Chapter 2 – In which they frown a lot
Vermillian frowned.
He was frowning for quite a time now, but now he managed to frown even more.
First, he decided to organize the basic information.
300 years ago he and his siblings were caught in the trap set up by traitors.
As a result, their forces were wiped out and after a weeklong battle, he and his siblings met their end.
But it’s not how it was passed down in history.
Because all of their loyal followers were wiped out and the traitors were the only ones left there was no one beside them who knew the truth. And the traitors used it.
They spun a lie about how he and his siblings turned against each other and sacrificed all their forces in a crazy desire to rule everything or something.
Obvious lies. Insane lies.
Vermillian literally spit out blood when he realized that.
But victors get to write history and the traitors were the victors here.
Though being a victor didn’t mean the traitors' lives afterwards were full of roses.
As expected from people who couldn’t accept peaceful rule and decided that overthrowing the rulers by killing them and all of their loyal subordinates, who were essential for the country to work properly, is a good idea.
They couldn’t choose a leader among themselves, leading to internal fights. Moreover, the citizens also weren’t too happy about sudden change in government and threw riots.
That led to decades of civil war.
When it finally ended, the Luminere was on the brink of collapse. It was truly a miracle it didn’t collapse.
By that time, the main culprits behind Vermillian and his siblings' downfall were already dead. Killed by the blades of their own commanders.
Vermillian was a bit bitter about it as he wanted to take revenge himself, but he also thought they deserved it.
The result of the long civil war was Luminere divided into three states.
They still belong to the same country, but considering their politics and economic independence it wouldn’t be any different if they were three separate countries.
The only thing stopping them from declaring independence was probably the contract the siblings made when they established the Luminere.
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‘... Because if any of the thrones separate, everything will collapse.’
The place he currently found himself was the state of Rubrun. They proclaimed themselves to be followers of him, Vermillian the ruler of Red Magic Throne.
And the body he found himself was the second son of the Archmage, Belleder, who ruled the state of Rubrun for the past decade – his name was Vern.
There were two problems.
One, three years ago, Belleder died and since then the Rubrun was managed by her eldest son, Crimo. But though Crimo was capable, he wasn’t capable enough to be called Archmage. The magic guilds were actively working to take him down.
‘They’re probably restraining themselves from just killing him off out of fear of another civil war… And that stupid throne will also not like any new blood…’
Two, that kid whose body he was in, Vern, was cursed and slowly dying.
Vermillian wiped the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth and thought:
‘Come to think of it, I may not just cough blood because I’m angry.’
Correction, he was terribly cursed and dying very quickly.
Vermillian frowned.
Now that sounded like a problem.
*-*-*
Saffron stood up from the bed which felt too warm and following the infodump she received, she found a mirror in the corner of the room.
“So you’re Saffra, huh? Hi.”
She spoke to a young woman who appeared in the mirror’s reflection.
The woman with a face like a flower, slim body and clean hands.
A twisted smile appeared on her beautiful face.
“I’m you now, huh?”
Saffron may not have been as reversed in magic and mysticism as her brothers, but she was quick to figure out a situation, even if she didn’t know the exact mechanism behind it.
She reincarnated.
This weak flower body was hers now.
Saffron became Saffra.
“Ah, that’s pretty bad…”
Saffra frowned as she recalled her new past life.
Saffra was born as a third child of General Sulfious, the current ruler of the Flavun state.
‘Flavun state was created with the Yellow throne as a center…’
As a third child she didn’t have a great prospect and it was clear that all expectations were put on her older siblings, mainly her eldest brother, the shit something.
She didn’t receive any military education and wasn’t trained in any fighting art.
Rather, she was raised to be docile and quiet, something to be married off when needed.
And she was turning twenty in three months. It’s an age in which she can be married according to the law.
Her frown deepened.
“No chance…”
She had no chance to take the throne in such a situation.
Long time ago, when the siblings established Luminare, they made a contract with three thrones to gain the right to rule this land and the people in it.
Knowing that they won’t leave descendants and therefore the ruling bloodline can’t be established, they specified conditions one must meet to sit on those thrones.
The Yellow Throne was also called the Sword Throne, but actual conditions had nothing to do with swords.
‘Yellow Throne is held by the one with the strongest military power.’
During her days as Saffaron the strongest military power meant the strongest swordmaster. Because then there were not many who could become one and there weren’t many who could defend against one.
It wasn’t strange for a swordmaster to obliterate a small army.
But Saffaron wasn’t stupid to believe that it would last.
War never changes was bullshit. What never changes was death. War always changes.
Therefore, the condition to sit on the Yellow Throne was not to be the strongest swordmaster but to have the strongest military power. Whatever it means.
From Saffaron’s perspective, it was the best decision. But from Saffra’s perspective, it couldn’t be any worse.
“I can’t let that bastard ascend to the throne.”
Saffra’s eldest brother, the shit something, was a maniac who would drive an already barely breathing country to ruin.
She couldn’t let it happen.
Not when she realized how much her people had suffered after her death and not when she still didn’t know where her siblings were.
For her citizens and her brothers, she had to get rid of that threat.
In the mirror, the pretty girl was frowning deeply, her eyes turning bloody.
*-*-*
When Amaranth opened his eyes again to the first rays of rising sun, the first question he asked was:
‘Where are my siblings?’
*We can’t tell you~*
*Not fun.*
*Dangerous.*
*I actually just don’t know.*
Amaranth opened his mouth and was about to curse gods for six generations, but realized that he was now Amara, the Saint of Purplus state.
He closed his mouth and silently cursed gods for eight generations in his head.