Time flew by. On April 28, 1875, amid cheers, Franz was crowned King of Jerusalem, and history turned to a new page.
Having just completed the coronation, Franz received terrible news: his uncle Ferdinand I was critically ill.
God had not favored him. Even in the Holy Land, the ravages of disease could not be held at bay.
Ferdinand I's illness had plagued him for a long time. That he had endured until now was already a miracle. As for a "cure"—not only was it impossible now, even a hundred years later, medicine would still be helpless against it.
After visiting his uncle, who was no longer lucid, Franz let out a sigh. Birth, aging, illness, and death were the most helpless things in life. In the original timeline, his uncle had also died this year; even the butterfly effect had failed to change the outcome.
Man was not made of wood or stone—how could he be without feeling? Ferdinand I had no sons and had treated Franz as his own since childhood, to the point of indulgence.
Though Ferdinand I occasionally became muddleheaded, it did nothing to diminish their bond. Back then, Franz had often used his uncle's name to bluff people, and forging edicts had been as commonplace as daily meals.
Thinking back on it now, he had gotten away with it so many times—his uncle had probably taken quite a few of the blame for him of his own accord.
Emperors were destined to be lonely. Just as Franz was lost in sentiment, a piece of news interrupted his melancholy.
"Has it been confirmed?"
It was not that Franz was easily startled; the contents were simply too astonishing, beyond even his imagination.
Prime Minister Felix answered with certainty, "It has been confirmed. The Ottoman Empire is