第7章 杀父弑君 那双浑浊不堪的眼睛里，此刻竟然闪烁着病态的、虐待狂独有的、令人不寒而栗的兴奋火 光！嫌恶，与一种冰冷刺骨的“理解”，如同铅块般沉甸甸地坠入寒煜公的胃里，让他感 到一阵阵发冷． 他终於彻底确认了——父皇北斗晃的精神，早已偏离了正常的轨道，在邪恶、猜忌与疯狂 构筑的荒原之上肆意驰骋，并且乐在其中！ 北斗晃挣扎着，用那双瘦骨嶙峋、仿佛一折即断的手臂，勉强撑起了他那缺乏水分、如同 朽木般的上半身．他开始喋喋不休，用一种炫耀般的口吻，讲述着他如何将这种残酷的试 探扩展到全体朝臣身上，如何设计圈套，如何欣赏那些没能“通过考验”之人在恐惧中崩 溃的丑态，以及……他那令人作呕的、计画着如何将那些“不够忠诚”或“愚蠢到被识破 ”的臣子们集中处刑的、沾沾自喜的宏伟蓝图…… 那恶臭的、扭曲的、视人命如玩物的计画，从那张乾瘪的嘴里吐出来，每一个音节都像是 在玷污空气． 「父皇，你实在是……」 寒煜公的声音再次抑制不住地颤抖起来．但这一次，那颤抖之中蕴含的，不再是单纯的恐 惧或愤怒，而是一种被逼到绝境之後，如同火山爆发前积蓄力量般的、破釜沉舟的决绝！ 在无尽的折磨、猜忌与精神虐待之後，在亲眼目睹了大哥、二哥的悲惨结局之後，在确认 了眼前这个男人已然彻底疯狂、无可救药之後——一个念头，如同地底深处酝酿已久的滚 烫熔岩，挟带着灼热、狂暴、足以摧毁一切的气势，猛然冲破了他心中所有关於人伦、孝 道、君臣的犹豫与束缚！ 他缓缓地，缓缓地伸出了自己的手．那只刚刚还紧握着剑柄、在战场上斩将夺旗的手，此 刻越过了父皇枯瘦丑陋、散发着病气与药味的身体，坚定地抓住了床头那个巨大、蓬松、 象徵着安逸与舒适的羽绒枕头． 衰老、病弱、沉浸在自己病态幻想中的皇帝，在亲生儿子这突如其来的、压倒性的力量面 前，竟是那样的不堪一击，毫无抵抗之力． 当那柔软却足以致命的枕头猛地捂住他的口鼻时，他甚至没能发出一声像样的呼救，只能 从枕头底下，泄露出几声模糊不清、如同被扼住喉咙的困兽般的、粗鄙而徒劳的呵呵喘息 。 寒煜公微微惊异于父皇此刻肉体上的虚弱——与他精神上的暴虐形成了如此讽刺的对比。 但这丝惊异转瞬即逝，被一种冰冷到近乎残酷的决心所取代。 「你早就该死了，父皇．」 他低声呢喃着，仿佛不是在对眼前这个人说话，而是在对那束缚了他二十多年的黑暗命运 ，下一个最终的判决．他的手臂肌肉贲张，青筋凸起，用尽了全身的力气，将那方柔软的 “刑具”，死死地、更深地按向那张曾经让他无比畏惧的脸． 「像你这样……肆意玩弄人心，视亲情、忠诚为廉价的游戏……像你这样，从不信任任何 人，将所有人都当作你掌中的棋子和玩物……像你这样的人，根本不配戴上这顶皇冠！」 「你的存在，对这个帝国、对你的儿子们、对所有不得不活在你阴影下的人来说，都是一 个诅咒！」 「为了所有人……你必须死！」 父皇那垂死挣扎的、闷绝的呻吟声，以及身体细微的、徒劳的扭动，透过厚厚的、吸音的 枕头，顽强地传递到寒煜公的手掌和手臂上．那垂死的、微弱的震动，如同无数根冰冷的 针尖，狠狠刺入寒煜公的心脏深处． 一阵突如其来的、排山倒海般的恐惧攫住了他——弑父！ 尽管他有千万条理由说服自己这是正义的、是必要的、甚至是为民除害，但那根植於血脉 深处、烙印在灵魂之上的禁忌，此刻正发出凄厉的尖啸！违逆人伦天理的巨大恐慌感，如 同冰冷的潮水，从胸腔深处猛地上涌，死死扼住了他的喉咙．他手臂上那足以开碑裂石的 力量，在这一瞬间，竟不由自主地松懈了一丝． 但是！ 事已至此！绝无回头之路！ 如果现在放手……如果让这个刚刚还在炫耀其残忍计画的恶魔，哪怕只喘过一口气来…… 等待自己的，将会是什麽？ 是百倍、千倍疯狂的报复！是生不如死的折磨！是彻底的毁灭！不仅仅是他自己，甚至可 能波及所有与他有过关联的人！ 不！绝不能！ 寒煜公眼中最後一点因人伦而生的犹豫，被这残酷的现实彻底击碎、冰封！他猛地咬紧牙 关，再次爆发性地发力，双臂犹如烧红的铁钳，将自己全部的体重、全部的决心、全部的 憎恨与恐惧，都毫无保留地倾注在那一方柔软的枕头上。 压着…… 死死地压着…… 更用力地压着…… 直到枕头下方所有的声息、所有的挣扎、所有的生命迹象，都彻底平息，最终归於永恒的 、令人窒息的死寂． …… 厚重的红木门，在一片压抑的寂静中，再次缓缓开启． 寒煜公的身影，重新出现在那些屏息凝神、各怀心思的朝臣面前． 这位素以骁勇善战、临危不乱而闻名帝国的年轻统帅，此刻脸色苍白得如同刚刚经历了一 场漫长的重病，嘴唇失去了所有血色，眼神空洞得仿佛灵魂已被抽离．那身沾满风尘与汗 渍的银白铠甲，非但没能衬托出他的英武，反而让他看起来像是被某种无形的、沉重到无 法承受的负担彻底压垮了．连他一向挺拔如松的身姿，似乎都微微有些佝偻． 贵族、命妇、宫廷大员、贴身侍从……一道道由华丽的服饰、闪耀的珠宝和无数道探询、 揣测、或是假装悲悯的目光所组成的“人墙”，瞬间将他无声地包围． 短暂的、令人不安的沉默之後，终於有人，小心翼翼地打破了这凝固的空气，用一种尽可 能显得恭敬而悲伤的语调问道： 「殿下……对先皇陛下的……告别仪式……可已……完成了？」 寒煜公的目光缓缓聚焦，仿佛刚刚从一个遥远而恐怖的梦境中挣脱出来。他像一个失去了 灵魂的提线木偶，动作僵硬地点了点头． １－７完 经过先皇的灵堂．烛火摇曳，影子横在棺椁上．送信的亲卫未察觉，那影子与寒煜公的背 影一模一样． 而亡者，没有抗议． Chapter 7: Patricide Those clouded， decaying eyes— now flickering with a sick， sadistic gleam— filled Aureus’ stomach with a cold， sinking dread. Hatred mixed with a chilling clarity， settling inside him like a block of lead. He understood， completely and irrevocably: His father， Emperor Polaris Dawn， had crossed the boundary of sanity long ago. He now roamed freely across a wasteland built from malice， suspicion， and madness— and reveled in it. The old Emperor struggled， lifting his skeletal arms—so thin they seemed ready to snap—to prop up his wasted frame. And then， with grotesque pride， he began to speak. He spoke of how he extended his“tests” to the entire court— how he built traps， how he delighted in the terror-distorted faces of those who failed， and how he envisioned —the way other men imagine gardens or monuments— grand plans of purging all who were“not loyal enough” or“too clever for their own good.” Each word dripped like rot from his dry， cracked lips— fouling the air. “Father… you truly are…” Aureus’ voice trembled again— but not from fear alone. This time， beneath that trembling was something deeper: a pressure-building， volcanic resolve born from despair. After years of torment， after watching his elder brothers die beneath this man’s gaze， after realizing fully that the creature before him was far beyond reason— a thought rose within him. A molten， surging thought， long suppressed in the depths of his soul， that now burst through every barrier of duty， morality， and filial law. He reached out. Slowly… steadily… The hand that had cleaved through shields and armor hours ago now passed over the Emperor’s frail， fever-ridden body— and seized the large， soft down pillow beside him. The old Emperor， so monstrous in spirit， was pitifully weak in flesh. When the pillow descended， when it sealed his mouth and nose， he could not even manage a proper cry— only muffled， animal rasping. Aureus felt a flicker of surprise at the contrast— the tyrant’s vicious mind， trapped in such a pathetic vessel. The surprise vanished. What replaced it was ice. “You should have died long ago， Father.” His whisper was not addressed to the man， but to the shadow that had ruled his life. His muscles tightened. His veins bulged. He pressed the pillow down with the strength of a man who had nowhere left to retreat. “A man who toys with hearts… who treats kinship and loyalty as cheap entertainment… who trusts no one… who sees every soul as a pawn in his hand…” “You—do—not—deserve—the crown.” “Your existence is a curse. To this Empire. To your sons. To everyone forced to live beneath your shadow.” “For all of us— you must die.” The Emperor’s dying convulsions shuddered through the pillow— those vibrations traveled up Aureus’ arms like cold needles stabbing straight into his heart. A tidal wave of ancestral terror surged up inside him: Patricide. No matter how justified— no matter how necessary— the ancient taboo screamed through his blood. Aureus’ breath hitched. His grip slackened ever so slightly. But— No. There was no turning back. If he released the pillow now— if this monster drew even a single breath— Aureus knew what awaited him: Retribution. Madness. A death far worse than this. Not only his own death— but the ruin of anyone tied to him. Never. Never. Never. The last shred of hesitation froze into nothingness. Aureus clenched his teeth— and drove his full weight downward. All his strength， his dread， his fury， his grief— Everything— poured into the pillow. Pressing— Pressing— Pressing— Until every sound， every twitch， every flicker of life beneath it fell silent. Utter， suffocating silence. ＊＊＊ The heavy redwood door opened again. Aureus stepped out. The young commander—renowned for fearlessness and iron resolve—now looked like a man drained by a long illness. His face was pale. His lips bloodless. His eyes hollow， emptied of light. Even the proud set of his shoulders had collapsed inward. A wall of courtiers， nobles， attendants， jeweled consorts— all draped in sorrow， curiosity， calculation— closed in around him without moving. After a tense， brittle silence， someone finally ventured: “Your Highness… has your farewell… to the late Emperor… been completed?” Aureus’ gaze slowly came back into focus， as though he were returning from some distant nightmare. With the stiff， puppet-like movement of a man whose soul had been scraped raw ， he nodded. 1–7 End As the messenger passed the funeral hall， the candlelight wavered— casting a shadow across the coffin. A shadow with the exact same outline as Duke Aureus’ back. The dead offered no protest. --

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