The Scum Emperor's Redemption System

Argider lay motionless upon the grand canopied bed, a vision of pallor draped in an unflattering, hastily tied rope.

A trio of grim-faced doctors hovered over her. The gaping wound on her arm was being meticulously cleansed, though from the amount of wincing the healers exchanged, it was clear the prognosis wasn't great.

At her bedside stood Duke Arctera, a picture of noble focus. He was muttering an incantation, his voice low and steady. Tiny wisps of golden light gathered at his fingertips, spiraling toward Argider's mangled arm.

Each of the Eminent Households received a gift uniquely suited to their heritage and purpose. The Arctera household, revered as a sanctuary of knowledge, was bestowed with the power to study and wield magic spells, a gift granted by the very Sceptre itself.

His brows furrowed, sweat dotting his temples. The power of his family's ancient gift—a shard of the Scepter's legendary Jewelry—was immense, yet frustratingly finite.

"That's the best I can do," he said at last, his voice heavy with resignation. He stepped back, the light fading. "She might lose her arm..."

The room was silent except for the distant clatter of the palace. The wound had been too deep, cutting into the bone. The flesh had knit back together under his spell, but the damage to the tendons and nerves was irreparable. If—when—Argider woke, her arm might be little more than a decorative appendage.

Finally, he exhaled, the glow fading. "That's all I can manage," he said grimly, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow. "She might keep her arm, but..." His voice trailed off as he glanced at the gash that had nearly cleaved bone. While the surface wound was closed, it was clear her arm would never fully recover.

The palace was still in turmoil over Argider's arrival. News of her heroic return had spread like wildfire, but it was the whispers about Fialova that had set the court aflame. The Emperor had done the unthinkable—she'd taken a wife. Worse, she'd gifted her with magic, a boon traditionally reserved for only the most esteemed.

And no one was more displeased than Esmeralda.

"That man slut!'" she roared, slamming her fist onto the mahogany tea table with such force that the delicate china trembled before toppling over, sending tea cascading like a tragic waterfall.

Her emerald eyes blazed with fury, and her porcelain cheeks flushed crimson. "She comes back a hero, and what does he do? Marries her while I sit here, crown askew, like a fool! And—AND! She's a woman now! How am I supposed to consummate anything with that?"

Tarriel, hovered awkwardly nearby, glancing at the spilled tea as if debating whether to clean it or console her mistress. Margarette, ever the loyal conspirator, simply poured more tea, acting as if the table hadn't been an innocent casualty of her lady's ire.

Theatrics, of course, were Esmeralda's forte. Within minutes, she had summoned her entourage to the palace halls, her performance rivaling the finest stage actresses. Clutching her chest, she wailed, her voice echoing.

"Your Imperial Majesty!" she sobbed, collapsing dramatically against Tarriel and Margarette, who both struggled to support her sudden dead weight.

"Y-Your Imperial Majesty, please!" Tarriel's voice cracked as she gripped Esmeralda's arm, tears streaming down her face in an impressive display of forced empathy.

"Everything will be fine, everything will be fine!" Margarette chimed in, though the tremor in her voice was more frustration than sorrow.

Servants peeked cautiously from behind gilded doors, their eyes wide at the spectacle. But none dared question the scene. The Empress had a reputation to uphold, and this display of grief—however theatrical—was a necessary charade. For Esmeralda, loyalty was a game of optics.

Deep down, she seethed. This wasn't about love or loss. It was about power. She had failed to bind Argider to her before, and now that Argider had become a woman, the chances of producing heirs had vanished altogether. And yet, somehow, Argider had taken another wife!

Esmeralda grit her teeth, her crocodile tears drying even as she wailed louder. No, this wasn't over. If the Emperor thought he could humiliate her and walk away unscathed, he had another thing coming. She might have been an actress, but she'd rewrite the script if she had to.

She stormed into the bedchamber with all the quiet grace of a thunderstorm, slamming the door behind her. The doctors, caught off guard, immediately dropped into a bow, no doubt praying for the strength to survive the next few moments.

And Duke Arctera—ever the composed figure—was still there, eyebrows raised in surprise as he pressed a hand to his chest and gave a deep, respectful bow. "Your Imperial Majesty," he said, his tone trying to balance between reverence and sheer shock.

"Duke Arctera," Esmeralda replied with a nod that was just a tad too regal to be entirely friendly. "How's my wife?"

The duke sighed, looking like he'd been handed an unwanted responsibility. "She might lose her hand," he said, reluctantly. "I may be powerful, but healing magic isn't really my area of expertise. It's not like the ancient times when magic was... well, everywhere."

"I... see," Esmeralda murmured, her voice a perfect blend of feigned sorrow and barely contained rage. "Very well."

Once they finally left, Esmeralda slammed the door shut with a little more force than strictly necessary. She looked around the room with sharp eyes.

Everything seemed in order. The bed was tidy, the drawing beside it was... an abstract piece that could've been done by a child with a crayon, but it wasn't what she was here for.

There was no trace of another woman's scent lingering in the air.

Her gaze shifted to Argider, who was just beginning to stir, eyes fluttering open as if waking from a long, painful sleep. And then their gazes locked. There was no avoiding the moment that stretched between them, fraught with tension and unsaid words.

"Esmeralda?" Argider's voice was a weak whisper, full of exhaustion and pain, her body betraying her with every breath.

"My love!" Esmeralda dropped to her knees, grasping Argider's hand in hers with the kind of dramatic urgency usually reserved for tragic heroines.

And then—crack!—Argider's body jolted to life in a burst of agony, like a string pulled too tight.

"F-Fuck!" Argider gasped, the pain evident in every syllable. "What are you doing?!"

Esmeralda's eyes flared. "You didn't even consummate our marriage, and now you're bringing in a new fiancé?"

Argider shrieked, her body protesting with every motion, her bones threatening to betray her. "I-I had no choice, I swear!"

Esmeralda's grip tightened, her fury burning brighter. "No choice?" she repeated, her voice dangerously soft. "What do you mean, 'no choice'? Were you threatened?"

Argider whimpered, her pain mingling with panic. "I guess..." she hesitated, unable to get the words out without fear of adding to her torment. "It was... complicated."

Esmeralda stared at her with narrowed eyes. "Complicated?" she echoed, her voice a mix of disbelief and irritation. "Was it really that hard to—you know—consummate the marriage? And now you're off to some other woman, and you gave her magic? Since when does she get magic?!"

Her heart boiled with frustration. Magic had always been part of the deal for her family. The Eye of Intuition, the unique gift passed down through generations, was supposed to be hers.

So why had Argider given some lowly woman new powers? Why was it that the one person she could never fully control was also the one who had powers she could only dream of?

Esmeralda had always gotten what she wanted. She demanded it, and the world gave it to her. Except when it came to Argider.

— [MAJOR TASK ALERT]

— [Task Description: Increase Sexual Intimacy With Esmeralda]Nôv(el)B\\jnn

— [Consequence If Not Done: Bloodshed Among The Harem]

— [Reward: +10 Affection Points, +5 To All Personality Traits, Perception of the People +1 Level]

Bloodshed? Argider heaved an exasperated sigh internally, as though the mere thought was an old, worn-out song she couldn't bear to listen to one more time. At this point, she wondered if she could even summon the energy to react.

"Fine..." she muttered, barely able to muster the enthusiasm.

Esmeralda went stock-still, her perfectly arched eyebrow almost soaring off her forehead like a startled bird taking flight. "Hah! You're kidding, right? You don't even have anything down there anymore! And even if you did, goodness me, two women together—how does that even work?"

Argider just arched an eyebrow back, unbothered. "Oh, you'd be surprised. There's always something that can... well, make it work," she quipped, her tone wry.

It was all her fault that things had turned out this way, she mused. Her whole family had been wiped out, butchered in some gruesome, unimaginable fashion. But Argider couldn't be the warrior she wanted; seeing the horrors she'd witnessed down there had left her brain addled and her spirit fragmented.

Memories blurred, details slipping away like grains of sand through an hourglass—she couldn't hold onto them anymore.