King Vellent had truly never expected his elderly grandfather not only to skip the lecture, but to refrain even from cursing him—and simply strike him without the slightest hesitation.
Half his face went numb, followed immediately by a burning pain. His whole body flew backward, and he even spun quite noticeably in midair.
Of course, as a proper psychic and a genius of tactics and combat, King Vellent wasn't actually slapped so hard that he crashed to the floor and scraped his face across it. He quickly righted himself in midair and landed lightly on his feet. He swiped his right hand across his face, and the burning pain was already gone.
He still kept his head bowed and his eyes lowered, but a trace of humiliation inevitably passed through his gaze.
The humiliation naturally came from the fact that he, a great Elector King, Privy Council minister, and Imperial Marshal, had just been slapped in the face like that. Worse still, after that slap, his midair spin and landing seemed to completely change the mood and atmosphere in the room, filling it with an absurd, surreal quality.
Before he could say anything, the Regent had already begun berating him loudly. "You want to play tyrant and make me take the blame for it? How impressive! With something like this, you either impose your taxes openly and honestly, or put on a hypocritical show and produce some grand justification. What's this business of making a dying old man take the blame?"
The young Elector King could only keep his head bowed and eyes lowered, as if he didn't dare so much as breathe.
"Disgusting! You stingy young people are more than disgusting—you're absolutely repulsive! Bah, and you call yourself an Elector King? Are a prince's stipend and territory only enough