I’ll be the Red Ranger
Chapter 127 – Changing the Leadership

- Ludwig Lot -

Enceladus had always been a notoriously difficult colony to govern. Over the decades, it had changed hands dozens of times, its valuable resources and strategic position making it a coveted prize among the great powers of the empire. It wasn't until the House of Lot took responsibility for the colony's development that Enceladus began to stabilize. This decision became the pivotal moment for the rise of the Great House of Lot—propelling them into astronomical growth and expanding their commercial reach far beyond anything they had initially imagined.

Deep beneath the icy surface of Enceladus, Ludwig sat alone in a dimly lit chamber, nestled dozens of levels below the bustling cities above. The room was shrouded in secrecy; not even the Emperor was aware of its existence. Only three others knew of this place: the two generals loyal to House Lot and Ludwig's heir.

The vast hall was cavernous, its walls carved from the very bedrock of the moon. At its center stood a grand, round table of polished obsidian. A simple yet imposing throne faced the table, its design unadorned but exuding authority. Along the walls hung dozens of portraits, each depicting past rulers of the House of Lot. Their eyes seemed to follow Ludwig, the weight of their legacy pressing upon him. The lineage stretched back generations, well before their ancestors had ventured to Enceladus. Yet, the most prominent painting was that of his father—the patriarch who elevated their family to the status of a Great House.

Ludwig leaned forward, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he gazed intently at his father's portrait. The artist had captured him perfectly: the stern gaze, the unyielding posture, the aura of a man who bent the galaxy to his will. It was a constant reminder of the legacy Ludwig was expected to uphold.

"Father, where did I go wrong?" Ludwig whispered into the emptiness, his voice barely audible in the vast chamber. "I tried to embrace your ambition. We were so close. We could have had an emperor."

He shook his head slowly, the weight of his failures pressing heavily upon him. Despite all his efforts, he couldn't fathom where his grand designs had unraveled.

"We did what you set out to do. We soiled our hands to reshape the world," the old man murmured, his gaze drifting down to his calloused palms. Lines etched by time and deeds crisscrossed his skin, each a testament to the sacrifices made in the name of a greater good. "And yet, it still won't be enough."

Ludwig turned away from the towering portrait that dominated one wall of the chamber. With a heavy sigh, he settled into the modest throne at the center of the room, a stark contrast to the opulence one might expect of his station.

Moments later, the silence was shattered by the thunderous boom of heavy doors swinging open. The sheer force caused the chamber to tremble, dust drifting down from the unseen heights above. Ludwig's two generals entered without a word, their footsteps echoing as they approached. Flanking them was Mordred, his presence as imposing as ever. Each general positioned themselves on either side of him, their faces unreadable.

None of them wore armor. Instead, they were clad in the simple, unadorned uniforms of House Lot—a dark, muted fabric devoid of insignia or decoration. In this secretive sanctum, even gauntlets were forbidden. No technology that could be traced, no weapons that could be turned against them. The generals had ensured the room's sanctity, allowing no potential threats to breach its confines.

"Father!" Mordred shouted as he stormed toward the throne, his voice reverberating through the grand chamber. "How dare you?! How dare you leak information?!"

Ludwig lifted his gaze to meet his son's fiery eyes. "Mordred, you know this isn't the right path," he replied calmly, though his heart weighed heavy.

On either side of Mordred, the two Generals stepped forward, each placing a firm hand on his shoulders—a silent warning that they would restrain him if necessary.

"Are you insane?!" Mordred spat, struggling against their grip. "First, you did nothing when the Emperor decided to punish me. Now you go behind my back to destroy everything I've built over the years!" His voice dripped with betrayal and fury.

"You have built nothing," Ludwig retorted, sorrow etching deep lines into his face. "You've only invited vipers into our midst and sold your soul to the devil."

"No wonder you didn't inherit the family's powers," Mordred hissed through clenched teeth. "You're an old coward, incapable of doing what's necessary."

"Son, how can you say such things?" Ludwig murmured, almost to himself.

"You made me this way!" Mordred roared, his voice echoing off the chamber's vaulted ceilings. "You raised me to be the future of humanity, the heir of House Lot—the pinnacle of POWER!" As his rage intensified, the shadows at his feet began to writhe and twist, dancing to the tumultuous rhythm of his emotions. The very air seemed to thicken with the dark energy emanating from him.

"Mordred, can't you understand?" Ludwig pleaded, taking a hesitant step forward. "Our house was founded to save humanity. Your grandfather joined the Great Houses to free us from the Grand Game—to achieve peace."

"Yes, he was a great man for that," Mordred conceded, his gaze hardening. "But he was wrong. Saving all of humanity is impossible. Exiting the Grand Game can be achieved in more than one way. You've been fixated, believing that all the information Grandfather gathered about the Sovereigns was the only truth."

He paused, a sly smile creeping onto his face. "There are other paths besides the Emperor. There are others who hear the voices of the Crystal."

"Who are these people, Mordred? Why do you hide them?" Ludwig demanded, a stern edge slicing into his tone.

Mordred fell silent, his eyes flickering with a secret he wasn't ready to share.

Ludwig sighed deeply. "I already know why you conceal them," he said softly. "I don't need your answer, my son." He looked at Mordred with a mix of disappointment and sorrow. "How many will you leave behind to secure this so-called peace?"

"All who are not our allies," Mordred replied coldly, venom dripping from his words. "They had a choice, and they chose the wrong path."

A heavy silence enveloped the chamber, the weight of Mordred's declaration hanging in the air like a dark cloud. The faces of their ancestors looked down from portraits lining the walls, their painted eyes witnessing the rift widening between father and son.

"You won't succeed—I won't allow it," Ludwig declared firmly, his voice echoing through the grand chamber. "I've already informed the Empire about the base."

Mordred stood across from him, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Do you really think you're the only one with informants inside the New Earth Army?" he retorted. "They'll never reach it, and even if they do, I'll have already alerted our allies."

A heavy silence settled between father and son. Ludwig's gaze softened, a mixture of sorrow and disappointment clouding his eyes. "It seems there's nothing more to say to you, Mordred," he sighed. "Son... forgive me." He gestured subtly to the two generals flanking the chamber.

The seconds stretched as Ludwig composed himself. "Take him to the confinement cells," he ordered quietly. "He will no longer be my heir."

Mordred's eyes flashed with a dangerous light. "No, Father," he whispered, his tone icy. "It is you who must forgive me."

The generals remained motionless as Mordred drew a sleek, antique pistol from beneath his coat—a relic from a bygone era, its model an unmistakable P38. He leveled the barrel at Ludwig's chest, his hand steady.

"You will pass the torch to the next generation," Mordred proclaimed. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger repeatedly, the gunshots reverberating like thunderclaps in the enclosed space.

Ludwig staggered backward, a shocked gasp escaping his lips as the bullets tore into him. Crimson blooms spread across his tailored suit, the warm blood seeping through his fingers as he clutched his wounds. His eyes darted to the generals, standing impassively by Mordred's side. Betrayal twisted like a knife in his gut—not only his son but his trusted advisors had turned against him.

‘I was wrong,’ Ludwig thought bitterly, his vision starting to blur. ‘There are more traitors among us than I imagined.’ The weight of his failure pressed upon him, heavier than the mortal injuries he bore. He had hoped—prayed—that Mordred would find the right path, that his legacy would not herald destruction.

His legs gave way, and he sank to his knees. The cold marble floor met him as his strength ebbed away. Blood pooled beneath him, the rich scarlet stark against the pristine white.

"Inform our allies," Mordred commanded sharply, turning to the generals. "Initiate the Ascension Protocol. Prepare for war."

Those were the last words Ludwig heard. His consciousness drifted as darkness edged into his vision. The pain dulled, replaced by a numbness that crept through his body. Regret weighed heavily on his final thoughts—not for himself, but for the war that would follow.

As his eyes fluttered closed, a lone tear traced down his cheek.