Following Sophia's meaningful gaze, Daphne slowly looked down at herself.
What greeted her eyes was an utterly exaggerated, breathtaking arc being pushed against the fabric of her pink silk sleeping gown — the sheer visual impact of it left even Daphne herself flustered with a strange, helpless embarrassment.
She shifted her weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, fingers twisting at the hem of her gown, trying through squirming and fidgeting to make that heavy, insistent presence somehow less conspicuous. But the fabric was so thin and light that the effort only made that fullness look more vivid and alive in the shifting lamplight.
"Your Majesty... please don't look at me like that."
Daphne's voice dropped to barely above a whisper, the flush on her cheeks so deep it looked ready to bleed. She muttered with genuine, flustered exasperation:
"Honestly... sometimes this minister truly does find them burdensome.
"Back when I used to fight, if it weren't for the Holy Light barrier reinforcing everything, they always felt so heavy — running was awkward, and I even had to have Irene custom-make the largest possible breastplate just to fit."
She stole another glance at Sophia, and finding the Queen's expression unchanged, finally dared to bare the rest of her heart:
"Sometimes I genuinely envy Your Majesty's figure... that slender, clean-lined build. It looks so light, so effortlessly commanding."
Listening to Daphne's oblivious confession — the very definition of someone who didn't know how good she had it — Sophia couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh.
She stepped barefoot across the soft wool carpet, and with unhurried elegance settled back into the rosewood chair nearby.
The moon-white silk sleeping gown slipped along her knee as she sat, baring a graceful stretch of calf.
Sophia rested her chin on one hand, and with the other lifted the warm cup of clear tea from the table, removed the lid, and blew softly across its surface to scatter the thin veil of steam.
The clean, slightly bitter fragrance slid down her throat, washing away the last trace of warmth from the bath.
She set the cup down. Her pale golden gaze settled on Daphne with quiet, measured weight.
"Burdensome?"
Sophia's tone was unhurried, carrying the ease of someone who had long since seen through the world's vanities.
"Daphne, you must understand — everything in this world that grows upon your body is a reward that fate has given to you.
"Whether it is the clean sharpness of a blade, or the abundance of mountain peaks — all of it is an inseparable part of who you are."
She watched those bewildered jade-green eyes, her fingertip tapping the table in a slow, steady rhythm:
"Do not envy others, and do not despise yourself in pursuit of some notion of lightness.
"Learn to accept it. Learn, even, to like it.
"When you can look at every inch of your own skin, every curve and contour, without flinching — that is when your Holy Light will become truly unbreakable. Truly flawless."
"Learn... to like myself?"
Daphne repeated Sophia's words in a daze.
Those shoulders that had curled inward from shyness slowly, gradually unfurled — loosened by Sophia's gaze, which held not a trace of judgment, only a certain aesthetic affirmation.
The feeling of being accepted, from head to toe, by the Queen herself — it was more invigorating than any divine medicine she had ever brewed.
"This minister... this minister understands!"
Daphne's head snapped up, the light in her eyes blazing back to full, energetic life. She straightened up with force — and that fullness which had so embarrassed her gave a vigorous, dramatic tremble at the motion.
"Since Your Majesty says it is a reward, then from now on, this minister will absolutely protect them — not let them suffer even the tiniest scratch!"
Sophia:
Just as Daphne was puffing out her chest to launch into a deeper, more solemn vow, a sound came from beyond the heavy rosewood doors of the Bedchamber — a set of knocks, deliberately restrained, soft and measured.
"Your Majesty?"
Willow's voice drifted through the gap in the door, carrying a thread of professional alertness. In the exceptional quiet of the room, it came through with startling clarity.
"This servant thought she heard a vibration from inside just now. Has something happened? Shall this servant come in to attend?"
Sophia pressed two fingers against her faintly warming brow, looked at Daphne — who had been overly enthusiastic in her vow and was now beet-red from the noise she had inadvertently caused — and replied with a resigned sigh:
"It's nothing. Come in."
The door was eased open, and Willow entered carrying a small cup of freshly warmed honey water.
However, the moment this Chief Steward of the Palace took in the scene inside, a rare flicker of complex emotion passed through those usually unruffled eyes.
Sophia was dressed only in the moon-white silk sleeping gown, damp strands of hair scattered across her shoulders as she reclined languidly in the chair.
And Daphne — the Saint who was usually all bounce and energy — was also dressed in a thin pink sleeping gown, cheeks scorching red, standing in a position that was, by any measure, exceptionally intimate and close to Sophia's knee.
"Your Majesty..."
The tray in Willow's hands didn't waver by so much as a fraction. She lowered her gaze slightly, suppressing the corner of her mouth, which was determined to curve upward despite her best efforts, and let just the faintest note of teasing probe into her tone:
"It seems this servant has entered at rather an inopportune moment?"
"You're overthinking it."
Sophia picked up her teacup with perfect composure and gestured toward the length of her still-damp hair.
"Daphne only came to help knead my shoulders. Since you're here, go ahead and dry my hair for me."
Willow smiled and nodded, set down the tray, and with well-practiced ease retrieved a thick, dry white velvet towel from behind the folding screen, taking her natural place behind Sophia.
"There we are —"
Under the gentle coaxing of Willow's fingertips, the cold, damp silver hair tangled at Sophia's neck was disentangled, strand by strand. Willow's hands carried the steadiness and warmth that came from years of attending to a thousand small things; the pressure she applied to the scalp was exactly right — the sensation of someone soothing a very noble, very dignified Persian cat.
"Lord Daphne..."
Willow carefully worked through those silver-sand strands, and glanced sidelong at the somewhat awkward Daphne nearby, a polite smile resting on her lips.
"Did you come to find Her Majesty late at night because you couldn't sleep in the City of Qubi?"
"Ah — yes! Exactly!"
Daphne, who had been desperately looking for an excuse to cover her shyness, latched onto the lifeline immediately, hands clutching the hem of her gown with transparent guilt.
"The coal smoke smell here is too thick, and the wind from the mining district keeps howling and howling — I... I really couldn't fall asleep."
Sophia relaxed under Willow's ministrations, half-lidded as she listened to the two of them exchange their careful, slightly loaded small talk, and murmured with quiet contentment:
"No matter. Most of the affairs here have been seen to. We'll finish gathering the remaining mineral veins over the next few days, and then set out back for the Royal City."
Willow's fingertips paused, just barely, at those words.
She looked at Sophia's reflection in the copper mirror — that profile, still cold and proud and solitary, yet now the absolute master over life and death for a thousand miles in every direction — and felt something well up in her chest that resisted easy naming.
"To think that the Kingdom of Qubi became Mason's City of Qubi so quickly."
Willow's voice was soft as a sigh, yet carried an absolute, total reverence.
"Looking back to a year ago... Mason was still just a small, barely-solvent domain on the northern wastelands. We were still fretting over winter rations and the harassment of the old nobility.
"And now — Orr has been destroyed. Qubi has submitted. Even Leighton watches us for cues.
"Your Majesty... all of this truly feels like the most magnificent dream."
Inside the Bedchamber, warm amber firelight played across Willow's focused expression as she worked. The sound of the comb drawing through those silver strands was fine and soft — like some ancient, unhurried ritual.
Sophia listened to that dreaming, wondering sigh, and the corner of her mouth curved upward by the faintest, barely-there degree.
She set down the teacup, and those pale golden pupils met Willow's reverence-filled eyes through the copper mirror.
"A dream?"
Sophia's voice was as light as smoke, yet it carried a certainty capable of piercing straight through time.
"Willow, remember this — this degree of territorial expansion is, for Mason, only a beginning.
"There will be more. Many more."
Without Sophia quite noticing it herself, that once-sincere desire to simply slack off had been quietly, gradually transforming — much as Daphne had once only wished to contribute something to humanity, and had since declared that no one in the world mattered more than Her Majesty.
Those few words made both women in the room hold their breath at exactly the same moment.
Willow's hand stilled on the towel. What she saw in those golden eyes was not greed. It was a kind of divine indifference — the calm detachment of something that looks down upon the entire chessboard of the world.
She had thought that Mason's territory, as it stood today, was already the apex of the Northern border. It had never occurred to her that in the eyes of her sovereign, this had not even qualified as an appetizer.
Daphne's jade-green eyes had gone round as saucers, her whole person staring in rapt adoration at Sophia's profile.
Still more... Her Majesty's ambition truly has no ceiling, does it?
This domineering aura she radiates without even trying — this casual desire to consume the whole world — it's genuinely heart-pounding.
No matter where Your Majesty goes — even if it's to attack some cursed monster — I will lock both arms around Your Majesty's waist and absolutely, positively refuse to let go!
That night, two of Mason's core confidants fell asleep in a state of near-trembling reverence.
---
The next morning, the thin mist unique to the mining district had not yet lifted, and the newly appointed City Lord of Qubi was already waiting respectfully outside the main hall.
When Sophia changed into a sharp, dark gothic long dress and entered the hall with Delilah and Willow flanking her, the City Lord immediately bowed his head deep and presented with both hands a large bundle of scrolls wrapped in sheepskin and sealed with silk.
"Your Majesty, these are all the diplomatic and trade records Qubi has accumulated over the decades since its founding."
The City Lord's voice was a little stiff, but wholly submissive.
"Since this minister has sworn allegiance to Mason, these things are no longer this minister's private property.
"Beyond the nations Your Majesty already knows — Orr, now the City of Hill, and Leighton — Qubi has had, over the years, some lesser-known trade partners as well."
Sophia took the scrolls and began paging through them at an unhurried pace.
The dry trade data and geographic coordinates rapidly assembled themselves in her mind into a complex web of influence and power.
Near the end of those yellowed records, a name caught Sophia's eye: Avalon.
This name was nearly a total blank in Mason's prior intelligence files.
"Avalon?"
Sophia tapped a fingertip against the table, eyebrow lifting slightly.
"This Queen had never heard there was such a place near Mason's borders."
"Your Majesty, your unfamiliarity is perfectly understandable."
The City Lord hastened to explain.
"The Kingdom of Avalon lies deep in the mountains to the southeast, fairly close to us here in Qubi. But that country... how to put it. It's very small."
The City Lord held up three fingers.
"Its total land area is less than a third of Qubi's, and its population is even more sparse. The Avalonians have an inherently eccentric character — even somewhat reclusive."
"Their soil is strange — it refuses to grow grain, yet it can produce the finest spices across entire mountainsides. More than half of the aromatic incense in the Qubi Palace, the kind that eases fatigue — we obtained it by trading minerals with them."
"Because their population is so small, their needs are equally minimal. Beyond essential fuel and cloth, they have almost no contact with the outside world. Thus they have never come into conflict with the once-powerful Kingdom of Orr — let alone Mason."
Sophia's gaze fixed on the word 'spices,' and a glimmer of light passed through her eyes.
In this alternate world without any chemical synthesis industry, natural spices held a value equivalent to gold. More importantly, spices frequently came paired with medicinal properties and preservative functions.
Since the City of Qubi is already my logistics special zone, this thoroughly harmless little neighbor next door — the one that does nothing but grow flowers and herbs — sounds like it could be a perfectly ideal source of luxury raw materials.
"They make their living growing spices?"
"Once This Queen has dealt with the loose ends in Leighton, I wouldn't mind going to smell for myself just how enticing Avalon's fragrance truly is."
The City Lord of Qubi, upon hearing this, quietly began lighting incense sticks in his heart on the King of Avalon's behalf.
---
Along the Black Jade Avenue of the City of Qubi, coal dust and a novel, clean woody fragrance intertwined in the air.
If yesterday's absorption had been a transfer of power, then today's great surge of construction activity was the first steel stake Mason's civilization drove into this black earth.
Sophia was sitting under a temporary canopy that had been erected on-site, a glass of iced fruit tea in hand.
She had not worn heavy ceremonial dress today. Instead she was in a sharp, dark gothic long dress, its layered skirt like a rose blooming in the dead of night — exceptionally ethereal against the grey, dusty backdrop of the street.
She did not say a word, only occasionally lifting those pale golden eyes to sweep across the construction site.
Yet even so, every last one of the watching Qubi residents nearby felt the weight of an unspoken pressure bearing down on them.
In their eyes, the Queen presiding over the rear was using her gaze alone to sketch the future of this entire city.
Look — that's Her Majesty the Queen of Mason over there.
She's just sitting there, and it feels like she's commanding some silent war.
Those black musketeer soldiers — the ones who can fight ten men at once — they're under her watch, and they're laying bricks and plastering mortar?
Mason's discipline is harder than the ore at the bottom of the mines. That kind of army... what on earth were we thinking, ever entertaining thoughts of resistance?
At the heart of the construction site, Irene was perched on a stone platform wearing a peculiar little yellow hard hat, shouting directions at the top of her lungs.
"Second squad!
"Bring those three assembled jade wall panels over here! Gently! Gently!"
At Irene's shout, a team of Mason soldiers carried past the street great slabs of finely polished jade — each one so smooth it mirrored the image of anyone who stood before it.
Unlike the slow, laborious stone-stacking of this era, the storefronts here were being built on a concept Sophia had devised herself.
The walls used pre-finished alloy frames; the soldiers simply needed to slot them into place like fitting pieces into a puzzle.
The frames were a composite of Qubi's native black jade and refined black-gold alloy from Mason — the black steady and grounded, the gold sumptuous — radiating a cold industrial beauty under the sunlight.
Clang!
As the final crossbeam snapped precisely into its groove, a corner that had been nothing but rubble moments before was already taking the shape of a sleek, elegant building in a modern minimalist style.
The crowd of watching Qubi residents had grown and grown. They had come with curiosity — perhaps even wariness — but the look in their eyes now held nothing but pure, slack-jawed stupefaction.
"Is... is this Mason's magic?"
An old miner rubbed his eyes, voice trembling.
"I'm sixty years old — building a mud house takes me a month. And they... in less than two hours, they've conjured a palace?"
"Look at those walls — are those mirrors? How can there be such enormous transparent crystal panels?"
"It's Glass. Extraordinarily precious Glass!"
To the eyes of the Qubi people, this was no longer a simple matter of construction. This was a dimensional annihilation.
Willow stood gracefully at Sophia's side, a small silver pair of scissors in hand, carefully trimming several Black Roses that would be used to decorate the countertops. She watched the building rising from nothing not far away and murmured to Sophia with a quiet smile:
"Your Majesty, the look in these Qubi residents' eyes right now is identical to the look in the people of the City of Hill when this happened there. They are going through the transition from fear to reverence — and that storefront is the foothold where their faith will take root."
Delilah, arms wrapped around her longsword, kept her eyes moving like a hawk across the crowd, fixed on every variable that might exist within it.
---
On the day before they departed the City of Qubi, Sophia stood on the Black Jade Avenue — the most bustling street in the city center — and with her own hands, pulled away the black silk cloth draped over a freshly mounted signboard.
The signboard bore a family crest cast from black-gold alloy — Irene's personal design — blazing brilliant in the sunlight.
The text below was concise, yet radiated an unmistakable premium quality: [Mason · Black Rose Flagship Store: City of Qubi Branch].
The premises had once belonged to an old noble family. Now it had been completely transformed. Inside, the chaotic clutter of the old era was gone, replaced by the same spare, opulent design philosophy as the flagship store in Mason Royal City.
Behind glass counters sat Mason's finest soap, aromatic candles carrying a faint fragrance of fruit wood, and garments woven through with Black Rose patterns.
"Helena."
Sophia turned her head and looked at the First Princess of Qubi, who had been close on her heels and looking rather at a loss.
Princess Helena was gazing into the shop at the exquisite, breathtaking merchandise inside with wide, doe-like eyes.
"This Queen has decided — this branch will be placed under your management."
Sophia's tone was unhurried, yet it sent a tidal wave crashing through Helena's heart.
Sophia stood with one hand behind her back, turning slightly, letting her gaze rest on that delicate, pretty face for a moment.
"This Queen does not ask you to charge into battle like Delilah, nor to bury yourself in experiments all day like Irene.
"Your task is to make these things — these representatives of Mason's civilization — completely take over the dressing tables of Qubi's noble households."
"Your — Your Majesty... can I truly do this?"
Helena's voice was trembling — the trembling of extreme excitement colliding with self-doubt.
These past few days, she had silently watched every woman in Sophia's inner circle. Whether it was Delilah — cold as forged iron — or the brilliant, breathtaking Irene, or the elegantly inscrutable Willow, each of them possessed a magnetism that made Helena feel she couldn't breathe.
She had thought that as the princess of a conquered nation — or rather, the City Lord's daughter now — the rest of her life would be spent as a powerless ornament deep within the Palace. She had never imagined that this Queen, who seemed more divine than human, would give her a chance to prove her own worth.
"This servant — Helena — will not disgrace the mission!"
She lifted her skirt and performed a deep, sincere Mason monarch-and-subject bow.
Sophia hooked a finger, beckoning Helena closer.
"This Queen will give this store a ten-percent commission on its profits. You may freely recruit attendants, but they must pass Willow's screening."
Sophia watched Helena's expression — the look of someone who had been handed a priceless treasure — and let a rare trace of patience into her voice.
"As for supply, you needn't worry.
"Going forward, Qubi's ore carts will make a delivery to the Royal City once per month. When those carts return empty, they'll come back filled with the goods the main store has allocated for you.
"Is that clear?"
Helena listened with fierce concentration, even pulling out a small notebook from her chest to scribble notes as fast as she could.
She looked up, those beautiful eyes now brimming with a reverence that had nearly tipped into fanaticism, locked immovably on Sophia's cold, intelligent face.
Is this what Your Majesty's world looks like?
I can do so many things... I never realized...
Father — no, Dad. Dad always used to say he hoped she'd find a good husband someday and marry well. But — is there truly no way she could marry Her Majesty Sophia instead?
However, even as Helena was gazing at Sophia with that look of "I would offer up everything I have to this sovereign," Mason's inner circle had already entered a state of silent, high-alert combat readiness.
Delilah's hand, which had been resting on the hilt of her sword, had quietly pressed down against the ruby. Her eyes had gone cold enough to cut.
"That woman's expression is wrong. She's standing too close to Her Majesty.
"That look — humble yet desperate — she's absolutely scheming something."
Beside her, Irene was grinding her teeth so hard she could have bitten through steel — coal dust still not wiped from her hands — already mentally designing a small spring-loaded mechanism she could install outside Helena's storefront that would, entirely accidentally, spray paint on anyone who came too close.
"Unbelievable! Her Majesty is personally teaching her how to run a business?
"I've never had Her Majesty walk me through sales techniques hands-on!"
Just as both 'predators' were about to surge forward and boot that shameless princess into next week, Willow moved.
With the calm of someone who had seen this coming, two slender yet surprisingly strong hands reached out with perfect precision — one catching Irene by the collar, the other snagging Delilah by the cape.
The polite smile on Willow's face hadn't budged a millimeter, but her tone carried the kind of composure that did not invite argument:
"Both of you, calm down.
"That is simply a commercial chess piece Her Majesty has placed without a second thought. If you charge over there right now, you won't just ruin Her Majesty's mood — you'll make it look like the veterans can't keep their composure. Behave. Both of you."
Willow's grip — deceptively soft in appearance — locked both generals in place with the firmness of iron clamps.
Delilah shot Willow a ferocious glare over her shoulder and grumbled: "I knew I shouldn't have let you take up martial arts training. Now your grip is annoyingly strong."
"My strength may have grown, but I still can't beat the General," Willow replied with a smile. "The General is letting me win. Because the General also doesn't want to make Her Majesty unhappy."
Delilah stole one last look at Sophia, then turned and stalked away with great dignity and very poor grace.
Irene, still firmly caught, sagged against the wall and complained:
"Next time we do martial arts training, I am absolutely not slacking off again. You two — one after another — how did everyone get this strong?
"Unacceptable. The Chief Inventor cannot be physically outmatched by her own subordinates!"
---
The black jade gates of the City of Qubi drew shut behind them with a slow, heavy groan — the sound of the winch like a final period drawn at the end of an old era.
The convoy was no longer as light as it had been on the way here. A hundred flatbed cargo carts at the rear were loaded heavy with translucent refined copper ore, high-purity smokeless coal, and that classified scroll representing sovereignty over the entire Southeast Mineral Special Zone.
This was not merely the conclusion of a tour. This was the first dispatch of victory in Mason's territorial expansion.
A full hour before the convoy set out, Sophia had just set down an urgent letter from the Kingdom of Leighton.
In it, the King of Leighton had used what was essentially a pleading tone to invite Sophia to pass through Leighton Royal City on her way back — even half a day's stopover would do.
And yet, beneath the watching eyes of everyone present, Sophia declined without changing her expression.
"Tell Leighton's envoy — This Queen has no time to sit and listen to tired, stock-standard praise."
Sophia settled into the spacious, comfortable carriage and let Willow drape a thick black fox fur over her shoulders.
"The ceremony date we originally fixed is nearly upon us.
"This Queen made a promise to Irene, Delilah, and the others — to formally grant them their official titles upon returning to the Royal City. That kind of matter cannot be delayed because of Leighton."
Irene, sitting across from her, blinked — and then the next moment she absolutely detonated with excitement, nearly hitting the carriage ceiling:
"Your Majesty — you remembered the ceremony!
"I thought between all the rush of acquiring coal mines, you'd completely forgotten about my official Chief Inventor medal!"
Delilah, though she remained in her corner of the carriage with her arms around her sword as always, had something moving through those fire-red eyes of hers — a warmth with a name, and that name was being moved.
To honor a promise made to us, you turned down a tributary invitation from an entire kingdom...
Your Majesty. You are always like this — hiding behind the coldest surface, the regard that makes a person lose themselves completely.
Daphne had drifted off to sleep against the side of the carriage. She half-heard something about a ceremony, and before she could manage a response, sank back under.
The carriage rolled off the mountain terrain, and the walls of the City of Qubi faded into the blowing snow behind them.
The City Lord of Qubi, his wife beside him, and Helena — eyes slightly red, clutching the Black Rose flagship store account ledger to her chest — stood at the highest point of Broken Cloud Slope, unwilling for a long time to leave.
"Father — will Her Majesty truly come back someday?"
Helena murmured, fingertips unconsciously tracing the outline of a rose that wasn't there on her cuff.
"She doesn't need to come back, Helena."
The City Lord watched that armed-to-the-teeth Mason army, maintaining its remarkable discipline even in retreat, and let out a long, slow breath.
"From now on, every snowflake that falls above our heads, every piece of coal beneath our feet, will carry her name branded into it.
"We are already living within her kingdom."
And in the eyes of those residents who had dropped to their knees in the snow, calling out "Long live the Queen" — the convoy that was leaving had taken away no wealth. It had left behind the hope of life, and the Order of a future.
---
Inside the carriage, Willow was efficiently sorting and filing the documents on Avalon, categorizing them with practiced ease.
She glanced at Daphne — who was attached to Sophia's side and attempting to use Holy Light to ease Her Majesty's travel fatigue — and a meaningful flicker crossed her gaze.
"Your Majesty, I've drawn up a preliminary itinerary for the return ceremony."
Willow began quietly, her voice carrying a tone of effortless professionalism.
"Lord Victor wrote in his letter that he has already composed a celebratory address of ten thousand characters, and intends to read it aloud the moment you enter the city."
Sophia's eye twitched. "A ten-thousand-character address? That man truly has too much free time. I'll need to add to his administrative workload."
---
Mason Royal City's black walls stood proud and unmoved in the northern snowfall.
When that flag bearing the blooming Black Rose appeared on the horizon, the entire city seemed to wake from a deep sleep, erupting into a rumble like distant thunder.
As the heavy city gates swung open with a resonant boom, the residents lining both sides of the road had already knelt of their own accord, forming two black tides stretching into the distance.
Heads bowed, expressions fierce with devotion.
In the eyes of these residents, this returning convoy — laden with mountains of refined copper ore and coal — had brought back a century's worth of foundation for Mason's future.
Every sound of carriage wheels crushing ice was like a toll rung upon the funeral bell of the old era.
"Welcome back, Your Majesty! Black Rose Eternal!"
The cheering rose and fell in waves. Sophia, inside the carriage, lifted a corner of the curtain.
Looking out at those subjects flushed red with excitement, the quietly rebellious little voice inside her that only wanted to slack off was once again firmly sat on by a crushing weight of responsibility.
This scene... it's starting to look more and more like a Demon King returning to her lair.
I just went out to collect some coal mines and incidentally turned a neighbor into my property — and now the homecoming looks like a god descending from the heavens.
Why are Valery and Victor standing out front like that?
And what in the world is that scroll that's so long it's trailing on the ground?
Victor. Please don't tell me that's what you're planning to read aloud.
In the open ground before the Palace gates, Chancellor Valery stood in a deep grey formal suit, spine perfectly straight, eyes full of quiet pride.
At his side, Victor was gripping a thick scroll — the kind whose end nearly brushed his ankles — fingertips trembling faintly from excitement, the fanaticism in his gaze hovering on the edge of becoming solid matter.
The convoy came to a smooth stop. Willow was first out, elegant as always, holding the curtain open.
Sophia stepped down in black deerskin boots, her dark gothic long dress swaying in the breeze, those pale golden pupils sweeping the gathered crowd — and presence radiated outward without the need for effort.
"We pay our respects to Your Majesty! Congratulations on expanding Mason's borders — may your glory endure for ten thousand years!"
With Valery and Victor at the lead, everyone present bowed in a single, unified motion.
Before Sophia could tell anyone to rise, Victor had already darted to the front of the steps in one quick, fluid motion, and shook open the scroll in his hands with a dramatic flourish.
The sheepskin parchment unfurled across the snow with a rustling crash, sending Irene's eyes flying wide open beside them.
"Your Majesty!"
Victor's voice rang out, rich and resonant, as though every syllable had been polished.
"Please permit this minister, at this great moment of civilizations converging, to offer you this triumphal ode — 'The Light of the Black Rose: From the City of Hill to the Mountains of Qubi'!
"Ahem..."
Victor cleared his throat, and in the hushed, reverent attention of the multitude, began the ten-thousand-character epic:
"When the first ray of Holy Light tore through Orr's hypocrisy, Your Majesty's footsteps became the most sacred melody this earth has ever heard!
The City of Hill's submission was no conquest — it was the return of the lost to their true home.
And in the southeast, where black gold flows, the black jade throne of the city of Qubi bore witness to what it truly means to triumph without drawing a blade!
With a tap of Your Majesty's fingertip, ten-thousand-year coal veins became the Empire's fuel.
With the lowering of Your Majesty's eyes, an obstinate sovereign became a humble City..."
Sophia stood on the spot, expression perfectly blank.
One minute passed.
Five minutes passed.
I beg you, please stop.
Valery — he's standing there having a breakdown, and you're over there nodding along in agreement?
It's settled. The entire Mason administrative core is going to be dragged into some bizarre cult by this man.
Irene, Delilah, and Daphne — all three of whom had originally been bracing for Victor's inevitable long-windedness — found themselves, against all their expectations, actually listening.
Sophia could even see, through the gathered residents lining the road, a few of the more emotionally susceptible quietly weeping.
When Victor reached the line — "Beneath Your Majesty's black fox fur lies the entire spring of the Northern border" — Sophia finally raised her hand.
"Victor."
Sophia's voice, cold and precise as always yet carrying a quality that cut clean through walls, brought Victor to a halt mid-transcendence.
He blinked with obvious reluctance.
"Your literary craft has genuinely improved."
Sophia said this without a change in expression.
"Since you have such a thorough mastery of government affairs and diplomatic rhetoric... Willow, when we're back inside, take half of the City of Qubi handover documents and Irene's mineral production statistical reports and divide them between Victor's desk.
"I trust he will complete the audits in the most elegant manner possible."
Victor's face went rigid for exactly one second — and then he produced a smile of near-martyred nobility:
"To write in service of Her Majesty's will is the greatest honor of this minister's life!"
Her Majesty interrupted my ode — not because the prose lacked beauty, but because she wishes me to evolve into the scribe of civilization itself!
Her Majesty has entrusted those weighty reports to me — that means she is placing the Empire's ledgers, the very bloodline of the Empire, into my hands!
What trust! Her Majesty is testing me — to see whether I can still capture the divine pattern of the Black Rose blooming even within the drudgery of data!
This minister accepts the decree. This minister will pour out every last drop of ink for Your Majesty!
---
As Sophia moved into the Palace's depths surrounded by her retinue, the solemn stillness that had lined the streets gave way in an instant to jubilant celebration.
And among that mass of fervent residents, one small figure in a grey cotton robe — washed to a shine from repeated use — clutched a snow-white, long-eared rabbit to her chest and stood on her tiptoes, eyes burning with fixed intensity on that ink-dark silhouette vanishing at the far end of the red carpet.
That was Hailey — only six years old, her head barely reaching an adult's waist.
Half a year ago, when Hailey had believed her life would end in starvation, it was those elegant, finely booted feet that had stopped in front of her.
Her Majesty Sophia had given her not only the food to survive, but a small, warm corner within this cold Palace — a place where she could live among animals.
To a child of six, Sophia was not a political strategist or an industrial pioneer. She was a deity who had walked straight out of a fairy tale.
Those black ore carts and imposing soldiers, to little Hailey's eyes, were simply the treasures Her Majesty had brought back after slaying a dragon.
"Your Majesty... every time I see her, I think she's too beautiful — more beautiful than the sun in the picture books."
Hailey tightened her arms around her rabbit, small face going pink with the effort of containing her excitement.
Victor's ten-thousand-character epic, which had made Sophia squirm with embarrassment, had sounded to Hailey like every word was a musical note carrying magic. Especially that line — "Beneath Your Majesty's black fox fur lies the entire spring of the Northern border" — it had struck this six-year-old's imagination like a bolt of lightning.
"It's so beautiful!" Hailey breathed in barely-contained awe, those bright eyes sparkling with a light she had never carried before.
She couldn't read all the complicated words on the sheepskin scroll yet, but she understood one thing: Her Majesty's greatness was something that could be recorded in this kind of magnificent way.
"Grandpa Victor knows so much — he can make every one of Her Majesty's glances sound like it's glowing.
"And Sister Willow always walks beside Her Majesty like a shadow.
"I want to do something for Her Majesty too — not just feed the pigs and sweep the stables for the cows and horses.
"I want to write articles!
"I'm only six, but I can start learning now, can't I?
"I'm going to ask Grandpa Victor to teach me the most powerful words for praising Her Majesty, and ask Sister Willow what Her Majesty likes to drink most.
"I'm going to make sure everyone in the whole world knows — Her Majesty Sophia is the greatest hero there has ever been!"
Hailey clutched her rabbit and set off on her small, rapid steps — weaving like a nimble little cat through the gaps between the Palace guards as the crowd dispersed around her, eyes locked on Victor's figure as he rolled up the sheepskin scroll with a face full of passion.
She had already made up her mind:
Today she was absolutely going to get Grandpa Victor to teach her the longest, most awe-inspiring adjective he knew!
And then she was going to ask Sister Willow how to make Her Majesty like her even more!
---
In the Bedchamber.
Sophia was reclining in the study's soft chair with her eyes closed, turning over the details of the upcoming ceremony in her mind.
The ore brought back from Qubi included a great deal of fine-quality mineral stone. Sophia was planning to have some of it crafted into decorative pieces and tableware, with most of the rest going to Irene for her experiments.
The ceremony would need some suitably impressive visuals to set the scene. What precious objects Mason currently possessed were largely whatever the old King had scraped together from the people — and there weren't many of those left.
Suddenly, she heard Hailey's clear, childlike voice drifting in from outside the window. The little girl was earnestly questioning Victor.
"Grandpa Victor, does 'soaring spirit and surging will' mean that Her Majesty is very tall? Her Majesty is taller than Hailey, but this servant feels like she's not quite as tall as Sister Willow and the others..."
Victor's voice followed shortly after from outside:
"It doesn't refer to Her Majesty's physical height at all — it refers to the height of Her Majesty's heart, Her Majesty's bearing, Her Majesty's ambition, Her Majesty's authority!"
Just as the old man and the small child launched into their enthusiastic back-and-forth, Sophia pulled open the Bedchamber door without warning.
Her clear, cool gaze settled upon the pair of them.
Sophia: "..."
She said nothing. But she communicated everything she needed to through her expression alone.
If you dare corrupt a child, you're a dead man.
Victor, however, read it entirely differently.
He gave a firm, solemn nod. He felt the weight of a calling settle upon his shoulders.
He and that old scoundrel Valery had failed in their duty — they had produced no descendants to serve Her Majesty. Neither of them had many years left. But if they could impart something to the children of this new era, then those children could carry on in their stead.
And so, Victor made a silent vow to himself: he would pass on his boundless imagination and his refined literary craft to every child within the Palace walls.
For Her Majesty.
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