While the spring plowing in the Royal City was blazing forward in full force, the afternoon sun slanted quietly over the City of Hill — formerly the Royal City of the Kingdom of Orr — casting its light across a City Lord's mansion that had once witnessed rot and sunset, and was now kindling with an iron-blooded vitality all its own.
Vasha sat behind her wide office desk. The face that had once carried a trace of inexperience had, after months of handling complex city affairs, taken on a steadier, sharper cast.
But the moment her personal guard presented a sealed letter — stamped with black rose wax and carrying the unmistakable air of Her Majesty Sophia — every ounce of that City Lord's composure collapsed in an instant.
Her hands trembled slightly as she carefully broke the seal. Tucked alongside the letter was a small, exquisite bundle wrapped tightly in silk, no larger than the palm of her hand.
Vasha: To see this letter is to see me.
The news from the City of Hill has reached me. You have done well.
The quantity of premium seeds saved from last year is extremely limited — the Royal City and its directly administered villages are already struggling to meet demand. This small packet of seeds was personally set aside by me from Irene's trial fields. Plant them in the private fields behind the City Lord's manor.
Do not think little of them because there are so few. Even the smallest spark can set a prairie ablaze.
Guard this land well. Before the autumn harvest, I will come to the City of Hill to see you.
Gazing at those sparse, plainspoken lines — every word understated, yet worth its weight in gold — Vasha's eyes burned hot all at once. Huge, heavy teardrops fell without a sound onto the sheepskin paper.
She grabbed that heavy little bundle of seeds and felt the faint pulse of magical energy stirring within them.
Your Majesty... is this truly how you see me?
I had thought I was nothing more than a chess piece you left behind to hold the gate. And yet you have personally delivered these Divine Seeds into my hands — seeds so absolutely forbidden from leaving Mason that their theft could ignite a war between great nations.
First: absolute trust.
These seeds are Mason's very foundation. You made the people of the City of Hill plant ordinary inferior grain while entrusting this tiny flame to me.
That is a declaration to everyone — I am the extension of your will reaching southward. I am your most trusted retainer.
Second: the future of the City of Hill.
You have planted these seeds inside the City Lord's manor — in the very heart of what was once the Orr Royal House. It is a proclamation to the old residents of the City of Hill: the darkness has passed. No matter how hard things are now, the one who sits upon the throne has never abandoned you.
The gold that blooms in this rear courtyard is the hope of the entire city's future!
"Your Majesty..."
Vasha clutched that small bundle to her chest as though she were holding the hem of Sophia's robes, her voice breaking into a hushed murmur inside the cold, quiet office.
"This minister will... guard this flame with her life. Anyone who dares covet this private field will have to pry it from Vasha's corpse first."
Far away in Mason Royal City, Victor had already put all of this into words, transcribed faithfully into his thick, heavy notebook.
With a single small packet of seeds, Her Majesty has completed a textbook-level conquest of the human heart. She did not merely shore up City Lord Vasha's crumbling sense of security — she erected an inextinguishable lighthouse upon the ruins.
Every inch of earth those seeds take root in will become the courage Vasha wields against solitude.
With one careless, masterful gesture from her throne, Her Majesty caused the soul of the City of Hill to surrender completely.
What breathtaking tenderness. What magnificent design.
By evening, the residents of the City of Hill were astonished to discover that Vasha — usually dignified to the point of coldness — had stripped off her fine cloak, rolled up her sleeves, and was personally gripping a calibrated ruler in the rear courtyard fields of the City Lord's manor, directing soldiers in the clearing work with an expression of solemn reverence.
She was no longer that princess who knew only how to doubt herself. She had become Mason's most resolute executor beneath the banner of its Order.
Every step she took seemed to measure out the grace Sophia had given her.
"Look — the City Lord is farming with her own hands!"
"I heard Her Majesty the Queen sent the seeds herself — researched by the Queen and the Inventor, and blessed by the Saint's Holy Light."
"Those are Divine Seeds sent by Her Majesty. I can smell it — that's the fragrance of Holy Light!"
"Heavens, those seeds are so large — several times bigger than our own wheat seeds!"
"Her Majesty has not forgotten us! There is hope for the City of Hill yet!"
Vasha listened to the faint cries drifting over the wall from the people outside, and her gaze grew more resolute than ever.
She lifted her head and looked northward — as though she could pierce through layer upon layer of mountains and see Sophia, sitting in her black jade chair, sipping milk tea and complaining about too many official documents.
"Your Majesty, Vasha has grown up.
By the time this wheat turns gold, I will give you the most perfect City of Hill imaginable."
---
With the last spring plowing progress report filed away, Mason Royal City and the entirety of the Northern border territories sank into a tranquility full of hope.
Soldiers patrolled the fields. Residents guarded those freshly sown wheat seeds like they were gold. And the one who had orchestrated all of it — Sophia — was currently draped across the black jade chair in her study, fingertip tracing idle circles over a small dot on the map.
"Willow, call Delilah and the others. I have something important to announce."
Moments later, the entire core of power of the Kingdom of Mason had gathered in one room.
Delilah had not removed her armor, still radiating the sharp, sweaty edge she had brought back from the training grounds.
Irene was rubbing her tangled pink twin-tails, half-asleep.
Willow stood to one side with her characteristic elegance, violet eyes calm and composed.
Daphne hugged her staff, still chewing on the last half of a potato cake that Willow had delivered to the laboratory.
Valery and Victor stood respectfully at the far end — one rapidly calculating post-spring financial projections in his head, the other already flipping open his thick epic chronicle.
"Everyone."
Sophia sat up straight, her gaze profound as it settled on the map. "The spring planting is finished. Mason needs fresh blood. I want to go visit this coastal nation and see it for myself."
Everyone nodded, already preparing to receive orders to mobilize troops and requisition supplies.
"But I intend to go incognito."
Sophia dropped the bombshell.
"No army. No flags. I'll travel as the head merchant of the Black Rose Trading Company."
The study plunged into a deathly silence — which was immediately shattered by a chorus of protests like a clap of thunder.
"Absolutely not!"
Delilah was the first to leap forward. The shock was so severe that those crimson eyes of hers looked liable to shoot actual fire.
"Your Majesty! Your sacred person is worth ten thousand lives — you are the very soul of Mason! The customs in that region are rough and unpredictable. If you were to fall into an ambush, even if this minister were ground to dust and bones, it would not be atonement enough! If you must observe, then let this minister take several hundred elite soldiers to pacify the place first, and then invite you over!"
"That's right, Your Majesty!"
Irene was so anxious she was stamping her feet, those blue eyes of hers filled with distress. "The identity of a merchant is far too dangerous! What if those sea-folk barbarians take a liking to our goods... or worse, take a liking to you, and try to carry you off? What would we do then?! I haven't even invented an anti-pirate cannon battery yet!"
"Your Majesty..."
Daphne swallowed her potato cake and pressed tearfully forward.
"The sea wind over there is very strong — what if it damages your skin? What if there's nothing good to eat, no Pudding? Daphne absolutely must come along. Anyone who dares bully Your Majesty, I'll flash-blind them with Holy Light!"
Willow said nothing, but the handkerchief twisting between her hands betrayed her inner turmoil perfectly. Inside her mind, she was already running through hundreds of specialized combat drills for merchant escort personnel. General Delilah clearly hadn't been strict enough in her previous training!
Sophia looked at this group of fiercely loyal, wildly overimaginative retainers, and pressed her fingers to her throbbing temple with a long-suffering sigh.
A full military deployment? If she arrived at that tiny coastal nation with soldiers in tow, the king would probably be frightened half to death before she even introduced herself — and where was the fun in opening a mystery box if you already knew what was inside?
Besides, that small nation had apparently gone completely unnoticed by every other country for decades. The odds were high it had no particularly useful resources. Charging in with an army only to find a barren wasteland would be a colossal waste of effort.
Furthermore — as a merchant caravan leader, she would have every legitimate reason to go down to the docks and pick out the freshest seafood, tour the salt works for the purest sea salt, and maybe even stretch out on the beach and catch some sun. Was that not infinitely preferable to sitting in the Palace reading Victor's fawning little literary compositions?
"Quiet."
Sophia raised a hand, her voice cool and unanswerable. "Arriving with an army is pillaging. Arriving with a merchant caravan is conquering souls. I want to see with my own eyes how that country actually operates — whether it is worth taking. This matter is settled. You only need to discuss how to perfect the caravan's cover identity."
Victor was by this point trembling from head to foot with excitement, his pen tip leaving afterimage streaks across the paper.
A miracle-like walk among mortals! For the sake of civilization's sacred flame, Her Majesty is willing to set aside the supreme dignity of her throne and disguise herself as a humble merchant to observe the people's conditions!
This is not a simple incognito outing — this is a dimensional strike from above. She will use the guise of merchant greed to deconstruct every corner of that small nation.
That phrase — 'conquering souls' — is nothing short of a divine proclamation!
When those humble fishermen unknowingly discuss salt prices with the sovereign of the Northern border, they will already be dancing in the palm of Her Majesty's hand.
Your Majesty, your greatness springs from precisely this willingness to descend into the mundane!
Watching Sophia's resolute expression, Delilah knew there was no dissuading her. She clenched her jaw and staked out her non-negotiable bottom line.
"Since Your Majesty is absolutely set on going, then the merchant caravan's guards must be handpicked by this minister personally — and this minister must serve as a close escort, in the role of... the head of the caravan's security detail."
"I'm going too!"
Irene shot both hands into the air. "I'll be the caravan's goods assessor and technical consultant!"
Willow gave a slight bow. "The caravan's finances and scheduling naturally fall to me, as the accompanying steward."
Daphne grinned cheerfully. "Then I'm... the traveling team's little physician?"
---
With the incognito excursion decreed, the normally solemn rear courtyard of the Palace instantly transformed into a large-scale logistics sorting center.
To suppress that near-overflowing aura of royalty, Sophia ordered all objects bearing the royal insignia to be sealed away. The Mason Black Rose was the same motif, but at least it didn't carry the golden royal seal.
"Your Majesty, this dark jacquard black velvet gown is understated, but that handmade lace is immediately recognizable as tribute-quality goods — it must be changed."
Willow was currently carrying out a demotion-grade wardrobe screening in Sophia's dressing room with an entirely serious expression.
The standard she calibrated by was extraordinarily precise: it had to befit a merchant of "nation-rivaling wealth," while absolutely not signaling to any passing bandit that this was a royal hostage worth a city's ransom.
Sophia's ensemble was swapped for a crisp deep pine-green fine wool long dress. The fabric had an excellent drape and hold, and though it carried no gold thread embroidery, the quality of the fabric's fall in the light carried a restrained, understated elegance.
Draped over it was a thick grey squirrel fur cape. The overall effect was that of a capable young noblewoman heading out to manage the family business.
Delilah shed her conspicuous dark-silver light armor and changed into tawny brown rhinoceros-hide protective gear. The sword's scabbard was wound with plain linen cloth, concealing the enormous ruby within.
She now looked more like a highly paid caravan guard who spent her life riding the line between life and death.
Irene pulled on a work pinafore dress bristling with pockets, and tucked her pink twin-tails under a flat-brimmed cap. She was disguised as a traveling apprentice technician accompanying the caravan — though anyone who didn't look too carefully might simply assume she was a small child who had slipped in with the merchant group.
Daphne pulled on a wide, pale brown robe and donned a hat matching Irene's, large enough to fully conceal the signature Holy Light fluctuations that radiated from her.
Valery led the attendants in loading the cargo carts. This time, they were not carrying the unwieldy weight of grain or ore — they were hauling the freshly mass-produced weapons of civilization from Irene's laboratory.
"Your Majesty, all goods have been divided and packed according to your specifications."
Willow held a manifest, pointing one by one to the wooden crates that gave off a faint, refined fragrance.
Black Rose custom soap, in both a "common" and a "luxury" edition — capable not only of cutting through grease, but of releasing an enchanting fragrance. To the eyes of a coastal nation that still bathed with wood ash and coarse salt, this would be nothing less than a Divine Miracle.
Refined toothbrushes and medicinal tooth powder, crafted by Irene from resilient pig bristles and polished wooden handles — paired with a mint herb-infused tooth powder, representing Sophia's grand crusade to end the problem of unbearable breath in this world.
Smoothing shampoo — just a small amount was enough to transform hair ravaged by sea winds into something as silky as spun cloth.
"We are not selling products," Sophia said, surveying these goods with their spare yet industrially beautiful packaging, giving a satisfied nod. "We are selling a way of life."
Victor, unable to accompany them, seized on the final moments before departure.
Those penetrating eyes swept across every person present, his pen tip leaving frantic afterimage strokes across his notebook.
A miracle-like cleansing of civilization! Look at that black carriage — what it carries is not merchandise!
It is Her Majesty washing away the malice of this filthy old age!
Stripped of her royal robes and disguised as a merchant, Her Majesty is in truth conducting a grand expedition under the banner of hygiene.
From the whitening of teeth to the smoothing of hair, she is reshaping human dignity through the smallest of details.
This is not a simple incognito visit — this is the supreme god presiding over a great purification of the mortal world!
When the elite of those remote lands realize their proudly guarded wealth cannot even purchase one bottle of hair-smoothing liquid, their mental defenses will crumble in an instant.
Your Majesty, your wisdom has reached into every single pore of civilization!
"Everyone, since I cannot go with you on this journey, please be sure to bring back a full account of Her Majesty's great deeds for me!"
Victor was practically overcome with regret.
"Me, me, me — I'll go in your place!"
Hailey pushed her way out from the crowd. The little girl's black hair was slightly disheveled, but her eyes were full of hope.
"Your Majesty, please take me along."
The others didn't immediately refuse — they instinctively looked toward Sophia.
Just as Willow was calculating that Sophia probably didn't want to bring the child, and was about to open her mouth and decline on her behalf, Sophia spoke first.
"Take you? Do you know what we're going on this trip to do?"
Sophia's voice was as cool and detached as ever — as though the person before her wasn't a six-year-old child, but a peer of equal standing.
She was always like that. She never talked down to her like she was a small child.
Hailey nervously pinched the hem of her skirt, then said, "I know. Your Majesty is going on an incognito visit to your future territory. Please take Hailey along. I've been learning to read lately, and I can help Grandpa Victor record the great deeds Your Majesty does and have them entered into the historical record!"
Looking at Hailey's expectant gaze, Sophia turned away and stepped up onto the mounting block to enter the carriage.
In the instant before the curtain fell, Sophia's voice drifted out from inside the carriage.
"Bring her."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Hailey's eyes lit up in an instant — and the very next second, Delilah had lifted her like a small chick and deposited her inside the carriage.
---
The thin morning mist shrouded Mason Royal City's south gate like a veil of gauze, and the clear sound of carriage bells rang out down the great avenue.
To all outward appearances, the convoy was nothing more than a mid-sized wealthy merchant caravan. But any top-tier intelligence operative from a foreign power who happened to be present would have dropped their jaw in utter disbelief.
The people riding in that carriage were no merchants. They were, quite literally, a "strategic-grade arsenal" fully capable of reshuffling the entire Northern border.
Sophia sat inside the spacious, comfortable carriage, lifted the specially made windproof curtain, and looked at the eighteen soldiers riding tall horses in merchant guard disguise behind the carriage — and let out a long, deep sigh.
She had originally only wanted to travel light — just Irene and the others, plus five soldiers, a small lean party setting out to eat seafood and casually inspect her future territory.
The result was that the moment Sophia had floated this idea, every single person in the study had dropped to their knees with a unanimous thud.
They knelt there in a row, foreheads hitting the floor — thunk, thunk, thunk. Delilah kowtowed while shouting that this minister would die ten thousand deaths before allowing Your Majesty to take such a risk. Irene wept as though Sophia were scheduled to be eaten by a sea monster the very next morning.
Watching everyone so earnestly terrified that she was going to be devoured by some foreign monster, Sophia had no choice but to compromise.
Beyond the eighteen elite black musketeers, they had also brought along two genuinely experienced old foxes with years of professional merchant credentials — ensuring that if anyone over there decided to probe them, there would be no telling slipups.
---
The carriage rolled away into the distance. Atop the city wall, Valery and Victor stood shoulder to shoulder.
Valery ran a hand over the account ledger in his hands, his expression grave and resolute.
Having experienced the last time Sophia had led an expedition to Orr, he now handled the Royal City's internal affairs and logistics dispatching with complete ease.
"Lord Valery," Victor's pen tip trembled, "Her Majesty has entrusted Mason's very roots into our hands. Though I cannot personally witness how Her Majesty conquers the deep blue with soap, that child Hailey will certainly transmit every miraculous moment back to us faithfully."
Valery nodded.
"Do our duties well. Before Her Majesty returns with sea salt and pearls, we must make every brick of Mason solid as bedrock."
---
Inside the carriage.
Though Delilah had changed into leather armor, her posture remained as ramrod-straight as a drawn sword. Those crimson eyes of hers made a vigilant sweep of every shrub visible through the window. Her hand never left the linen-wrapped longsword — as though the next second might see the caravan security head transform back into the God of War herself, stained in battlefield blood.
Irene, meanwhile, had absolutely no sense of urgency. She was gleefully teaching Hailey to play with a peculiarly shaped little wooden toy.
"Hailey, watch carefully — press this button three times for 'all safe,' and one long press means 'treasure found'!"
Irene's pink twin-tails bounced with each enthusiastic movement, those blue eyes of hers sparkling.
Daphne hugged her staff and dozed against the carriage wall. For reasons unknown, she always felt drowsy after eating too many potatoes.
After playing for a while, Hailey suddenly remembered something. She snapped upright with perfect posture, clutched the large notebook Victor had given her against her chest, and arranged her small face into the gravest possible expression — as though she were presiding over some solemn religious ceremony.
"Your Majesty, Hailey is ready.
"The first word I'll write is 'spring,' because Your Majesty has brought spring. Your Majesty, please be assured — I know most common words by now, and if there are any I don't know, I'll ask the sisters, and I absolutely will not miss a single one of Your Majesty's great moments!"
Sophia helplessly picked up a berry from the plate on the table and popped it into her mouth. Sweet and sour.
Out with one old one, in with one little one.
The old one she could still scold a bit, have someone drag him away and tell him to stop talking.
But the little one — one couldn't exactly be that rough.
Her gaze settled on Hailey, who was bent over her notebook writing with complete seriousness.
The little girl had furrowed her brow, her expression so solemn it looked like she was signing a ceasefire treaty. And yet a playful lock of dark hair had slipped loose from the carriage's jostling and fallen to cover one eye.
Hailey instinctively tilted her head, trying to shake the strand away — but she was unwilling to put down the pen in her hand. She looked rather comical, with a charming quality peeking through the absurdity.
Sophia's mouth curved gently upward. Her slender fingers reached over, and with great care, tucked that wayward lock of hair behind Hailey's ear.
Willow, who had been standing attendance to one side, noticed the gesture. Her violet eyes contracted ever so slightly — and her body leaned forward almost on instinct, hand already extending to take over this small task.
"Your Majesty, this sort of menial work shouldn't trouble your noble hands. Hailey's hair is prone to straggling — allow this minister to redo it into a tidy style for her, so it doesn't disturb your peace."
But Sophia did not withdraw her hand.
She looked at Hailey's small spine, which had gone rigid with nervous tension, and then at Willow's posture — already poised to take over — and suddenly felt that finding something to do on this long journey might not be such a bad idea after all.
"There's no need."
Sophia pushed Willow's reaching hand aside, her fingertips weaving lightly through Hailey's hair, a rare note of amusement coloring her voice.
"This Queen is terribly bored at the moment. I've been stamping documents until my hand has gone stiff — and now I find myself wondering whether this little girl's hair is as complicated as her thoughts."
Willow's retort of "but this sort of thing isn't proper" lodged firmly in her throat and, in the end, became nothing but a helpless, indulgent smile.
Proper?
In Her Majesty's eyes, rules had always been things to be broken.
Just look — these were the hands that could overturn heaven and earth with a wave, that had dismantled an entire nation with the snap of a finger.
And now, those same hands were braiding the hair of a six-year-old orphan.
If the stiff etiquette officials of the Imperial Capital were to see this, they would likely faint on the spot.
But in Mason, this was Her Majesty's divine moment.
She was not braiding hair. She was personally smoothing out the course of Mason's future.
This child Hailey — she would probably never wash her hair again for the rest of her life.
Hailey had entirely transformed into a stone statue. The notebook slid from her hands and landed on her knees. Those large eyes of hers, dark as black grapes, were written all over with helpless bewilderment and an absolute, blazing adoration.
A Divine Miracle... this was absolutely the Divine Miracle Grandpa Victor always talked about!
Your Majesty's fingers are so cool, yet they carry a warmth that makes me want to cry.
The feeling of those fingertips grazing my scalp is like a spring breeze passing over a field of wheat.
Grandpa Victor says Your Majesty is a moon too lofty to reach — yet now the moon has come to rest in my hair.
I have to write this moment down!
Your Majesty personally smoothed out the bewilderment of a humble subject.
Your Majesty's gentleness is a weapon more powerful than the black muskets — it has struck my soul directly...
How do you spell 'bewilderment'? I'll ask Sister Willow later.
"Irene, do you have a hair tie over there?"
Sophia had been fumbling for a while and realized that while her theoretical knowledge was extensive, her practical braiding skills were approximately zero. The three-strand braid she had managed was crooked in every possible direction.
Irene glanced up from her busy work and fished a rubber band out of her pocket — the kind used for bundling wire — and passed it over.
"Your Majesty, use this! It's my specially made stretch-resistant band — guaranteed not to come loose even if Hailey runs all the way to the seaside!"
Sophia accepted the intensely green rubber band, wrinkling her nose slightly in distaste — but used it anyway, clumsily securing Hailey's hair into one enormous, wildly lopsided braid.
"Done."
Sophia surveyed her "masterpiece" with satisfaction — even though the braid left Hailey's head tilted approximately fifteen degrees to the left.
"Much tidier now. Hailey, keep writing. Write about the air in these woods. And don't just parrot the ideas those old people have been feeding you."
Hailey nodded frantically, her little head bobbing like a rattle-drum. Even though the lopsided braid made her look like a small goblin who had just crawled out of a dirt mound, the light blazing in her eyes could have illuminated the entire carriage.
The others let their gaze drift to Hailey's braid, every single one of them fighting the urge to laugh.
Daphne and Irene had been watching with great envy as Sophia braided Hailey's hair, and both had quietly begun scheming that once the braiding was done, they would wheedle Sophia into doing theirs next.
But now, looking at the result...
They very much wanted Her Majesty to do their hair — that desire had not diminished at all.
But when they honestly asked themselves whether they had the spiritual fortitude to wear this hairstyle for an entire day...
They were going to arrive at an inn at some point. They would have to go out, fix things up, eat and drink tea.
The idea of being seen by their subordinates — and foreign strangers — also sporting goblin hair...
That might be a step too far!
And yet, just at that moment, Delilah — who had been leaning silently in the corner of the carriage this whole time — suddenly turned rather red in the face and spoke up.
"Y-Your Majesty. Just before boarding the carriage, I bumped my head on the roof. My hair has come a bit loose. Would it trouble Your Majesty to... spare this minister one hair arrangement?"
She — she actually said it!
Irene and Daphne stared in shock.
As she spoke those words, Delilah was acutely aware that the hand she usually gripped a sword with was trembling.
Sophia set down the warm water in her hand and looked up at this General who was normally as cold as frost.
That red hair, catching the refracted sunlight, looked like flowing flame. And from the intensive morning training, a few strands had indeed come loose and scattered down the sides of her long neck.
"Come here then."
Sophia beckoned with a hand, a flash of amusement crossing her lips.
"I practiced on Hailey — my skills have improved considerably."
Delilah obediently scooted to the space in front of Sophia's knees, sitting cross-legged with her back turned.
The moment Sophia's slightly cool fingertips made contact with her hair, Delilah's entire body went rigid. Her heart pounded as though it intended to burst straight through the rhinoceros-hide armor.
Gods above... Her Majesty's fingers are moving through my hair.
This sensation makes the hair on my scalp stand even more on end than charging into battle.
Her touch is so gentle — like soothing a wild beast into calm.
I have killed so many people. I have bled so many times. And yet these hands are now arranging my hair...
Delilah could even catch the faint, cool fragrance drifting from Her Majesty's presence.
If time could stop at this moment, even if she were ordered to go challenge the entire Imperial Knight Corps single-handed right now, she would do it with joy.
Is this what it feels like to be favored by a deity?
Sophia's movements were noticeably more confident than before. Delilah's hair was thick and sleek, and under Sophia's handling it was gathered into a brisk, high ponytail.
The dark silk ribbon was wrapped around and knotted with practiced ease.
"Done. Very sharp and spirited."
Sophia patted her hands together with satisfaction and announced her verdict.
After Delilah stood up, Willow took one look at the hairstyle and her expression underwent a spectacular transformation.
The ponytail was indeed tied high, radiating a capable, heroic energy — except... it was crooked.
Due to Sophia's uneven tension, Delilah's ponytail had shifted approximately five centimeters to the right. The General who ought to have radiated stern, commanding authority now projected an inexplicably wild and rebellious energy instead.
"The hairstyle Her Majesty has bestowed upon this minister... this minister shall carry it as an honor for the rest of her life!"
Delilah was entirely unaware that she was lopsided. She was flushed red, her eyes blazing with a near-incandescent fanaticism.
---
This scene finally and completely set the carriage on fire.
Irene — who had been crouched in a corner studying shock-absorbing systems — leaped to her feet, her pink twin-tails bouncing indignantly.
She was already regretting not speaking up first. A slightly crooked braid was completely acceptable! She had assumed Her Majesty would only style people's hair into goblin braids — she hadn't realized she could do ponytails too!
"That's not fair! Your Majesty! I am also your retainer!"
Irene pointed at her own hair. "My hair is a mess too — I want one as well! And I want a bow in it!"
Daphne abandoned any pretense of silence, pressing forward with her staff in her arms, eyes sparkling like stars.
"Your Majesty, the Holy Light's hair also needs Your Majesty's blessing! I want a braid that looks like it glows! And not a regular plait!"
"I was first!" Irene attempted to use her wrench to shove Daphne aside.
"Saints have priority!" Daphne refused to budge an inch.
Willow stood to the side with a hand pressed over her forehead, watching the carriage full of figures who were normally awe-inspiring and untouchable in public — currently scrambling toward Sophia's lap like kindergartners fighting over a toy.
Of course, if she didn't have short hair, she would absolutely be jostling for a spot too.
---
The carriage rumbled and jolted its way into a stretch of lush, densely wooded land.
Two experienced professional merchants were riding donkeys at the very front of the convoy, their cloaks pulled low, wearing an expression of quiet, inexplicable pride. Being chosen to guide the path for the Queen "who could turn potatoes into gold" was, in the entire history of their careers, nothing short of an ancestral miracle.
Sophia rubbed her temples and, listening to the heavy, tension-laden rhythm of the soldiers' hoofbeats outside, turned to Delilah with exasperated resignation.
"Delilah, tell everyone to relax. We're a merchant caravan right now — not an army marching to raze a city. The look on those soldiers' faces out there — the one that says 'glance at me and I'll kill your entire family' — is going to attract completely unnecessary trouble."
____
________________________________________
🌸 Help Love Bloom!
Our girls need a little push... and you can help!
💖 Gift for Everyone: Once we hit 50 Powerstones, I'll release +1 bonus chapter to warm your hearts.
🚀 Community Reward: If we reach 20 supporting members, we'll have a +5 chapter marathon across all stories! The romance won't stop.
👻 Come to our secret corner: Search for GirlsLove on (P). You know that's where the magic happens... 😉