The Scum Emperor's Redemption System

The grand hall of the imperial palace was decked out in gold, red, and ivory, with towering floral arrangements, flowing banners, and a guest list so extensive it seemed the entire empire had shown up. This wasn't just any wedding—it was the wedding of Emperor Argider. And by "wedding," it meant fourteen simultaneous weddings.

As Argider stood at the altar, dressed in an ornate robe that made her look more like a gilded statue than a person, her palms were sweating. Not because of the pressure of being emperor, but because of the absurdity of what was unfolding before her eyes.

The fourteen brides were lined up beside her, each in their own extravagant gowns that reflected their unique personalities.

Elira, ever the apothecary and agent of chaos, was snickering under her veil, elbowing Faeralys, who looked like she was about to explode. The fiery tsundere muttered under her breath, "Fourteen?! Fourteen wives?! This is absurd! What does she think she's doing, running a royal harem?"

Fialova, the gentle knight, simply gave a small smile, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. "You have to admit, it's quite… impressive, isn't it?" she whispered.

Meanwhile, Callista, the ever-enigmatic one, was smirking, as though she knew this was all part of some grand cosmic joke. She leaned toward Argider, whispering just loud enough for everyone to hear, "Do you even remember all their names, Your Majesty? Or are you just winging it?"

Argider gave her a strained smile. "I'll have you know I've been studying a list!" she hissed, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.

The remaining ten brides were a mix of awkwardness, confusion, and mild disappointment. Mira, the stoic scholar, seemed to be analyzing the situation as though it were a thesis paper, while a few of the others—Argider couldn't quite remember their names—looked like they were still questioning how they ended up here.

The priest cleared his throat, his voice echoing through the hall. "We are gathered here today to unite Emperor Argider…" He paused, glancing at the lineup of fourteen brides. "…and, uh, her esteemed consorts… in holy matrimony."

The audience, a sea of nobles and dignitaries, was visibly struggling to keep their composure. Whispers broke out, barely stifled laughter rippling through the crowd.

"Fourteen wives?! Is this a wedding or an auction?" one noble muttered.

"I heard one of them is a knight! Can you imagine the pillow talk?" another giggled.

The priest, clearly flustered, shuffled his notes. "Do you, Emperor Argider, take… um…" He glanced helplessly at the lineup. "All fourteen of these women to be your lawfully wedded wives?"

Argider swallowed hard, her face burning. "I… I do," she managed, her voice cracking slightly.

The priest's eyebrows twitched, but he continued. "And do all of you, esteemed consorts, take Emperor Argider to be your lawfully wedded… spouse?"

A chorus of "I do" followed, though it wasn't exactly synchronized. Faeralys muttered hers begrudgingly, while Elira practically sang hers with glee. Callista's was a sultry, teasing purr that earned her a glare from Argider.

As the ceremony proceeded, the absurdity only grew. When it came time for the rings, the poor attendants had to carry them out on multiple trays because there were so many. One attendant nearly tripped, sending a tray of rings clattering to the floor, which earned a few muffled laughs from the audience.

"Honestly, Argider, did you really need fourteen of us?" Faeralys hissed, as Argider fumbled to place a ring on her finger.

"It wasn't my idea!" Argider whispered back. "Blame the council—they thought it was a great political move!"

"And now you can't even remember half our names," Callista added with a smirk.

Argider glared at her. "I remember your name, don't I?"

"Only because I'm unforgettable," Callista shot back, making Argider groan.

The priest finally reached the end of the ceremony, looking like he'd aged ten years in the process. "By the power vested in me… I now pronounce you emperor and… wives."

The hall erupted into applause, though it was laced with laughter and disbelief. Some of the nobles were clutching their sides, others dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs.

"This will go down in history as the most chaotic wedding ever," someone whispered.

"Typical Argider," said another. "Even her weddings are dramatic."

Meanwhile, the original four wives—Elira, Callista, Faeralys, and Fialova—were standing together, watching the whole thing unfold. Elira was still snickering, clearly enjoying the absurdity of it all.

"This is ridiculous," Faeralys grumbled, arms crossed. "She's going to need a flowchart to keep track of all of us."

"She'll manage," Fialova said with a soft chuckle. "Argider has a way of… adapting. Eventually."

Callista, leaning casually against a pillar, added, "I just hope she remembers who she's married to by the time we get back to our chambers."

The reception was no less chaotic. Argider was pulled in fourteen different directions, each bride wanting a moment of her time. At one point, two of the newer brides got into a heated debate over who should sit next to Argider during dinner, which ended with Mira suggesting they draft a schedule.

"How about we just put her on a rotating schedule?" Mira said, deadpan. "One hour per wife."

"I am not a timeshare!" Argider protested, though her objections were drowned out by laughter.

Elira, watching from the sidelines, nudged Faeralys. "You know, we could just let them argue and sneak her away for ourselves," she suggested with a mischievous grin.

Faeralys rolled her eyes. "You're incorrigible."

"And you love it," Elira shot back with a wink.

By the end of the evening, Argider was utterly exhausted. She managed to sneak away from the crowd and collapse onto a nearby bench in the garden, her head spinning.

"Fourteen wives," she muttered to herself. "What have I gotten myself into?"

Callista appeared out of nowhere, as she often did, and handed her a glass of wine. "Congratulations, Your Majesty," she said, her tone laced with amusement. "You've officially turned matrimony into a spectator sport."

Argider groaned, taking the wine. "Please don't remind me."

Callista smirked, leaning in close. "Don't worry. You'll figure it out. Eventually."

Argider wasn't so sure, but as she looked back at the grand hall, where her fourteen wives were mingling, she couldn't help but laugh. It was chaotic, absurd, and overwhelming—but it was her life now. And somehow, she'd make it work.

As the ceremony reached its conclusion, the priest hesitated, glancing nervously at his notes. His face was a shade of pale that screamed, I did not sign up for this. Clearing his throat, he declared the final part of the ceremony with all the grace he could muster.

"And now, to seal this holy union, the brides must… kiss the emperor."

The hall fell silent.

Argider froze, her face a mixture of horror and disbelief. "What now?" she blurted out, the words escaping before she could stop herself.

The priest adjusted his collar, clearly uncomfortable. "It is tradition, Your Majesty. Each bride must share a kiss with the emperor to formalize the union."

The audience erupted into whispers and muffled laughter. Faeralys pinched the bridge of her nose. Elira leaned forward, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Oh, this just keeps getting better," she whispered to Fialova, who chuckled quietly.

Argider, meanwhile, was already backing away, waving her hands frantically. "Nope! Absolutely not! Fourteen kisses? Do you want me to pass out from embarrassment?"

Elira smirked. "Oh, come now, darling. It's tradition. We wouldn't want to break tradition, would we?"

Faeralys crossed her arms, her cheeks already tinged red. "This is ridiculous."

Callista, ever the provocateur, stepped forward with a sly grin. "I volunteer to go first. I wouldn't want our poor emperor to be overwhelmed."

Argider glared at her. "You're not helping!"

Despite Argider's protests, the brides began lining up, much to her dismay. Some of them looked amused, others mildly annoyed, and a few just plain awkward. Mira, the stoic scholar, adjusted her glasses and muttered something about "inefficient ceremonial practices," while one of the newer brides fidgeted nervously with her gown.

"Can we not skip this part?" Argider pleaded, looking desperately at the priest.

The priest shook his head, his expression almost apologetic. "I'm afraid not, Your Majesty. It's… customary."

Argider groaned. "Of course it is."

As the first bride stepped forward, Argider panicked. "Okay, wait! New plan! How about… we skip the lips and go for the cheeks? Yes, cheeks are good. Cheeks are very diplomatic."

The brides exchanged glances, some suppressing laughter. Elira was the first to speak up. "Cheeks? Really? That's hardly romantic, darling."

"I don't need romance!" Argider snapped. "I need my dignity!"

Callista smirked. "I think you lost that the moment you agreed to marry fourteen women."

Ignoring her, Argider gestured toward her cheeks. "Come on, let's keep it quick and painless. Just a peck on the cheek, and we're done."

One by one, the brides approached, each giving Argider a quick kiss on the cheek. Faeralys muttered something about "humiliating rituals" as she blushed her way through it. Mira, true to form, analyzed the whole process, saying, "This tradition lacks any logical purpose but very well."

Elira made sure to make hers obnoxiously loud, grinning as Argider glared at her. "There you go, darling. One down, thirteen to go."

Callista, of course, took the opportunity to linger just long enough to make Argider squirm. "See? That wasn't so bad," she teased.

By the time the last bride had given her peck, Argider's cheeks were bright red, her expression a mixture of embarrassment and exasperation.

"Well," she muttered, "that was the weirdest thing I've ever done."