"That wicked woman has recently sent several waves of scouts trying to probe our strength, and they were all killed in the traps we set.
Our Mason defense line right now is harder than the iron bars that Inventor Irene makes!"
Chancellor Valery nodded, his brush flowing smoothly across the paper:
Reply summary:
Livelihood affairs—the Royal City and surrounding cities are in good order.
The wheat sprouts in the fields have already grown to half-calf height, a stretch of vivid green—that is the vitality of Mason's future.
The subjects have absolute faith in Your Majesty. Everyone's enthusiasm for work grows stronger by the day—not just for labor credits, but to keep pace with Your Majesty's stride.
The garrison soldiers have doubled their daily training volume. No one dares to slack. Everyone awaits Your Majesty's triumphant return so they may show the new recruits the dignity of veterans.
What could have been said in a few lines, the two old men, going back and forth, ended up writing out across three full sheets of parchment.
At the end of the letter, Chancellor Valery hesitated for a long while, then still added an extremely sentimental line:
"Your Majesty, the Northern border has entered summer. Although Yurilland produces spices, it also has many mosquitoes and pests.
Please, Your Majesty, take care of your body. Do not overexert yourself for the sake of state affairs.
You are the sun of Mason, and even more, the very life of us old bones."
Victor looked at this line and instead let out a heavy sigh:
"Indeed. If Her Majesty could just smile a little more during meals, this old man would be willing to live ten years less."
Valery, standing by, was rather speechless. Has Her Majesty ever smiled?
Old fellow, I think you've gone senile.
Seal, wax, swift horse.
The letter, carrying the full pride and heartache of two old men, once again galloped into the vast night.
In their eyes, Sophia was an ever-victorious god.
But in their hearts, that silver-haired maiden waging war on war over there was still that most remarkable child, the one who needed to be cradled in the palms of the entire Mason Royal City.
Yurilland, Whitestone City.
Over the course of a month, under Mason's almost second-precise logic of efficiency, this devastated land of defeat had been transformed into a strange yet vibrantly alive sense of order.
The mornings of Whitestone City no longer rang with the extravagant strings and pipes of the old nobles. In their place, on the drill ground outside the city, came the unified, ground-shaking roars of the five thousand absorbed vanguard troops—roars powerful enough to shatter the morning mist.
On the drill ground at this moment, those five thousand prisoners of war, once regarded as garbage, had long shed those ragged, humiliating old uniforms.
In their place was the standard-issue Mason gear—heavy yet form-fitting leather armor, with a jet-black Black Rose seared onto the chest, glinting with an otherworldly sheen under the morning sun.
They had never worn armor or training gear of such quality.
Wasn't gear of this caliber meant only for Captains?
But Her Majesty the Queen, with one sweeping decree, had let every single one of them wear it—she was afraid they might get hurt!!
During training breaks, bucket after bucket of steaming meat broth and basket after basket of fragrant sugared Black Bread were carried in by the attendants Willow had handpicked.
Several old veterans who had originally been part of Yurilland's garrison were chewing heartily on solid chunks of meat in hand. Gone was the apprehension of their initial surrender; their faces now carried a joy that came from the very bottom of their hearts.
"Hey, honestly, I've been a soldier for over a decade, and this is the first time I've ever found out that meat broth can actually contain this much meat instead of just a few bone scraps floating in it."
A Yurilland veteran wiped the grease from the corner of his mouth, laughing at his companion beside him.
"Ain't that the truth!"
Another fellow, a Saigi miner by background, took a huge bite of bread and answered through a full mouth.
"Back in the mines, we traded our lives for black sludge to eat.
Now, as long as we line up our steps and hold our guns steady according to General Delilah's orders, we not only eat our fill, but we even earn labor credits to trade for cloth for our families.
Holy Spirit above, I even feel like my first forty years were lived on a dog."
"Don't talk nonsense. That's Her Majesty's mercy."
The veteran lowered his voice, his eyes carrying a near-fanatical reverence.
"Haven't you been taking the Third Princess's lessons?
Olan treated us as expendables. Only in Mason are we necessary parts that maintain the Order.
If a part breaks, Her Majesty fixes it.
If you die working for the old country, you get nothing but a straw mat for a shroud."
"That's right! Long live Her Majesty!
For the Black Rose, this man can run thirty laps in one go without panting!"
Such cheerful greetings rang back and forth across the drill ground. Prisoners of war from once-hostile nations, under Mason's logic of absolute fairness and reward proportional to effort, had miraculously fused into a single, solid block of iron.
"Before, fighting was for the king's manor. It was a job—if you lost your life, you just lost it.
But now…
When you look at the Black Rose seal on your chest, when you think that as long as you hold this place, your wife and children back in the city can receive clean water and bread—the feeling changes.
This is home. This is nation.
Whoever dares to disrupt Her Majesty's Order is severing the lifeline of our whole family!
General Delilah's single kick can shatter a stone. Then we five thousand—the tips of our spears—can pierce all of Olan through for Her Majesty!"
Delilah, hand resting on her longsword, slowly walked through the sweat-drenched formation.
With her body fully recovered, the oppressive aura radiating from her was even stronger than it had been a month ago.
When the new recruits saw her, although their hearts still trembled, what filled their eyes more was an extreme yearning for power.
Before, they might have thought Delilah had only caught Her Majesty's eye through her looks.
But now, they simply felt that Her Majesty and General Delilah were truly a perfect match!
Both women possessed their own unique charm!
Indeed, every single person at Her Majesty's side had her reasons for being there.
"Movements too slow, reflexes too dull."
Delilah halted before a soldier and spoke coldly.
"On the battlefield, a tenth of a second slow, and you're no longer a qualified part—you're garbage.
You'll be wrapped up in a straw mat and tossed into the big pit in the rear hills. Understood?"
"Yes! General! This subordinate will respond with utmost speed!"
The soldier straightened his spine and roared in reply.
Delilah gave a slight nod. She could feel it—this army had changed.
If a month ago they had been a flock of sheep needing to be driven by violence, now they were starving wolves who had learned how to hunt in packs.
At the floor-to-ceiling window of the high tower, Sophia stood quietly observing the iron torrent below that was already taking shape.
Sophia drew her gaze back, elegantly plucked a snow-frosted berry from the crystal dish on the table and placed it in her mouth. The icy touch sent a slight refreshment through her somewhat weary spirit.
Victoria's three-phase indoctrination plan had exceeded expectations in its output ratio.
Recently, every day, in her capacity as Mason's Third Princess, she had been giving lessons to the four thousand veterans and five thousand new recruits.
Not just life knowledge, but also some tactics Victoria had devised herself, along with tactics provided by Irene.
Of course, mixed into the knowledge were certain pieces of Victoria's indoctrination rhetoric, subtly and gradually deepening the soldiers' worship of Sophia.
In her mind, Sophia rapidly struck through the last red line concerning the risk of internal mutiny.
These men would never rebel again. At the very least, the treatment and sense of belonging they had in Mason were beyond compare with any other nation.
*
"Smack!"
A crisp sound echoed through the Council Hall of the Yurilland Palace.
This was already the third time within a quarter-hour that Victoria had slapped the back of her own hand with her ivory fan.
The Third Princess, famed for her elegance, now stared at the slightly reddened little welt on the back of her hand, her brows knitted tightly together.
"Yurilland's summer is downright more unbearable than Olan's assassins."
Victoria lightly blew on the swollen spot, her tone laced with undisguised disgust.
As the Northern border officially entered the height of summer, Yurilland—a place already damp and abundant in spices—was now greeted with a catastrophic outbreak of mosquitoes and pests.
It wasn't just the Council Hall. The military camps outside the city were also full of bitter complaints.
Although Willow had already mixed up large quantities of mugwort incense, in the face of those mutant-like, fiercely venomous mosquitoes, ordinary mugwort seemed only to be adding flavor.
Even Sophia, seated in the main position—although her expression remained as cold and clear as ever—shifted her long, jade-like legs imperceptibly beneath the wide hem of her skirt.
An extremely audacious venomous mosquito had just tried to breach her absolute defense.
"Your Majesty, this servant shall immediately prepare a new batch of insect-repellent spray."
Willow caught Sophia's slight movement, and a flash of self-reproach passed through her eyes.
"That kind of spray is effective, but its components are too heavy. Inhaling it for long periods would be bad for the body."
Sophia refused softly.
"In the phase right before war breaks out, I need an absolutely clear mind."
Just as everyone was at a loss before this tiny but extraordinarily annoying creature, Irene—who had been squatting in a corner tinkering with parts—suddenly leapt up like she had discovered a new continent.
"Leave it to me! This genius shall solve this problem!"
Irene dashed up to the table in a single streak, her sapphire-like eyes glittering with fanatic light.
"Yesterday in the lab, I accidentally scorched some pyrethrum, and I discovered that the smoke not only wasn't as pungent as datura, but the moment those annoying flying bugs caught a whiff of it, they dropped to the ground like dumplings into boiling water!"
"Pyrethrum?"
Daphne furrowed her brows slightly.
"That's a plant that contains trace toxins. If you burn it directly, it burns too fast. The smoke is choking and the effect lasts only a short while."
"Exactly! That's the key!"
Irene snapped her fingers excitedly.
"So we can't burn it directly! We need to bind it with Alchemy!
I'm going to make something that burns slowly, releases its potency steadily, and even has an acceptable scent… a super mosquito repellent!"
Irene was true to her words. Without even waiting for Sophia's nod, she dashed straight back to her Alchemy lab.
In the lab, Irene immediately directed two Mason veterans to haul in a huge pile of freshly picked and sun-dried pyrethrum.
"Step one—pulverize!"
Irene took out a small alchemy mill and ground the pyrethrum into an extremely fine powder.
She leaned in to sniff it, and the sharp, acrid smell made her sneeze involuntarily.
"No good. The smell's too strong. If Her Majesty smelled this, she'd definitely string me up and beat me."
Hmm… come to think of it, why am I a little bit looking forward to that?
No, no, no! Now is not the time to be thinking about that sort of thing!
Irene stroked her chin, her eyes rolling, and a whole list of materials immediately appeared in her mind.
"Charcoal powder!
Charcoal burns steadily and can serve as the main carrier.
And… pine resin!
Pine resin not only binds powders together, but it can also soften the smoke."
She swiftly mixed the pyrethrum powder, finely ground charcoal powder, and crushed pine resin according to the right proportions.
"Next is solving the burn-rate problem.
It has to release like an hourglass, drop by drop.
No matter what it is, if it all burns up at once, it will still choke people."
Irene stared at the basin of mixed powder, then suddenly slapped her forehead, and from the corner she dug out a small bit of mind-calming herb that Daphne had given her before.
It worked similarly to lavender; the very property of this herb was its extreme resistance to burning.
After grinding the mind-calming herb and adding it to the mixture, the powder ratio at last reached the perfect balance Irene had envisioned.
"Materials are ready. Now the question is the shape."
Irene took a bit of water and kneaded the mixed powder into a black, mud-like lump.
"If I make it into a straight stick, the burning surface is too small and a single stick will burn out fast.
If I make it into one big lump, it'll burn so hot it could start a fire."
Irene held that lump of mud, kneading it this way and that on the table, her brow furrowed tight.
Suddenly, she thought of the shape of mosquito coils from her original world.
Those two overlapping spirals—when you pulled them apart they easily broke in two!
"A spiral! It's the spiral!"
Irene shouted excitedly.
"The spiral shape can contain the longest possible burning path within the smallest flat surface area!
This is simply the perfect fusion of spatial physics and combustion science!"
She immediately fetched a wooden board, dipped her fingers in the muddy paste, and carefully coiled out a spiral on the board that resembled a modern mosquito coil.
Because her technique wasn't quite practiced, the first loop came out crooked, like a wonky earthworm.
"This is too ugly. It doesn't match Mason's aesthetic taste. If Bardess saw this, she'd go mad."
To pursue a more pleasing appearance, Irene went so far as to use two thin iron wires to fashion a spiral mold.
She filled the muddy paste into the mold, pressed it firmly, then carefully released it.
A perfectly neat black coil giving off a faint herbal fragrance now appeared on the wooden board.
"Last step—dry it out!
Daphne, lend me your magic!"
Under Daphne's speechless but cooperative gentle breeze, that black spiral mud strip swiftly dried out and hardened.
That same night.
Just as Sophia was preparing to continue reviewing military reports in her study, Irene came in cradling a delicate little bronze dish like she was presenting a treasure.
On the dish was that very coil—Irene's special creation, the Black Rose Brand mosquito coil—already lit.
A thread of extremely fine green smoke curled up, carrying the slight spice of pyrethrum, the mellow warmth of pine resin, and the subtle fragrance of mind-calming herb, instantly filling the entire study.
The few venomous mosquitoes that had been buzzing around Sophia's ears the moment before—at the instant they touched this green smoke, they seemed to have all their strength drained out, dropping right onto the desk, twitching twice, then no longer moving.
And the scent, far from being acrid, actually made Sophia feel her spirits lift; the trace of irritability that had been brought on by the summer heat dispersed along with it like smoke.
"You made a mosquito repellent?"
Sophia looked at the spiral coil, and a rare flash of astonishment passed through her pale-golden pupils.
She hadn't expected Irene to actually have made a mosquito coil.
"Not just that, Your Majesty!"
Irene puffed out her chest with pride.
"With this ratio, a single coil can burn continuously for a full four hours!
More than enough for you to have a peaceful night's sleep!"
Willow, standing to one side, looked at that perfectly neat spiral, her OCD greatly satisfied, and her eyes when she looked at Irene softened by a few degrees.
Holy Spirit above—although Miss Irene was usually flighty, her logic when it came to solving problems truly carried a talent that could send shivers down one's spine.
This little thing, which perfectly combined toxic herbs, charcoal, and spatial structure, not only solved the immediate trouble but was yet another proof of Mason converting knowledge into productive force.
Even a tiny mosquito had to be subdued by Her Majesty's Order—this is the absolute dominion of Mason!
Soon, this little item, named the Black Rose Mosquito Repellent Coil, was rapidly mass-produced under Irene's arrangement and distributed throughout the military camps.
When those vanguard soldiers, covered all over in welts from bites, lit this miraculous spiral object inside their tents and passed a peaceful night free of mosquito bites,
they looked at that slowly burning coil, and the fanaticism in their eyes climbed yet another level.
"Even the mosquitoes fear Her Majesty's authority!
Brothers, follow Mason, and even bugs won't dare bite us!"
On a midsummer afternoon, sunlight poured through the painted stained-glass windows, casting fragments of dappled color onto the marble floor.
The air was filled with a faint, refreshing fragrance—the Black Rose Mosquito Repellent Coil invented by Irene burning quietly in the corner. The spiral wisps of green smoke not only drove away the loathsome venomous mosquitoes but also wrapped the once-tense pre-war atmosphere in an extra layer of calm composure.
Sophia sat upright in the main seat, her long silver hair falling naturally onto her Black Rose cape, her pale-golden pupils sweeping across the massive Northern border military sand table.
At her side, Victoria elegantly fanned with her ivory fan, Delilah stood like an iron tower with her hand on her longsword, and Willow, Irene, Daphne, and Bardess were all present.
"According to the latest intelligence reports."
Sophia's fingertip lightly tapped a blue-flagged area on the sand table marked as the Duchy of Vala, her tone cool and clear, without a ripple.
"Within Olan's fifteen-nation alliance, the Duchy of Vala undertakes thirty percent of the logistical transport work.
There they have the largest freshwater lake tributary in the Northern border, as well as three converging main trade routes.
From a geographical standpoint, Vala is a vital part of Olan's blockade line."
"Your Majesty, that Grand Duke of Vala is a typical old-era noble."
Victoria folded her fan, the corners of her lips curling into a mocking smile.
"He is greedy, arrogant, and excessively superstitious of his ten-thousand-strong battalion of heavily-armored infantry clad in steel—the so-called Iron Tin Cans.
In the current black-market circulation of credit notes, Vala is the area with the greatest resistance, because that Grand Duke considers paper a desecration of noble dignity."
"Desecration?"
Sophia let out an extremely faint cold laugh.
"In the face of efficiency, dignity is the consumable with the lowest output-to-input ratio.
Since he believes Vala's trade routes are his private fief, then This Queen shall go tell him: the Order of that place is now redefined by Mason."
"Bardess, report on the troop reorganization status."
Sophia turned her gaze toward Bardess, who was still fretting over whether a chess piece on the sand table was placed straight.
"You got it, Your Majesty!"
Bardess snapped to attention, bellowing loudly.
"The Mason regular black musketeer army is fully equipped with standard black muskets, and the ammunition base count has been replenished according to Miss Irene's specifications.
The remaining regular troops are equipped with the best weapons.
The five thousand vanguard new recruits, after this month of calibration, can now understand all flag signals.
Though they've never handled muskets, I've issued them the finest long spears and iron-rimmed shields.
This bunch is now like bricks fresh out of the kiln—so orderly that they make this Bardess tear up!"
"Very good."
Sophia rose to her feet and swept her gaze over everyone present.
"The plan for this operation is simple.
The five thousand vanguard troops will serve as a mobile defensive wall, responsible for drawing fire and advancing the formation.
The four thousand Mason veterans will be the true logic-harvesters, responsible for long-range strikes.
As for the Duchy of Vala's heavy infantry…"
Sophia picked up from the table a sleekly contoured Black Rose Reformed Model new-type musket, gleaming with the cold luster of obsidian.
"Those ten thousand Iron Tin Cans shall become the first physical feedback subjects for Irene's new alchemy rounds."
Irene, at the side, rubbed her hands excitedly, her eyes blazing with fanaticism:
"Rest assured, Your Majesty!
Those rounds, mixed with shards of teardrop stone, blessed by Daphne's Holy Light, can slice through their plate armor like cutting butter!"
Three days later, at the north gate of Whitestone City.
The nine-thousand-strong army had finished assembling.
This was no longer a mob.
Standing at the very front were the five thousand vanguard troops, clad in neat leather armor, long spears bristling in their hands like a forest, eyes carrying that wild kind of hope that could only exist under Mason's Order.
Behind them were four thousand Mason veterans bearing black muskets on their backs. The slaughter-tempered aura forged through fire and battle dropped the surrounding air several degrees.
Sophia rode atop a pure white warhorse, draped in her Black Rose cape.
Beneath the sunlight, her long silver hair and pale-golden pupils, in the eyes of the soldiers, were simply the very embodiment of Divine Miracles.
"Long live Your Majesty!"
"Truth eternal!"
Amid the earth-shaking roar, Sophia merely raised her hand slightly, pointing toward the direction of the Duchy of Vala.
"March out."
There was no long-winded mobilization speech, because in Mason's logic, the best mobilization was the fragrant meat broth in the pot and that credit note in one's bosom that could be exchanged for gemstones.
During the march, an extremely strange sight emerged.
Because of the rampant mosquitoes and pests of high summer, other armies of the Northern border tended to suffer falling morale and disease outbreaks during marches due to insect bites.
But within Mason's nine-thousand-strong army, every squad's supply wagon carried Irene's specially crafted mosquito repellent coils, lit and burning.
That faint herbal fragrance lingered throughout the marching column.
Not only were the soldiers free of the trouble of bites, but each and every one was refreshed in spirit.
Is this what it feels like to follow the right person?
Back when we were soldiering in Yurilland, summer marches were like descending into hell—covered head to toe in welts, scratching ourselves into madness.
But now, we're like we're taking a stroll in Her Majesty's rear garden.
Look at this—even the mosquitoes have to detour around our Black Rose banners!
What does that mean?
It means even Heaven's bugs have been put in line by Her Majesty!
With such a divine being to follow, what is there for me to fear?
Cut into Vala, swap for two ruby credit notes, then go home and build a new house for old mom!
The Vala Plains.
The Grand Duke of Vala, leading the ten-thousand heavy infantry he so prized and three thousand elite knights, had already drawn up his formations on the plain.
From a distance, Vala's battle line truly looked like a sea of steel.
Heavy full-body plate armor reflected blinding light under the sun, shields locked together, spears like rows of wheat-ears.
"Has that little Sophia girl gone mad?"
The Grand Duke of Vala sat in a luxurious carriage, dabbing his sweat with a gold-trimmed handkerchief while sneering at the general beside him.
"She actually dared to come provoke my iron defense line with a bunch of prisoners-of-war and some scorched fire-poking sticks?
Does she really think Vala is like Yurilland—that she can take it down with a few brainwashing words?"
"My Lord Grand Duke, I've heard their fire-sticks can produce a thunderous roar, and their power is not to be underestimated."
One general voiced his concern.
"Hmph, so what?
In the face of these thick steel plates, all Witchcraft is illusion!"
The Grand Duke of Vala snorted coldly and swung his command baton.
"All forces, advance!
Let that little girl understand—the rules of the Northern border are decided by heavy armor and blood!"
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
The Vala heavy infantry began to advance, their heavy footfalls making the earth tremble.
Facing the wave-like surge of heavy infantry, Sophia's expression remained unchanged.
"Vanguard troops, close the shield wall, hold position."
At Sophia's command, the five thousand new recruits in perfect unison slammed their iron-rimmed shields into the soil, long spears tilted forward.
"Veteran battalion, align logic, three-stage volley."
One thousand Mason musketeers quickly formed ranks in the gaps between the vanguard troops, their movements precise as parts produced by the same machine.
"Irene, record the data."
Sophia spoke calmly.
"Got it, Your Majesty!"
Irene held up a small notebook, staring excitedly toward the front.
When the Vala infantry entered a hundred-and-fifty-pace distance, Sophia suddenly threw down her hand.
"Prepare to fire!
Ready the fire bottles!"
"Bang bang bang—!!"
In an instant, deafening thunder exploded across the plain.
A thousand black muskets simultaneously spewed scorching tongues of flame, and dense gunpowder smoke instantly shrouded Mason's lines.
The Grand Duke of Vala had still been sneering, but in the very next second, the sneer froze solid on his face.
The full-body plate armor he so prized—armor that even crossbow bolts struggled to pierce—shattered like wet paper in the face of Mason's lead rounds.
With every gunshot came the agonized scream of a heavy infantryman falling.
Driven by gunpowder, the lead rounds slammed into the steel plates with massive kinetic force, then deformed and tumbled, churning the internal organs to pulp within the chests of Vala's soldiers.
"This… this is impossible!"
The Grand Duke of Vala leapt to his feet in horror.
"That's plate armor! Plate armor that can block a cavalry charge!"
"Their formation is broken."
Sophia sat motionless atop her horse, her fingertips lightly stroking the Black Rose Reformed Model black musket hanging at her waist.
"Delilah, take the core members and charge.
Invite that so-called Grand Duke of Vala down from his carriage.
His existence is disrupting the price equilibrium of this region."
"Your subject, accepts the order!"
Delilah had long been unable to hold back. She suddenly clamped her thighs against her horse's flanks, and her whole figure shot out from the formation like a pitch-black hurricane.
Victoria followed closely behind. Though she was still adjusting to the bumping of the warhorse, the new-model musket gripped tightly in her hand gave her a confidence she had never known before.
"Protect the Grand Duke!"
Vala's knight order frantically tried to intercept this assault team of mere handful of people.
However, what they faced was Mason's fully-armed core leadership.
"Bang!"
Holding the gun in her hand, Victoria subconsciously felt as if a pair of slightly cool hands were holding hers.
Guided by this illusion, she decisively squeezed the trigger.
A Vala lieutenant general who had been about to charge at Delilah—his head burst apart in an instant like a smashed watermelon, and the man tumbled off his horse.
"Irene, your turn!"
Irene gave a strange shout and pulled a specially made smoke-screen bottle from her bosom, hurling it into the heap of knights.
In an instant, smoke—colorful and pungent—spread out everywhere; Vala's warhorses, panicked, reared and bucked wildly.
And Delilah, under the cover of the smoke, leapt a span of more than ten meters in a single bound and landed with one foot atop the roof of the Grand Duke of Vala's carriage.
"BANG—!"
The heavy roof of the carriage collapsed in a thunderous crash beneath Delilah's foot.
With one hand, Delilah hoisted up the Grand Duke of Vala—who had wet his pants in fright—and laid her longsword across his neck, her voice cold as ice:
"Old fool. In Her Majesty's logic, there is no such option as refusal."
When the Grand Duke of Vala was hauled to the front of the battle line by Delilah like a dead dog, the ten thousand heavy infantry completely collapsed.
They looked at the shattered plate armor strewn across the ground, and at those Mason soldiers half-glimpsed amid the gunpowder smoke.
In their eyes, that was no longer an army—those were messengers who wielded thunder and Divine Miracles.
"We surrender! We surrender!"
A Vala veteran was the first to fling away his heavy shield, dropping to his knees and frantically kowtowing.
"Those are the weapons of gods!
Plate armor can't stop them at all—that's not a power mortals can resist!"
With the first man's collapse, the sound of armor being cast aside rang out across the entire plain in a dense, unbroken wave.
Mason's nine-thousand-strong army, with zero casualties, had utterly shattered Vala's thirteen-thousand-strong regular force.
Holy Spirit above—that was no battle at all.
When that ball of fire bloomed, I felt my very soul was being aligned to the God of Death's ledger.
Look at Queen Sophia—she didn't even dismount, she was just like she was pruning withered twigs and dead leaves in a garden, and she wiped clean the accumulation of decades of our Duchy of Vala.
Flee? Flee to where?
Could Olan ever give us this kind of thunder-like power?
Could Olan give us those black incense coils, that you smell and don't grow welts?
Following such a queen, even if I become a candle in the future, I want to be that one candle in the Mason Palace!
The plain after the battle.
Sophia rode slowly through the Vala lines, and wherever she passed, the multitudes submitted.
She did not look at those surrendered generals, but instead turned her gaze toward Willow.
"Willow, seal off all of Vala's warehouses.
Convert all the goods on that inventory list into the fourth batch of Mason labor credit notes.
Tell Vala's commoners: from today onward, the tax rates on Vala's trade routes shall all be changed to Mason's standard, recognizing only Mason's credit principles."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Willow pushed up her monocle, her eyes filled with admiration.
Sophia turned to Victoria, her tone gentle:
"Victoria, that shot earlier was off."
Victoria, somewhat embarrassed, tucked away the musket, her ivory fan hiding her smile:
"Dear sister, I'll be more careful next time."
Not far away, the vanguard soldiers had gathered around several freshly lit mosquito repellent coils, excitedly discussing the battle that had just unfolded.
"Did you see? Her Majesty just looked at me!
It must be because she thought my shield was held up the straightest!"
"Nonsense! Her Majesty was clearly looking at the way I charged!"
Within this fervent, almost cultic atmosphere, the Duchy of Vala, within a single day, was completely absorbed into Mason's territory.
Sophia turned around and looked toward the distant direction of the Olan Royal City.
Vala had been taken.
In her mind, Sophia rapidly struck through one more red-marked obstacle.
Queen Tina, your so-called blockade has now officially become the most potent fuel accelerant for Mason's mad expansion.
____
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