The Scum Emperor's Redemption System

Argider collapsed onto Fialova, her snow hair in disarray, clutching at her chest as if her very soul were escaping her body. Her voice cracked, somewhere between a royal decree and a soap opera finale.

"Fialova! Tell me the truth—am I dying? Is this the end of my imperial reign?!" She flailed one arm dramatically, pointing toward the heavens. "Write this down! 'Here lies Argider, felled in the prime of life by... mystery blood!'"

Fialova pinched the bridge of her nose, steadying herself. "Your Imperial Majesty," she said slowly, like explaining algebra to a particularly stubborn toddler, "you are not dying."

Argider, ignoring her entirely, turned misty-eyed. "And to think, I never apologized to my wives! Tell them I'm sorry for not giving babies. And for all the mild insults. Actually, tell them I was always a bastard who didn't deserve them."

She clutched Fialova's hand and pressed it dramatically to her bosom. "And you, Fialova—take my final, pitiful remains. Use me as you will, for I am but a wretched, bleeding husk of a former emperor."

Fialova's face turned crimson as her fingers brushed against Argider's chest. For a brief, shameful moment, she thought, is this soft silk? No, it's just... her. Oh gods above, I'm going to burn for this.

"Your Majesty!" Fialova yanked her hand back, flailing like she'd touched hot coals. "You are not bleeding out! It's—well, it's your period!"

The world seemed to tilt as Argider blinked at her. "Period?" Her voice trembled. "You mean... like the dot at the end of a sentence? Is there a tiny dot inside me? Am I punctuated now?!"

Fialova slapped her forehead. "No, no, not that period! It's—ugh, you're bleeding because your... egg cells didn't get fertilized by a man!"

Egg cells. Fertilized. Argider's confusion deepened, her brow furrowing as though deciphering ancient texts. "Eggs? I haven't eaten eggs in weeks! What are you talking about?!"

Fialova took a deep, saintly breath. "It's a biological process. You see, inside a woman's body—"

"Hold it!" Argider leapt to her feet, her voice booming with the authority of someone who absolutely did not understand. "You're telling me my body makes eggs like some cursed poultry?! And if a man doesn't come along to fertilize me, I just bleed out in misery?! What sort of divine scam is this?!"

Fialova winced. "That's... surprisingly accurate, actually."

"Unacceptable!" Argider roared, pacing like a general preparing for battle. "First, I lose my glorious manly physique to these... curves! Then my chest tries to suffocate me! Now I'm hemorrhaging like I lost a duel?! How do women survive this horror?!"

"We manage," Fialova muttered, crossing her arms.

"Well, I refuse!" Argider stomped her foot with all the ferocity of a tantruming toddler.

She jabbed a finger skyward, glaring at the heavens as though they owed her money. "Listen up, you sick, twisted gods! I demand you give me back my manly body right now! I'll duel every one of you celestial psychos! You hear me?!"

And, for good measure, she raised both middle fingers to the sky.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Fialova groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Your Majesty, please... dignity."

Argider sniffed, still fuming, but with an air of melodramatic tragedy befitting a monarch. "Dignity?! Fialova, I'm bleeding like a stuck pig, I'm hormonal, and now I'm a human chicken! I've never been further from dignity in my life!"

Fialova stared at Argider with the kind of wide-eyed incredulity usually reserved for discovering a talking horse. How does an emperor not know this? Everyone knew the basics of menstruation.

Of course, everyone also knew Argider's peculiar backstory—a last-minute addition to the Imperial family after her father finally acknowledged her. Raised by a single mother in relative obscurity, Argider's gaps in education suddenly made sense.

"Tell my mother..." Argider groaned dramatically, her face buried in her hands. "Tell her I'm sorry for being such a horrible son—uh, daughter! Gods, I'm a daughter now!" Her voice cracked as she flailed miserably.

Fialova paused, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck. "Ah, well... maybe this explains why you've been so, er, *needy* lately?" She chuckled softly. "Touch-starved, even? Turns out it was your... menstruation all along."

"What?!" Argider's head shot up, her eyes blazing. "It makes you needy?!" And then, like a lightning bolt, realization dawned. "Oh. OH. So that's why my mother had her... dramatic episodes sometimes!" Her face contorted, equal parts horror and enlightenment. "This explains so much. Gods, I really am a woman now."

Fialova sighed. "Your Majesty, I'd offer to help with the, uh, situation, but you'll have to endure for a bit. The mess—"

"Fine," Argider grumbled, waving her off. "Let's just get this over with."

---

The pair crept through the Peliotus tribe's camp under the cover of darkness, their mission precarious. Argider's nerves were as frayed as her patience; she was still fuming over the absurdity of her predicament.

The camp was a maze of sprawling bodies and snoring warriors, their forms sprawled on the ground like toppled statues.

Tents dotted the area, glowing faintly with firelight. Every step was a gamble, the slightest sound threatening to rouse the entire tribe.

Argider froze. "Why are their *bodies* everywhere?" she whispered fiercely. "This is like navigating a drunken festival!"

Fialova shot her a sharp glare. "Shh! Do you want to get caught again?"

Argider rolled her eyes and tiptoed forward. Then, with a resounding thud, she stepped squarely on something firm—and warm. She looked down in horror. It wasn't ground. It was a face.

"Grah?!" The warrior's eyes snapped open, his mouth already forming a shout.

Fialova didn't wait. She grabbed Argider by the hips and bolted, her magic flaring as she sprinted like a deer on fire.

"Could you warn me next time?!" Argider shrieked, her voice muffled by Fialova's shoulder.

"Warn you about what? Your inability to watch your feet?" Fialova shot back, weaving through the camp. But her momentum faltered, and in a panicked misstep, they both tumbled directly into the nearest tent.

Oof!

They hit the ground in a heap, groaning as pain radiated through their bodies. Argider flailed uselessly, her golden hair sticking to her face. Fialova was already plotting how she'd explain this disaster to their gods, assuming they survived the night.

"Your Imperial Majesty," Fialova wheezed, sitting up. "Do you ever—"

"Sorry!" Argider interrupted, rubbing her sore backside.

But before they could regroup, a sharp voice cut through the tension. "Who are you?!"

Both women snapped their heads up. Standing before them was a woman with sleek black hair, piercing blue eyes, and an air of elegance so severe it could cut glass.

Argider's jaw dropped. "Isolde?!"

The woman's eyes narrowed, then widened in recognition. "Argider?" Her voice dropped into a hurried whisper. "What are you doing here?! Keep your voice down!"

"You traitor! Where's my mother?!" Argider hissed, struggling to her feet.

Isolde's composure faltered for only a second. "Wait... you're Argider? What *happened* to you? Why do you look like... a girl?"

"Hmph!" Argider crossed her arms, glaring. "I got assassinated, and when I woke up, I was like this! The gods resurrected me!" She gestured dramatically at her very feminine form, as though it were a divine prank.

Isolde's mouth fell open, her face a mix of astonishment and disbelief. "You... were assassinated... and now you're a woman?"

"Yes, and frankly, I've had enough*l of this nonsense!" Argider snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "Where. Is. My. Mother?"

Isolde pressed a finger to her lips, motioning for silence. "Lower your voice. If you're caught here, we're all dead." Her sharp gaze darted to the tent entrance.

"Then give her back now!" Argider's voice cracked like a whip, her fists clenched at her sides. She glared at Isolde as if sheer indignation alone could topple the elegant woman.

"You've changed... I didn't actually think you'd go this far. And to think the gods chose you.. it seems you're capable of changing afterall," Isolde said with an exasperated sigh, brushing invisible dust from her pristine robes. "I wasn't planning to actually use her for anything. She's been... always kind to me."

"Then why take her at all?!" Argider snarled, her voice full of righteous fury.

Isolde's icy demeanor wavered for just a moment before she shrugged, her expression as unreadable as ever. "I don't know," she admitted, almost too casually. "But we can't wage war over this—not right now. There's a much bigger battle looming on the horizon."

Argider narrowed her eyes. "Why are you telling me this? What's your angle?"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Isolde replied, her tone dripping with disdain. "I don't *like* you, Argider. I'm only doing this much for your mother's sake. She... deserves better. Now, please, just take her and leave before you ruin everything."

Argider opened her mouth to retort, but Fialova gently tugged her sleeve. "Your Majesty," she whispered, nodding toward the back of the tent. Now wasn't the time for posturing. The mission was simple: get her mother and get out.

With a reluctant grumble, Argider followed Fialova. They crept to the other side of the tent as Isolde had indicated, their movements slow and deliberate. For once, Argider kept her feet in check.

Then she saw her.

"Mom?!" Argider gasped, her breath catching as she spotted the frail figure tied up in the shadows. Her mother looked starved and weary, but her eyes—those sharp, familiar eyes—lit up with recognition and relief.

"Argider..." Her voice was weak, but it carried a strength that made Argider's chest tighten.