"Thank you, everyone. Thanks for coming to my sister's birthday party. I hope all of you are having a great time!" Clovis lifted his glass of red wine high, addressing all the guests gathered around him.
"All hail Britannia!"
"All hail Britannia!"
The guests cheered in unison, their voices echoing through the hall, before splitting off into smaller groups, chatting and laughing among themselves. Clovis smiled and mingled with the crowd, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on a middle-aged man standing nearby. Without hesitation, he made his way over and approached him.
"Odysseus, long time no see." Clovis greeted the brown-haired man standing before him with a gentle smile, raising a glass of red wine in one hand.
"Long time no see as well, Clovis." Odysseus returned the greeting warmly, his tone polite but grounded.
Odysseus was well-known in noble and royal circles as mediocre—a man who never stood out, never shined.
Still, that reputation was arguably better than Clovis', who was blatantly branded as incompetent by pretty much everyone.
The competition within the royal family was brutal. It didn't matter if you were born with status or had a title dripping in gold. If your father was an arrogant bastard, your siblings were conniving assholes, and the rest of your family were elitist pricks who only saw value in power, then you were fucked from the start.
Even among aristocrats, the moment you got labeled as mediocre or incompetent, no one would ever speak up for you—not publicly, not privately. You were on your own.
"Look, Princess Guinevere," one of the noble girls from her faction sneered loudly enough for everyone around to hear, "the mediocre and the incompetent—how perfectly matched they are."
She giggled without shame, not even trying to whisper.
"A perfect pairing, if you ask me," another noble chimed in, sending smug looks toward the duo.
The insult was served raw and loud, right in front of them.
Guinevere didn't bother greeting them. Instead, she rolled her eyes and smirked in open disdain, turning her attention back to her circle of girls.
She didn't need to say a word—her body language said everything.
"She's as insufferable as ever, don't you think?" Odysseus muttered, trying to lighten the mood.
His voice was calm, but the sharp edge wasn't lost on Clovis.
"I never hold a grudge at those who don't deserve it," Clovis replied with a low, dark chuckle. "But she crossed a line first."
He took a slow sip of his wine before glancing back at Odysseus with a smirk. "Still, it's good to see you alive and well, Odysseus. In this den of psychopaths and snakes, you're the only one who still acts somewhat human."
Odysseus didn't take Clovis' bitterness personally. He understood. Clovis had every right to be pissed—anger in this family wasn't just natural, it was earned. Instead of arguing or correcting him, he simply shrugged.
"There's no point wasting your energy on someone like Guinevere," Odysseus said, his voice calm but firm. "Everyone knows her personality is trash. She plays the game, but she stinks up the room every time."
"No wonder Father hates you, brother," Clovis murmured, his tone soft yet cutting. "As crown prince, you're just too weak."
He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You let a mere woman step all over the heir to the throne. But don't worry—I'll take care of her. Enjoy the party, my beloved brother."
There was no hate in his voice—just something cold and factual, like he was stating a truth everyone already knew.
Without waiting for a reply, Clovis turned and began walking away.
"You too, Clovis," Odysseus called out, his voice low as they went their separate ways—each heading deeper into the elegant, twisted masquerade of the royal court.
Then there she was.
Spotting the noble girl who had previously insulted them.
Without a moment of hesitation or even the courtesy of a warning, he grabbed the wine glass in his hand and poured its entire contents straight into her face.
"Ah!!!" the noble girl shrieked in shock and humiliation as the cold wine splashed all over her face, drenching her expensive makeup and silken gown.
Guinevere immediately roared in outrage, her voice sharp and furious. "What do you think you're doing, Clovis?!"
The commotion was loud—loud enough that it cut through the ambient noise of noble chatter and string music.
Heads turned.
Conversations halted.
Everyone focused on the drama unfolding before them, wine glasses halfway to their lips as they watched with keen curiosity, like it was the evening's main entertainment.
Schneizel, as composed and unreadable as ever, made a small remark, his tone amused and casual. "Interesting."
While Schneizel observed the scene with cold detachment, both Cornelia and Euphemia wore visible traces of concern on their faces.
"Should we step in, sister?" Euphemia asked, her tone laced with worry.
"Not yet," Cornelia replied calmly, raising her hand slightly to signal patience. "Let's see what Clovis is trying to do. He's clearly pissed, but I want to know why before we get involved."
Guinevere was fuming. Her temper flared even hotter when Clovis blatantly ignored her, choosing instead to toss his empty glass to the floor, letting it shatter dramatically.
Only when she shouted at him again did he finally meet her gaze.
"Are you deaf, Clovis?! I'm talking to you!"
Clovis turned to her slowly, eyes cold. "I'm just teaching your little mutt some manners, Guinevere."
His words were venom, sharp and deliberate.
Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned toward the rest of the guests.
With practiced elegance, he bowed deeply, like a performer finishing his act.
"My dear brothers and sisters, esteemed ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice smooth but mocking underneath. "It was never my intention to spoil your evening with such distasteful conduct. I sincerely apologize for this… interruption."
His voice came out humble, laced with what sounded like a sincere apology—but the way he moved? The momentum behind his words?
It was anything but gentle. It was aggressive, dominant, and absolutely intimidating as he pointed a firm, accusatory finger at the girl trembling before him.
Her eyes were soaked with tears and raw fear, her body frozen—too terrified to fight back, too scared to even speak.
"But since when does some random, barking mutt dare to overstep the royal family?" His eyes narrowed. "And the heir to the throne, no less?"
"You've gone too far, Clovis!" Guinevere roared, her voice laced with fury and disbelief.
"Shut up, woman."
The slap came fast, brutal, echoing through the grand hall.
Her head whipped to the side, her eyes wide with disbelief as she clutched her burning red cheek, fresh from the impact.
But Clovis didn't spare her another glance. She no longer held his attention.
His eyes scanned the gathered crowd—nobles, royals, dignitaries—all now watching him in rapt silence, breath held, their gazes glued to him like he was a god delivering judgment.
He raised his voice, loud and clear. "What do you all believe is the proper punishment for this filthy girl, ladies and gentlemen?"
A pause.
Then, chaos.
"Kill her!"
"Execute her!"
"Hang her!"
The crowd erupted in unanimous bloodlust. The royal family, the nobles, all shouting with zeal.
The emotion had reached its boiling point. It was time to give them their climax.
Clovis smiled—a twisted, malevolent grin. "Then let justice be done, my dear guests."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Suzaku. You know what must be done."
His tone left no room for argument.
It was final.
Absolute.
"Prince Clovis, please—have mercy!" the girl cried out, her voice hoarse and desperate.
But her pleas fell on deaf ears.
Clovis didn't even look at her.
Suzaku Kururugi, standing close by in his formal uniform, didn't flinch. He raised his sidearm in one clean motion.
A gunshot rang out.
And just like that, she collapsed in a lifeless heap—blood staining the marble floor beneath her.
"Him too."
Clovis pointed toward another noble—a trembling man trying his hardest to shrink into the background, to be invisible.
But he had spoken out earlier. He had insulted the royal family. He was already dead the moment he opened his mouth.
"Mer—"
He didn't get to finish his name.
A second gunshot echoed.
Another corpse dropped to the floor.
The audience clapped. Loudly. Ferociously. Applauding the merciless display like it was a theater act.
Smiling, laughing, some even standing in ovation.
"Prince Clovis!"
"Prince Clovis!"
"Prince Clovis!"
The chant built like a war drum, reverberating through the banquet hall.
"Interesting."
Schneizel clapped too, his face calm, eyes gleaming.
He hadn't expected much from Clovis—he had always been the brother people ignored.
But tonight?
Clovis had shown a brutal, theatrical brilliance Schneizel didn't think he had in him. It was entertaining, in the best way possible.
However, not everyone vibed with Clovis's brutality, though most kept their mouths shut, noticing every guard at the party carried a gun on their waist.
Who knew what Prince Clovis might pull if someone interrupted him? One moment, he laughed and chatted with his siblings, the next he murdered some noble over a minor offense.
How could anyone keep the mood or find the guts to piss off a guy so moody and volatile?
His mood swings were almost impossible to predict, even for them.
Only a handful in the hall actually worried about Clovis's mental state.
Among them, Cornelia and Euphemia exchanged glances, confusion twisting their features.
Was this still the Clovis they knew?
And Guinevere…
"I hate you, Clovis!" Guinevere shrieked, hurling her wine glass to the marble floor with a sharp crash.
She spat at him, venom dripping from every word before she turned on her heels and stormed out, the fire in her eyes promising this was far from over.
Clovis, unfazed, clapped his hands with exaggerated flair and turned to his guests with a gleeful smirk.
"Thank you all for attending tonight's celebration, ladies and gentlemen!" he announced.
"I hope you enjoyed the show!"
"Prince Clovis!"
"Prince Clovis!"
"Prince Clovis!"
The crowds applauded.
Clovis might be insane… but now he's untouchable.
And everyone in the hall knows the balance of power just shifted violently.
All hail, Prince Clovis. Indeed.
...
Note:
Alright, everyone. Yeah, I know my update schedule is basically shit. All these power plays and the serious plot in the later stages of the story are making my head hurt.
The updates can only slow down from here. Writing an entire world-scale war and trying to make it realistic and grabbing power without the help of a system but through MC's own effort and my own brain is enough to kill my motivation. It's just too mentally draining.
No wonder so few people are willing to write Code Geass fics. If I'd known this, I should've just made the MC transmigrate as Rivalz, the mob MC and Lelouch's friend.
I could've let Lelouch handle conquering the world and dealing with all the problems, while the MC was just responsible for banging girls.
But, whatever…