Chapter Title: The Unveiling of the Emperor

Chris POV

The cold marble floor of the palace echoed beneath Chris's worn boots, a far cry from the regal footsteps the hall was used to. Cloaked in a tattered shawl and a faded tunic, he moved with quiet intention—his posture stooped just enough to mimic submission but not enough to surrender dignity. A calculated illusion.

The main Royal Council Room buzzed with nobles in conversation, exchanging rumors like currency and arrogance like perfume. It was a perfect nest of complacency.

Chris walked along the edge of the room, weaving through servers and junior guards unnoticed. The nobles didn't even blink. To them, he was a shadow. Nothing worth a second glance.

But he wasn't here to listen anymore.

He was here to test them.

At the far end of the hall, Duke Harlen, a swollen noble with rings that glittered more than his intellect, held court with several other high-ranking elites. Chris's attention narrowed to him. Harlen had long been suspected of embezzling Blackwood funds during international deployments. Chris had the reports, but words on paper weren't proof of character.

Actions were.

Chris approached the group, holding a small sealed scroll. "M-My lord," he said in a husky voice, bowing low. "A message from Commander Frank, urgent."

The nobles didn't even look at him.

"Leave it on the table," one grunted.

But Chris didn't. Instead, he stepped forward and touched Duke Harlen's ornate robe—just lightly at the sleeve, with the back of his fingers. Just enough to draw attention.

The reaction was immediate.

The hall fell silent.

Gasps. Choked laughter. And then—

SLAP!

The force of Harlen's hand cracked against Chris's cheek with a thunderous snap, sending him staggering a step back. The crowd erupted in murmurs.

"You dare touch me, peasant!?" Harlen bellowed, wiping his sleeve as if diseased. "You filthy scum! GUARDS!"

Two guards rushed in from the door, their boots stomping like thunder across the marble.

"He assaulted a noble!" Harlen raged. "Strip him. Whip him. Then throw him outside the gates! Let the vultures dine on disrespect!"

Chris didn't flinch. Even as rough hands grabbed his arms, forcing him to his knees, he kept his head down.

Another noble spat at his feet. "This is what happens when you let peasants breathe our air."

The guards raised their batons, ready to beat him down.

"WAIT!" one guard said, pausing. "He's… he's not struggling."

That gave them pause. Chris raised his head—slowly. The room dimmed, like the air had thickened with pressure.

And then—

He removed his hood.

Gasps filled the chamber.

His face was unmistakable. That sharp jawline, the cold eyes like ice forged in fire. The scar by his temple from the assassination attempt years ago.

"By the gods..." someone whispered. "It's…"

Chris stood—slowly, regally—and adjusted the sleeves of his poor tunic. His presence alone was like gravity shifting.

"I am not your servant," he said, his voice echoing like thunder off the pillars. "I am Christopher Blackwood. Supreme Ruler of the Blackwood Union. The one whose name signed your titles… whose grace built the throne you now defile with mockery."

Duke Harlen went pale, mouth agape.

Chris's eyes narrowed at the guards who had seized him. "Release me."

They obeyed instantly, dropping to their knees.

The rest of the hall followed like dominoes.

Harlen tried to fall to his knees, too—but Chris stopped him with a raised hand. "No. Not you."

He walked slowly toward Harlen, each step deliberate.

"You slapped me in front of the entire court. For what? Because you believed I was beneath you?"

"No, Your Majesty, I—"

Chris raised his voice. "SILENCE."

Harlen's words died in his throat.

Chris leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper everyone could still hear. "When a ruler walks among his people in disguise… it's not to be worshipped. It's to see."

He turned and addressed the room.

"And now I have seen you. Not your clothes, not your titles. You."

He paused, letting his eyes scan each face.

"The ball, the gifts, the speeches… all forgotten in a moment. Because the only true gift is loyalty in absence."

He turned back to Harlen.

"For striking your Emperor, for mocking the people, and for every lie you've sold under the Blackwood flag… your titles are stripped."

"No, please, I—"

Chris gestured.

Two elite guards appeared from the shadows—ones loyal only to him. They grabbed Harlen, whose cries turned into pleading wails as they dragged him out.

The nobles remained bowed.

Chris took one final look across the crowd.

"Let this be a reminder," he said coldly, "that the Blackwood throne is not protected by crowns, or robes, or empty ceremonies. It is protected by discipline. Fear. And me."

Then he turned and walked away—not a step faltering, not a word wasted.

And across the palace, the message spread faster than fire:

The Emperor had returned.