The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 438: Emperor’s decree - 2

I cannot simply ignore what you’ve done—that would undermine the entire structure of imperial law. But I also recognize that executing or imprisoning someone of your capabilities and... let’s call it principled stubbornness... would be a waste of a potentially valuable asset.”

Jolthar remained silent, listening carefully, trying to gauge where this was leading.

”Therefore,” the Emperor continued, his smile widening slightly, ”I’m going to give you a task. A mission, if you will. Complete it successfully, and I will erase your crimes—all of them.

You will receive a full imperial pardon, and I will officially recognize Tekkora as a legitimate fiefdom under your governance. Furthermore, I will elevate you to count, granting you additional territory and the privileges that come with higher noble rank.”

Murmurs of shock rippled through the assembled officials. This was extraordinarily generous, almost unheard of given the severity of the accusations.

”However,” the Emperor added, and his voice took on a harder edge, ”the task I’m assigning you is appropriately difficult.

Fail, and you will be considered to have rejected imperial mercy.

Refuse, and I will have no choice but to execute you here and now for the crimes you’ve been accused of. Do you understand?”

”I understand, Your Imperial Majesty,” Jolthar replied calmly.

The Emperor gestured, and one of his advisors approached the throne, handing him a scroll. The Emperor unrolled it, glanced at the contents, then looked back at Jolthar.

”The Dreadland Depths,” the Emperor said, and the temperature in the hall seemed to drop several degrees at the mention of that name.

Expressions of shock, concern, and in some cases outright horror appeared on faces throughout the assembly.

Milan’s face went pale. Andrion actually took a step forward as if to protest before stopping himself. Even some of the ministers looked disturbed by what the Emperor was proposing.

”The Dreadland Depths,” the Emperor repeated, ”is a region in the far northeastern territories where reality itself has become corrupted by malicious energies. It’s a place filled with Nynthralls and nyphorites—creatures of absolute malevolence that exist only to kill, corrupt, and spread suffering.”

The area was so dangerous that even the military forces avoided it except for containment operations along its borders. Only the great generals have taken their elite troops to fight in those lands. It was not a place that a single person could survive on his own even if he was powerful.

He rolled the scroll back up, his eyes never leaving Jolthar’s face.

”Within the Dreadland Depths exist the duke rank Nyphorites—entities that have accumulated so much power and malice that they command entire legions of lesser creatures. They are effectively immortal within their domains, regenerating from any damage unless their core essence is completely destroyed. Killing even one requires exceptional skill, power, and quite a bit of luck. Most expeditions sent to eliminate them never return.”

The Emperor’s smile became slightly sharper.

”Your task, Jolthar Kaezhlar, is to venture into the Dreadland Depths and kill three of these dukes. Bring me their heads and I will grant you everything I’ve promised.

Pardon, recognition, elevation to count, and my personal assurance that these ministers—” he gestured toward Richardus and the others ”—will cease their persecution of you and your barony.”

The hall erupted in whispers and shocked exclamations.

What the Emperor was proposing was essentially a suicide mission dressed up as an opportunity for redemption.

Minister Richardus’s expression showed barely concealed satisfaction—clearly, he believed Jolthar would either refuse and be executed, or accept and die in the Depths, solving his problem either way.

Duke Hernais Rothgard was smiling openly, convinced that justice would be served through Jolthar’s inevitable failure and death.

Justiciar Halvren looked conflicted—part of him wanted Jolthar punished, but even he seemed to recognize that sending someone into the Dreaded Depths was essentially a death sentence.

Prime Minister Bahste Fatler’s expression remained carefully neutral, though there was calculation in his eyes as he assessed how this development might be used to his advantage.

Only two people in the hall showed no surprise at the Emperor’s pronouncement.

Great General Remin stood with his usual military bearing, his face showing he had either expected something like this or had learned long ago not to be surprised by the Emperor’s decisions.

And Bahste, despite his neutral expression, had clearly anticipated this possibility—he was too experienced a politician to be genuinely shocked by imperial maneuvering.

Milan looked like he wanted to object, to point out the impossibility of what was being asked, but as a prince he couldn’t directly challenge his father’s judgment in open court. Andrion stood beside his brother, both of them pale with the understanding of what the Dreaded Depths represented.

The Emperor’s voice cut through the murmurs.

”The mission is dangerous, certainly. Some would call it impossible. But you’ve accomplished supposedly impossible things before, Child of Kaezhlar. Defeating my daughter. Surviving elite knights and mages. Transforming into a dragon. Perhaps you’ll surprise us again.”

He leaned forward slightly on his throne.

”So I ask you directly—will you accept this task? Will you venture into the Dreadland Depths and bring me three duke heads? Or will you refuse and face immediate execution for your crimes against the empire?”

The choice was laid out starkly—almost certain death in a horrific place filled with malevolent creatures, or definite death right here in the imperial hall.

For a long moment, Jolthar stood silent, processing what had just been proposed. He was aware of the Dreadland Depths by reputation—every soldier who had served in the eastern territories knew of it, though few had ever seen it directly.

It was spoken of in the same tones people used for natural disasters or divine curses, a place where sanity went to die alongside the bodies of those foolish enough to venture too deep.

Three duke-class Nyphorites. Creatures that commanded legions, that regenerated from damage, that existed in an environment specifically designed to kill anything living that entered it. The task was absurd and ridiculous, effectively a fancy way of executing him while technically giving him a chance.