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Victor gave him a skeptical look, however. “Is that the truth, sir? A man your age is still uncertain of his beliefs?”

David’s head reared back, and he couldn’t help snickering. “Excuse me, but please leave my age out of this. I do not believe I’ve said anything so offensive as to justify such a scathing attack on my person.”

“Ah... my apologies, sir.”

“Heh. I forgive you. You are young and stupid, after all.”

That earned a snort from the lad. “Sir, please. Hypocrisy misbecomes you.”

“You think so? Then why do I feel so much better?”

Soon enough, they arrived at their destination. Livingston Grand Castle was an ancient structure and incomparably gigantic, having been repeatedly expanded upon since the middle years of the Mohssian Empire. King William surely could have told him every detail of its long history, but David was only aware of its more infamous tales.

It had a strange reputation, this place. Having been built during the empire’s so-called Golden Era, it was meant to be a demonstration of the emperor’s unmatched power and wealth. But the construction had been plagued by endless turmoil, and that very same emperor died long before it was completed. The story went that the emperor had been on a tour of the construction site just as the second floor was being built, and then a stone--supposedly no bigger than a baseball--fell from a worker’s grasp, bounced off a wall, and landed squarely atop the emperor’s bald head, killing him instantly.

Apparently, the emperor’s retainers didn’t even realize what had happened for quite some time, because the blow did not appear that deadly. The man even remained on his feet. And since touching him without his expressed permission was a taboo punishable with execution, none dared to confirm his death for hours, until they were finally able to fetch his favorite wife to do the job.

Ever since the castle’s inauspicious beginnings, rumors abounded that this place was cursed--and by extension, so too was the empire. As such, multiple emperors had chosen not to live here, but each time one did so, some great misfortune seemed to befall him within a decade of his rule, typically resulting in his death.

And so the rumors grew. Until eventually, Livingston Grand Castle acquired a rather notorious moniker.

‘The Burden of Rule’ was what many had come to call it. To live in it was dangerous, but to ignore it was deadly.