The Billionaire CEO Becomes the Youngest Emperor

"Very well. The first chest contains exactly one trillion Velts… Let's move on to the second one."

Octavia Moon wore a broad smile, clearly delighted. For hours now, she had been counting, bill by bill, the money packed inside one of the chests sent by the Tenth Empire.

It wasn't the astronomical sum that pleased her so much, but rather the expressions of anger and hatred slowly distorting the faces of the imperial envoys. She savored every second of their silent humiliation.

For these proud men—subjects of the mighty Tenth Empire—having to prove they hadn't stolen from the wretched Thirteenth was nothing short of an insult.

Their eyes betrayed their growing fury, their barely contained disgust. But despite the muffled murmurs, the swallowed protests, and the bitter insults held back, none dared to speak. Not as long as Boris Zand, their official representative, remained seated in silence, expressionless.

Of course, he too was deeply irritated by the situation. But he couldn't say a word: the Thirteenth Empire was fully within its rights to demand such a meticulous verification.

That's how delicate the sale of a plot of land could become.

A guard slipped quietly into the reception hall, moved to Vice-Captain Joséphine stationed at the back, and whispered in her ear:

"Vice-Captain, Emperor Lucian and Harry have returned."

Josephine gave a brief nod, then stepped forward under the weight of many gazes, approaching Octavia Moon just as she was cheerfully about to begin counting the second chest.

"Lady Moon, Emperor Lucian has arrived."

Octavia let out a soft sigh. She was both disappointed at the interruption… and relieved.

Suddenly, the doors of the hall opened, drawing all attention. A guard announced in a loud, clear voice for all to hear:

"Emperor Lucian enters!"

The envoys of the Tenth Empire turned toward the entrance, curious. All of them had heard tales of this "kid" ruling an empire—a common subject of mockery back home.

All except Boris Zand, who had already met Lucian. For the others, this would be their first encounter.

A tense silence fell… then, a child walked in.

Not a man with a hardened gaze or a commanding presence. No. A young boy, no older than eight by appearance, dressed in imposing, custom-tailored imperial robes, strode confidently through the hall, followed closely by Harry, the captain of the guard.

"Pff… That's the emperor?"

"Tell me this is a joke…"

"He's exactly like the rumors said."

"He barely reaches my knee, that little runt."

At first, the snickers were quiet, hidden behind sneering smiles. But the closer Lucian came to the platform, the louder the laughter grew, echoing across the grand hall.

"Pfffft."

"Hahahaha!"

Mocking voices and scornful glances flew in every direction.

Octavia Moon, who was far from a devoted admirer of Lucian, furrowed her brow, anger rising in her chest. Beside her, Joséphine wore the same icy expression. Arrogant dogs…

Lucian kept walking, undeterred by the commotion. His steps were steady, his gaze never drifting toward the provocateurs. Behind him, Harry trembled with rage. His hand had instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword. He opened his mouth, ready to silence the insolent wretches with a single word—

but a cold, commanding voice cut through the air:

"Don't do anything foolish."

It was Lucian. His voice was calm, yet laced with a sharp, chilling darkness. Octavia and Joséphine shivered. There was no mistaking it: Lucian exuded a cold pressure, a thinly veiled killing intent.

Even the laughter began to fade. Only Boris Zand remained unmoved. He knew the true face of this so-called "child emperor." And yet, he didn't react. Not because he lacked courage, but because he believed Lucian couldn't touch them. To Boris, this display was proof the Thirteenth Empire was nearing its end.

Lucian finally reached the head of the hall. Octavia, unsettled by the deadly intensity radiating from him, stepped aside without a word. He's changed…, she thought. Joséphine and Harry felt the same.

Lucian stopped, his gaze sweeping coldly over the crowd, and then he spoke, loud and clear:

"Boris Zand."

No formalities. No honorifics. Just a name, dropped like a guillotine blade.

"He called him that? Seriously?"

"What do you expect? He's a rude brat ruling over a second-rate empire…"

The murmurs began to rise—only to be instantly silenced when Boris raised his hand with a sharp gesture. The room fell quiet.

"Yes, Emperor Lucian," Boris replied calmly.

Lucian did not avert his gaze.

"There's no need to continue counting. I trust that everything is here. You may proceed with your operations whenever you wish."

Boris's eyes widened. He hadn't expected things to go so smoothly. That wasn't like the young emperor at all. He was... too calm. Too composed.

So, he's giving up… he thought. Then again, what else can he do? That empire is doomed…

But a thought crept into his mind: Maybe Gaius Niketas could get him to work with us. The kid's more competent than he looks. Too bad he's on the wrong side.

"Very well, Emperor Lucian. In that case, without further delay, we'll take our leave."

Boris gave a slight bow, then turned toward the exit. Hundreds of envoys from the Tenth Empire followed in his wake. The mocking resumed—quieter now, but no less poisonous. A voice rose above the murmur:

"Let's go crush this sorry excuse for an empire."

Octavia, Harry, and Joséphine, who had witnessed the entire exchange, were torn between disgust and fury. Moon clenched her jaw so tightly that a thin trickle of blood ran from her lower lip. Then she snapped.

"Hey! You little brat! How could you sell—"

She didn't get the chance to finish.

Lucian, still wearing that cold, unreadable expression, cut her off with a firm voice:

"Harry. Josephine. With the help of the soldiers, place both chests into the Grand Imperial Vault. Prepare a carriage and guards for a long journey."

Then, he turned to Octavia, his tone void of warmth.

"Octavia, thank you for today. You may go. I'll contact you later."

Before anyone could react, Lucian walked away calmly, exiting the reception hall and heading toward his quarters.

"That bastard…!" Octavia hissed, trembling with rage. She hadn't been able to respond, paralyzed by Lucian's sharp, icy gaze. The tension he radiated was so thick, a single misplaced word might have set off an explosion.

But the fury inside her swelled. She felt betrayed—humiliated. Lucian hadn't just dismissed her—he had brushed aside the honor of the entire Thirteenth Empire. And for what? The whims of a child?

"Mind your language, Lady Moon," Harry said in a low, steady voice.

He too was boiling inside. He didn't understand Lucian's decisions, but he had sworn to be his sword. And a sword does not question the hand that wields it.

"You agree with this?!" Octavia shouted, enraged.

Harry looked away, just slightly.

"It's not my place to judge… Please go home. Josephine, escort her."

---

Lucian walked briskly through the paths of the Grand Imperial Garden. His gaze was lost in the distance, but his mind was a storm.

"Is Ria here?" Lucian asked a gardener he passed along the path.

The old man looked at him for a moment before answering, his voice tinged with a bitter kind of respect. Word of the territory's cession had already swept through the palace.

"Yes, Your Majesty. She's by the swing."

Lucian simply nodded and continued on, ignoring the weight of the man's lingering gaze.

It didn't take him long to find Ria. She was there, seated on a swing in the heart of the imperial garden, bare feet brushing the soft grass as she swayed gently, humming a light, indecipherable tune.

"~~~~~"

Lucian approached calmly and settled into the second swing—custom-built to match his size. He was, after all, no taller than Ria.

She glanced in his direction, but didn't stop humming. Didn't stop swinging.

Silence fell between them. Ten long minutes passed.

Lucian sat still, mind adrift in a storm of thoughts.

No point overthinking it. That's not my style.

"Ria… how much time do I have left before your little toys come flooding into this world?" he asked, still not looking at her.

Ria kept humming a few moments longer, then replied in a calm, almost sing-song voice:

"I already told you… two months."

For the first time in days, a smirk cracked Lucian's frozen mask.

"No update?" he shot back, his tone dry, a touch mocking.

He was thinking of the report he'd received upon entering the palace: Darius had escaped. Only a handful of carefully selected guards even knew. It had happened less than two days ago—recent enough that the corridors of the empire hadn't yet echoed with the news.

But the more I think about it, the more this feeling of danger clings to me…

He sighed, his expression dark.

Ria slowed, her feet dragging against the ground to bring her swing to a stop. She turned to him, a strange smile spreading across her lips.

"Oh… now that you mention it… yes. There's been a small change."

Her smile widened—almost mischievous, almost cruel. Lucian's mirrored it. The same edge, but laced with a faint shiver of unease.

They stared at one another. Two children caught in a frozen moment, in the still heart of a silent garden.

"My children… will be arriving a little earlier than planned," she said, her voice soft but heavy with meaning.

Lucian narrowed his eyes. "Meaning?"

Ria tilted her head, a disquieting gleam in her eyes.

"Two weeks. Hehehe ~"