Dottya's expression twisted as she stood to the side. She knew what the Minister was like. When he had first learned that his son Shira was dead, he had wailed inconsolably, as if he truly loved his son. Yet in less than ten seconds, he had stopped caring entirely and had instead begun laughing, ready to have another son. To the Minister, a son was merely a tool—and not even a particularly valuable one. His worth amounted to only ten seconds of tears. If Shira knew that his father had cried for him for just ten seconds after learning of his death, who knew whether he would come back to life.
Seeing the Minister covered in snot and tears, the Little Emperor seemed unable to bear it. After all, he was only a child. His father's care had vanished not long after he ascended the throne, and all these years, the Minister had remained by his side. In a sense, the Little Emperor regarded the Minister as a father.
"Fine! I understand! I will destroy these rebels! I will defend it myself—the foundation laid by the First Emperor cannot be destroyed in my hands." The Little Emperor clenched his fist.
A smile returned to the Minister's face. "That's more like it! Our ancestors' foundation must never be destroyed!" As he spoke, the Minister carefully took a long box from his robes. At the sight of it, the officials and the three people responsible for guarding the place all widened their eyes. If they were not mistaken, this should be the legendary [Supreme Imperial Arm] of the Imperial Clan. Everyone was curious about its abilities. With the enemy already at the gates, could it truly turn the tide?
The box was slowly opened, revealing an ancient, weathered horn within. An