In the deep winter of the Northern border, dawn always arrived fashionably late.
Before the first faint glimmer of morning light could even graze the spires of Mason Royal City, the entire Palace had already stirred to life beneath the dancing candleflame.
The sound of small, measured footsteps echoed through the corridors as attendants carrying freshly pressed velvet and polished silver made their way through every corner of the Palace.
The Main Hall of Mason Palace.
The Black Rose Hall had been decorated today with a solemnity unlike anything seen before.
Per Sophia's instructions, there was none of the vulgar excess typical of royal ceremonies. Instead, the resources brought back from the City of Qubi had been used to their fullest potential.
The massive refined copper chandeliers had been re-polished until they threw warm, heavy metallic light across the hall, every candle flame dancing in the bronze glow. The stone pillars were wrapped in dark crimson silk, their gaps inlaid with neatly cut jade and obsidian that, beneath the enhancement of a Holy Light formation, gave off a faint, cool fragrance.
Sophia sat upright upon the elevated black jade throne, the great Black Rose emblem of the Kingdom looming behind her.
For today, she had changed into an extremely weighty black pure-silk formal dress, its collar and cuffs densely embroidered with fine black diamonds. The jeweled golden crown atop her head — the symbol of royal authority — blazed with a majesty too brilliant to look upon directly beneath the lamplight.
Sophia's expression remained as placid as ever, as though none of this held any particular significance for her.
In reality, she was thinking: This crown is so heavy my neck is about to snap. The crinoline buried inside this skirt has to weigh at least ten pounds.
Willow said that at a time like this, a sense of physical weight is equivalent to a sense of authority.
Fine. This Queen will endure it for the sake of these girls' sense of occasion.
Irene... please, please don't trip on the red carpet from too much excitement. That girl has barely worn a long dress before.
On both sides of the Main Hall, Chancellor Valery and Victor led the civil and military officials who stood in solemn formation. And at the far end of the red carpet, four women about to receive their official titles had become the focal point of every gaze in the room.
Irene, who was always covered in soot on ordinary days, had today been stuffed into a pink fitted formal dress. The fluffy lace trim and pearls made her skin look notably fairer — though those hands that always itched to grab a wrench were currently fidgeting with awkward self-consciousness at her skirt.
Her pupils were trembling with excitement, the corners of her mouth trying desperately to curl upward while she fought to contain herself.
A title! A medal! Is it really solid gold and refined copper?
After today I'll truly be Mason's Chief Inventor. I can barely imagine it... Half a year ago when I first arrived, I was gnawing on mud-cakes in the slums!
Heh. Does this mean I can apply for a bigger research budget now?
If I ever transmigrated back, would archaeologists be able to dig up evidence of me?
No, wait — that world and my original world probably aren't the same one. Whatever, I'm not going to agonize over that.
Delilah had not worn a dress. Instead she was in a set of custom dark-silver light armor, a crimson cape flowing behind her like streaming blood. One hand rested on the hilt of her ruby longsword, her spine as straight as a blade drawn from its sheath. Her expression was cold as ice — though those red eyes, the moment they turned toward Sophia, betrayed a trace of something close to fanatical devotion.
The title doesn't matter.
As long as this sword can still clear a path through thorns for Her Majesty, it doesn't matter what my name is called.
But... to receive a decoration from Her Majesty's own hands. That is, truly, the highest honor.
Daphne was wearing the most extravagant of the four — a voluminous blue-and-white layered gown, stratum upon stratum of thin gauze blooming out like a cloud. She clutched her pink pentagram staff tightly, Holy Light pulsing softly around her in an easy, living rhythm. Her face was bright red — less nervous than she was hovering on the knife's edge between excitement and nerves.
Willow was in an extremely form-fitting, crisply tailored purple dress, her long hair wound neatly up. Even at a moment like this, she was still unconsciously scanning every detail of her surroundings. Elegant. Composed. Yet in the depths of her eyes there lurked a faint redness from being far too moved.
How she referred to herself had gone from 'this servant' to 'this minister,' from wanderer to servant, and now to Chief Steward. All of it was granted by Her Majesty.
After today, I will be Mason's most unbreakable shield on the home front. No one will ever take so much as a copper coin that belongs to Her Majesty from my watch.
Victor, standing to one side, watched this scene unfold — and the quill pen in his hand nearly tore through the parchment.
The dawn of the gods returning to their proper stations!
Her Majesty enthroned atop the black jade, gazing down at the four extraordinary flowers she raised with her own hands.
Look at Delilah's sword — that is the spine of the Empire. Irene's gears — the pulse of civilization. Daphne's Holy Light — the home of the soul. And Willow's quiet precision — the warp and weft of Order.
This is no simple ceremony of rewards. Her Majesty is weaving the net of fate itself! Every title is a covenant carved into the stars.
She has used her charisma and wisdom to domesticate these once-untameable forces into the most loyal of hunting hounds.
What staggering mastery of rule! My tears are about to soak through the sequel to my ten-thousand-character celebratory address!
Hailey, standing at the back, stood on her tiptoes to steal a peek at what Victor was writing. She gave up quickly, since she could only make out a small fraction of the characters.
Sophia slowly raised her right hand, her slender fingertips appearing almost translucent in the copper glow. At that single motion, the hall, which had still harbored a few whispered exchanges, plunged into absolute silence.
"Irene," Sophia's voice resonated through the hall, magnetic and commanding. "Step forward to receive your title."
Irene gave a full-body shudder, and stepped forward with the wrong arm and leg moving at the same time. The stiff solemnity of the scene gained an unexpected breath of life from her clumsiness — and then was promptly pressed back down by Sophia's gaze, which held both indulgence and authority.
"Half a year ago, you were a lone spark struggling in the slums."
Sophia leaned slightly forward, those pale golden pupils carrying a rare warmth.
"But today, you have used gears and fire to forge the steel skeleton that holds Mason together. You gave life to barren winter, and gave soul to the ore beneath the earth."
"This Queen hereby declares: Irene is appointed Mason's Chief Inventor, and is awarded the Black Gold Rose Medal."
"Thud!"
Irene dropped heavily onto one knee, her knee striking the thick carpet with a dull thud loud enough to make Sophia instinctively widen her eyes slightly — she barely suppressed the urge to go check whether Irene had knocked something loose.
Irene tilted her head up, eyes rimmed with red, her voice ringing out as clear as a bell:
"Your Majesty! The thing I'm most grateful for in this entire life is the day you had people drag me back to you."
"From now on, every screw I tighten and every machine I build will turn only for you! I want to invent everything and put it at Your Majesty's disposal! Wherever you point, even if it means selling every pot and pan I own to pave the way — I'll do it!"
"Delilah."
That flash of crimson moved the moment her name was spoken — clean and sharp as lightning crossing the hall. Delilah stopped at the foot of the steps, her crimson cape rising and falling faintly. She said nothing. Only that undisguised killing intent of hers, the moment it turned toward Sophia, instantly dissolved into an absolute, total gentleness.
"You are Mason's shield, and This Queen's sword."
Sophia looked at this general who had accumulated countless battle-merits.
"The fall of Orr bears your achievement. The submission of Qubi carries your name's weight. What you guard is not merely territory — it is Mason's spine. This Queen hereby grants you the title of Mason Grand General, to command the three armies. Wherever this sword points, it is all the King's land."
Delilah snapped her head down and struck her right fist against the breastplate over her chest. The ring of metal resonated through the hall:
"This minister's life was already offered up to Your Majesty long ago."
"As long as this minister still draws breath, this ruby longsword will never allow a single speck of dust to touch the tip of Your Majesty's boots. To expand your borders and conquer your enemies — this minister would die ten thousand deaths without regret!"
"Daphne."
The Magical Girl who had been summoned hitched up her cloud-like voluminous skirt and broke into a little trot — then caught herself, remembered the occasion, stopped dead, and walked the rest of the way to the front with her face blazing red.
"When you descended upon this frozen land, Holy Light became the very foundation of Mason's color."
Sophia pointed to the Black Rose family crest at the top of the Main Hall.
"You healed the shadow of the plague and soothed the souls that had known only terror. You are Mason's purest hope. This Queen hereby grants you the title of Mason Saint, with authority over matters of ritual and healing."
Daphne tightened her grip on her pink pentagram staff, crystalline tears glimmering in her eyes.
She had come to this world as a traveler from elsewhere — and yet here, she had found a home.
She shuffled one small step forward, as if trying to close the distance between herself and Sophia a little, her voice brimming with sincerity:
"Your Majesty! Daphne always used to think the only thing she could do was fight. Once I lost my combat ability, I felt like I was so much less than I used to be."
"But it was you who told me that Holy Light can warm everyone. Daphne will work even harder to study Holy Light magic from now on! I will shield Your Majesty from every storm and snowfall, and make sure Your Majesty can always smile with joy!"
Finally, Sophia's gaze came to rest on the figure in purple who had remained elegantly composed throughout — the one always at her side.
"Willow."
Willow dipped her head slightly, descended the steps in measured strides, then turned to face Sophia and knelt.
That kneel was not merely the courtesy of a minister. It was the surrender of a destiny.
"You walked out of the darkness, and yet you combed the brightest Order from chaos for Mason." Sophia's voice dropped slightly lower, carrying a private understanding that only the two of them could share. "The peace of the Palace, the flow of the National Treasury — all of it passes through your hands. You are the shadow This Queen trusts most, and the Chief Steward of Mason. This Queen hereby formally grants you the title of Chief Steward of the Palace, to bear the Black Rose Golden Seal and oversee domestic affairs on This Queen's behalf."
Willow pressed herself down in a deep bow, her voice slightly hoarse with emotion:
"This minister once believed this life would only wither in the mud."
"It was Your Majesty who led this minister into this dreamlike age. Willow dares not ask for reward — only to stand behind Your Majesty for the rest of her days, and guard this era of ten-thousand-year peace on your behalf."
"Your Majesty's will is the end point of Willow's life."
Victor, standing to the side, recorded in a frenzy. His vision was even beginning to blur from tears:
A miracle-like convergence! Her Majesty has not merely rewarded four women — she is establishing the four pillars of a new era!
Look at those ministers — their eyes have changed! No longer blind fear, but ignited ambition and longing!
When they witness a former wandering child and a wandering warrior-errant ascend to the very summit of glory, the soul of every Masonite lets out a roar!
Her Majesty has used this great equality — this system of reward and punishment — to drive the cohesion of the entire Empire to an unprecedented peak!
The Black Rose is blooming outward toward the whole world, cradled by these four forces!
On both sides of the hall, the young officials who had been somewhat apprehensive a moment ago were now clenching their fists, faces flushed.
If I accomplish enough merit, I can earn Her Majesty's personal praise with her own lips?
That gaze... that honor!
Even if it's just to have Her Majesty write my name on that parchment scroll — I'll work myself to death for it.
I will claim my own place in Mason's future! If not me, then my sons and daughters — Mason's future will have our mark in it, no matter what!
The echoes of the investiture ceremony had barely faded from the hall, the excitement of the assembled ministers not yet settled, when from outside the hall a bright, urgent succession of ceremonial cries rang out:
"Announce — ! An envoy from the City of Hill has arrived, bearing congratulatory gifts in honor of His Majesty's personal investiture of key ministers!"
"The City Lord of Qubi has arrived, carrying the gratitude of the entire city, to celebrate Mason's grand investiture ceremony!"
"The King of Leighton, together with his Queen and Princess, have arrived. They seek an audience with Her Majesty Queen Sophia, bearing gifts representing the full resources of their kingdom!"
Those successive announcements fell upon the hall like boulders hurled into a still lake, raising waves a thousand layers deep. The assembled ministers exchanged glances — and then burst into a chorus of disbelieving whispers they could not quite suppress.
Sophia, seated on the black jade throne and just about to announce the ceremony concluded, paused almost imperceptibly.
Well then. I'm just holding a little employee recognition award ceremony, and somehow my neighbors have all showed up dragging their entire households along.
The envoy from Vasha's side — that's reasonable enough, proper courtesy.
The City Lord of Qubi has remarkably quick legs too, trotting over in person just days after we parted.
But the King of Leighton is the most absurd one — not only did he come himself, he brought his wife and child along? That level of enthusiasm for eating at someone else's banquet table makes me think they're not here to send gifts. They're here to beg for shelter... or they're terrified that my next stop will be dismantling their Palace.
As the great hall doors were opened, representatives from all three parties filed slowly in.
Vasha herself had not come from the City of Hill — she was genuinely occupied maintaining order there and truly could not leave. But the chests her envoy brought were packed with the City of Hill's finest deep-sea pearls and rare mineral specimens, symbolizing the absolute loyalty of the first city to submit.
The newly appointed City Lord of Qubi was full of ruddy good health, seeming to be in considerably better spirits than he had been as a King. He walked forward in a manner that was nearly half-kneeling, and the look in his eyes when they landed on Sophia no longer held the cowering dread of before — instead it held a particular pride that came from having latched onto someone important.
Behind him were dozens of heavy iron chests: the first batch of pure, select coal gem from the Qubi mining district.
The King of Leighton's party entered last.
Unlike his imperious manner on home ground, he appeared somewhat stiff at this moment. The Queen and Princess at his side had their heads bowed low, their very breathing deliberately quieted.
"Your Majesty Sophia!"
The King of Leighton stepped forward — not even waiting for his herald to read the gift list — and bowed himself:
"Upon hearing that Mason is today investing its key ministers, the Kingdom of Leighton celebrates as though it were our own national holiday. This is not only a joyous occasion for Mason — it is a glory for all neighboring nations who live under the radiance of the Black Rose."
Watching this scene unfold, the four newly-titled women each reacted in their own way.
Irene raised an eyebrow and touched the medal on her chest.
Even Leighton showed up? Convenient — the few defensive devices I just designed are still lacking experimental funding. That chest the King brought looks like a decent grade. Very promising.
Delilah's hand never left the hilt of her sword, her gaze making a cold sweep across the attendants the King of Leighton had brought.
If you're here to give gifts, fine, but bringing this many people along — if anything suspicious happens, I'll use Leighton's territory as a bonus gift to add to Her Majesty's homecoming.
Willow was already calculating in her head the inventory procedure for this batch of congratulatory gifts — while simultaneously offering a polite smile as she assessed the Princess of Leighton.
Daphne, clutching her staff, muttered quietly:
"Why does that Leighton Princess keep staring at Her Majesty?"
Amidst the cheers and prostrations filling the hall, Sophia rose slowly from the throne, the golden crown blazing bright on her head beneath the lamplight.
She extended a hand, lifting the assembled guests before her with a gesture, her voice clear and carrying:
"Since you have all come with goodwill — please, be seated."
"Tonight in Mason, there are no neighboring countries — only witnesses sharing in this era of prosperity."
At Sophia's single command, the solemn investiture hall was instantly transformed into a roaring banquet.
Thanks to the cold storage having been completed and the greenhouses producing vegetables at a steady pace, even the unexpected arrival of the King of Leighton and his entire household did not leave the Palace kitchens in the least bit flustered.
As dish after dish — hot, fragrant, vivid with color — was carried in by attendants in a steady stream to line the long table, the King of Leighton found every diplomatic phrase he had carefully prepared suddenly stuck in his throat.
He stared, eyes wide, at those tender leafy greens that absolutely should not have existed in the depths of midwinter — and at the meat glistening red with oil, radiating a bold and fiery fragrance.
"These vegetables... they're all real?"
The King of Leighton swallowed involuntarily.
Most eye-catching of all were the pots of potato stew with beef, their sauce deep and rich, their aroma drilling straight into the nose. Great chunks of beef had been braised until meltingly tender, and those plump, pale yellow spheres cut into rolling wedges gleamed invitingly, soaked through with broth.
Under Willow's guidance, the King of Leighton picked up a silver fork with a hint of nervousness. He first tried a bite of the stir-fried pork with red chili.
"Hissss — ha!"
In an instant, the King of Leighton's complexion went from rosy to deep purple. Beads of sweat cascaded down his forehead like a waterfall. That scorching, burning sensation nearly made him leap to his feet — but with one look at Sophia placidly sipping tea at the head of the table, he could only grit his teeth and endure it, gasping for air as he frantically gulped down iced wild berry juice.
"Your Majesty... is this red substance also some kind of Potion?"
He stuck out his tongue, somewhat overwhelmed by the assault.
But then he tried a piece of potato that had soaked up the beef's fat and juices.
That soft, dense, melt-in-your-mouth quality — layered with the rich, savory aroma of the beef — was like a pair of gentle hands instantly smoothing over all the pain the chili had inflicted.
"Oh! Good heavens!"
The King of Leighton could not suppress an exclamation.
"This thing... this fruit called a potato — it is somehow heartier than the finest bread, and more delicate than the softest confection!"
"Your Majesty, has Mason been uniquely favored by the God of the Harvest?"
Meat was one thing — Leighton's animal husbandry was decent enough, and while ordinary people still couldn't have meat at every meal, the King certainly could. Even so, he had never tasted anything prepared like this.
Smoked, cured, braised, roasted — that was all he had known. Nothing like what Mason was serving.
Nor were only the foreign guests losing their composure. Mason's own ministers at this point had entirely abandoned any attempt to maintain their dignified image.
Though they had previously been fortunate enough to taste the spicy mutton soup from Sophia's table and had experienced the miraculous sensation of a body instantly warming from within, the potato was something none of them had ever seen.
Valery — normally the strictest stickler for etiquette in the room — was elegantly and briskly spooning himself a third helping of mashed potatoes, his eyes filled with the profound sentiment of: I could subsist on this in my old age.
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