The Hidden Extra: The Lazy Prince Refuses to Ascend The Throne Chapter 5: The Announcement of Succession to the Throne

As soon as that statement hung in the air, a profound silence descended upon the throne room.

An palpable tension gripped the hall, most notably affecting Aldric, Cedric, and Adalen, whose expressions hardened into masks of grave concern.

Meanwhile, Nolan narrowed his eyes, casting a piercing gaze toward his father the moment the announcement was made.

He murmured under his breath, his knuckles whitening as he clenched his fists in frustration.

Ragan observed their reactions with a nod of cold satisfaction.

Leaning his head against his palm, he continued with a heavy tone, "As you are well aware, my years are catching up to me. Having reigned as emperor for over six decades, I find the burden of this crown growing ever heavier."

"Consequently, the time has arrived for the Great Empire of Velmora to embrace a new ruler. I hereby officially initiate the selection process to determine my legitimate successor."

"Naturally, the proceedings shall adhere strictly to the traditions the Lorian family has maintained for a millennium. I assume you are all intimately familiar with the protocol?"

As he concluded, his gaze swept across the assembled princes and princesses.

Each one wore a look of unease, solemnity, or agitation. Yet, it was the unusual distress visible on Nolan’s face—a sight rarely seen—that truly entertained the Emperor.

He whispered with a booming, mirthful laugh.

Had Nolan been aware of his father’s internal mockery, he surely would have protested with fury. But this remained his grim reality, the weight of which now pressed down upon his soul.

He felt a turbulent blend of bewilderment and dread. The succession system governing the Great Empire of Velmora differed vastly from anything he had known in his previous incarnation or in any work of fiction he had ever encountered.

Whereas most realms passed the throne to the eldest prince by right of primogeniture, the Great Empire of Velmora mandated that the sovereign be claimed through martial struggle.

It was a trial by combat among the princes themselves. Those vying for the crown would establish individual factions, typically gathering noble houses as their allies.

Ultimately, securing the allegiance of diverse groups—from high-ranking ministers to powerful clans—was an absolute necessity for any prince aspiring to seize the throne.

Throughout the long history of the Lorian lineage, many princes had perished, some falling by the hands of their own blood.

This came as little surprise; the nature of man is anchored by three primary desires: women, gold, and authority.

Yet, of these, the most insidious is power.

Is it any wonder? The throne has the capacity to transform siblings who once shared bonds of affection into bitter enemies, ready to stain their hands with kin-blood for a chance at supremacy.

Frequently, the pursuit of the throne ignited civil wars that ravaged the empire’s foundation.

For this reason, whoever successfully ascended to the throne almost invariably purged any potential threats to his rule.

It was a ruthless, cold-blooded reality they were all forced to endure.

He muttered, kneading his temples to soothe his throbbing head.

He realized that the issue of succession was inevitable. Once the curtain rose, there would be no possibility of retreat.

Scanning the faces of the princes and princesses surrounding him, he noted how the air of familiarity had evaporated.

The warmth of kinship had vanished, replaced by a biting coldness and mutual suspicion.

Aldric, Cedric, and Adalen, in particular, locked eyes with open hostility.

"Enough." Ragan inhaled deeply, surveying them with detached indifference. "This assembly is concluded. You are dismissed. Expect further instructions once the details are finalized."

The princes and princesses bowed in unison, cupping their hands in a gesture of absolute respect.

"Your will be done, Father," they chanted in chorus.

With that, Aldric, Cedric, Adalen, and the others began to depart, each lost in the labyrinth of their own machinations.

"Let us return, Brother," Elina suggested, reaching out to grasp Nolan’s hand.

But Nolan remained anchored to the floor. His expression betrayed no emotion, yet his eyes remained fixed upon the figure on the throne.

"Oh?" Ragan seemed faintly amused, regarding him with a playful glint in his eyes. "What is this, boy? Do you have something to report?"

Nolan took a measured breath and stated clearly, "Father, I wish to submit an appeal."

"An appeal?" Ragan arched a brow, intrigued.

Elina felt a jolt of alarm and moved to intervene, but Nolan cut in, "Father, I refuse to participate in this struggle for the throne."

His declaration plunged the chamber into absolute stillness.

Mere seconds later, a formidable aura surged from Ragan’s frame, drowning the hall in suffocating pressure.

Elina and Roswell were instantly pressed downward, their limbs trembling under the sheer magnitude of the force.

Yet, Nolan remained standing, utterly unmoved, as if the immense weight of the aura were nothing more than a passing breeze.

This sight left both Ragan and Roswell speechless.

"This child..." Ragan started to speak, but checked himself, sealing his lips once more.

Moments later, the Emperor retracted his pressure, allowing Elina and Roswell to inhale deeply as they recovered their composure.

"Your protest is denied," Ragan declared icily. "Participation in the succession is mandatory for all princes. Contesting this will result in dire consequences."

The succession served as a sacred rite for the Lorian line and the destiny of the Great Empire of Velmora. Unlike the princesses, the princes held no choice; the statutes were absolute and immutable.

Nolan gritted his teeth in silent frustration. He possessed no valid rebuttal to such an unyielding decree.

He had no desire to be ensnared in such lethal power games.

His only aspiration upon being reincarnated in this realm was to enjoy a tranquil life, not to meddle in the tiresome affairs of political inheritance.

"Brother..." Elina’s voice was a soft, trembling whisper from behind him.

Nolan turned to witness the genuine anxiety etched upon his sister’s features.

"Hah..." He let out a weary breath, saying softly, "I am sorry, Elina."

Elina looked troubled but kept her silence.

Without further conversation, Nolan performed a formal salute toward Ragan and pivoted to leave, with Elina trailing silently in his wake.

Ragan watched his son’s retreating silhouette until it faded from sight, then reorganized his thoughts and addressed Roswell.

"What is your assessment, Roswell?" he inquired in a level tone.

Roswell tucked his hands into his robes, staring toward the path where Nolan had vanished.

"I cannot be certain, Your Majesty, but it appears Prince Nolan is not quite the man the rumors describe," he replied deferentially.

The gossip surrounding Nolan was pervasive, often painting him as a lazy, useless princeling devoid of merit or talent.

Yet, the composure he displayed, coupled with his ability to withstand the Emperor’s aura, completely invalidated those malicious claims.

A slight, enigmatic smile surfaced on Ragan’s lips as he shook his head.

"Your perception is not flawed, Roswell. That rascal... he is undeniably more than he appears."