a doubt a hero.
During the Human–Demon War—where demonkind and their supporters clashed with human supremacists—and in the chaos that followed the Demon King’s revival, countless nations rose and fell.
At that time, the first Emperor reformed the tax system, distributed wealth, educated the people, built up national strength, and laid the foundation of the Granzur Empire. Truly, a hero.
But his son was a fool of the highest order. Arrogant, selfish, abusing the Emperor’s authority—he had no qualities befitting a ruler. People genuinely believed that if he ascended the throne, the Empire would collapse.
The first Emperor had focused solely on expanding and enriching the nation, neglecting to raise his heir properly.
Thus, he abolished primogeniture.
Instead, he made his children compete. “If you want the throne, prove your talent.”
And so, imperial princes began to fight one another. Some showed their prowess by killing their own brothers on the battlefield. Others demonstrated rare brilliance in governance. They fought, bled, and schemed against one another in pursuit of the throne.
For several generations, this system ushered in prosperity.
But no matter how fine a system, it is run by people—and people inevitably corrupt it.
Eventually, emperors began choosing heirs simply based on favoritism, not ability.
The current Emperor had come to power after the previous Emperor died in the Arland War, and the Crown Prince perished from his injuries. That sparked bloody strife among the royals.
This Emperor, in particular, murdered many siblings—through assassination and intrigue—to seize the throne. Duke Albald realized early that he himself would be targeted.
Though talented, he lacked strong backing. So he sided with his younger brother, marrying into the Albald Ducal House and feigning disinterest in the throne. The Emperor approved. After killing so many kin, he welcomed having one of his blood as an ally.
Still, the Emperor kept him under suspicion—thus Albald never joined the Arland campaign.
Not that he cared about Arland. Since childhood, he had been enchanted by the distant sight of the World Tree. That was what he desired. Not the throne, but the Tree.
So he told the Emperor that he would stay behind, lest any victories damage the Crown Prince’s prestige. He only sent his son and his army to war.
“My foolish brother… To start a war with so little information about that princess…”
From the start, Duke Albald was wary of Alicetia. Reports of her achievements reached him, but not of her true nature. All that spread were words like “beloved of the people” and “saint.” Not a scrap about her magic.
She invented countless things, each extraordinary. But where did the resources and funding come from? Anyone in the Empire’s upper echelons knew Arland had no such reserves—thanks to their own repeated raids.
Even stranger, despite her clear brilliance, there was almost no movement to crown her Queen. Arland already had a history of queenship. Nobles could even marry their sons into the royal family.
In fact, the current king, Draconia, was merely the consort. But since Queen Sylvia had delegated nearly all her powers, he was treated as king. Royal blood undeniably flowed through Sylvia. Alicetia becoming Queen would have been natural.
Yet it hadn’t happened. Suspicious.
A brilliant, accomplished princess versus a plain Crown Prince… There had to be something hidden. So he refused to go to war. And the result: the Empire’s army suffered catastrophic defeat.
“This country is finished. But I still have the World Tree. My brother will die, but I never stepped into Arland. I’ll survive.”
He kept close watch on Alicetia’s movements. He already knew her terms of surrender. His son would die, but he had other children. As long as he survived, with the World Tree as leverage, he could join the next imperial succession struggle.
He had once abandoned ambition for the throne—but now it was within reach.
“So be it. If the throne lies ahead of me, then I must remove… obstacles.”
He thought of the remaining royals. The First Prince was competent, but clashed often with the Emperor and never became heir. A conservative, content with his lands. The Second Prince was little more than his lapdog. They could be eliminated.
He dreamed of the future within his grasp.
But the dream was short-lived.
The door burst open. A knight rushed in, breathless.
“How many times have I told you—compose yourself!”
“My apologies, my lord. But urgent news! The World Tree—the World Tree, along with the entire forest—has been stolen!”
“What nonsense! How could anyone steal the Tree?!”
He turned to the window, about to laugh off the absurdity—until his eyes froze.
The forest he gazed at every morning… the World Tree… floated in the sky. An entire chunk of land had been ripped from the earth.
“What… what is this…?!”
Anyone would be struck dumb at such a sight.
“The princess’s army has likely invaded your lands.”
“What were the border guards doing?! No… I was the fool, thinking she wouldn’t touch the great domains.”
Alicetia’s forces had raided much of the Empire—but always avoided the most critical lands. This was because her clones instinctively avoided heavily guarded areas, plundering only moderately important lands. Until now.
“Take it back. Whatever it takes, reclaim it!”
Without the Tree, he could not form a faction. The seal was almost ready to be broken—soon, the Tree would yield endless wealth. Without it, he could never be Emperor.
“How, my lord? The griffin riders are all deployed. Almost no forces remain here.”
Most of the troops had never returned from Arland. The Emperor had kept them stationed in the capital for his own protection.
“Then the airships! Send the airships!”
“We have no large ones left.”
“Use the medium ones! Seize merchant ships if you must! Reclaim the Tree! And summon Brown!”
The knight saluted and left. Soon, an elderly mage in robes shuffled in.
“Ho-ho-ho. You called?”
He was over 120 years old—long-lived for a mage, but frail.
“Use farsight. Is the princess there?”
“Ho-ho-ho, very well.”
A water mirror was prepared. Brown chanted. An image appeared—the forest’s edge, cliffs where the land had been torn from the ground.
“Closer. Bring us closer.”
“You work this old man hard…”
“Silence.”
The image zoomed in.
“There. What is that? Closer!”
Brown sweated, staff trembling, as he obeyed.
“A… girl?”
“Ho-ho-ho…”
A lone girl stared back at them from the forest’s edge. She left, then returned—holding maracas.
It was Alicetia’s clone. She had sensed the farsight and come to investigate. The reflection of the duke’s chamber was visible in her eyes.
Brown’s eyes widened. He understood immediately—this being was far beyond him.
Then, the clone began shaking the maracas. An expressionless little girl, shaking them up and down, dancing mockingly.
The duke rubbed his eyes. Surely he was just tired.
“What is this?!”
When he looked again—there were now two identical girls, shaking maracas.
Startled, he looked away—then back again. Four girls.
Each time he averted his gaze, their number multiplied. Until a hundred little clones were all dancing mockingly.
The duke’s face turned red. To be ridiculed by a girl who hadn’t lived ten years—such humiliation!
“Impudent brat!”
He swore he would reclaim the Tree. But then, one clone threw away her maracas and drew something long.
A magic rifle—modeled after the M-700. A special, custom-built gun not supplied to the army.
The clone knelt, aimed. Magic circles appeared at the muzzle, then more at fixed intervals through the air.
The duke felt danger and instinctively dodged. A flash erupted.
The bullet passed through the circles, regaining its speed each time, and struck where he had stood moments before.
Sweat poured down his face. The shot had pierced through the manor. No one was hurt, but—this was from tens of kilometers away.
Such extreme long-range magic gunnery was theoretically possible—but this was mastery.
The duke understood at once. This was a warning: Do not interfere.
His dream shattered, he sank to the floor.
Later, he ordered the knight: “Do not touch it.”
But other lords tried, sending airships. They managed to land troops on the floating land—but none returned alive. Clones, fairies, and spirits patrolled the forest, killing all without mercy.
Days later, armed airships joined Alicetia’s forces, escorting the World Tree slowly toward Arland.
Desperate nobles sent their own ships—but the escorts annihilated them. Not a single vessel reached the land.
And so, the Granzur Empire lost the World Tree.
What do you think about this chapter?
