The atmosphere within the royal tent had originally been settling down along with Daphne's casting, but very soon, that tranquillity was shattered utterly by a burst of somewhat disordered footsteps.
"Your Majesty! Your Majesty, are you all right?!"
"Your Majesty! What's happened to you?!"
Accompanied by several anxious, low-voiced shouts, the heavy curtain of the royal tent was flung violently aside.
Delilah, hand pressed to her longsword, charged in like a black panther jolted from sleep, those pale-red eyes brimming with wariness and tension.
Right behind her came Irene, who had lost one of her shoes along the way, and a Bardess sweating profusely from head to toe.
"Is it an assassin? Or are the Vala bastards staging a fake surrender?
I'll go right now and chop the whole lot of those scumbags down!"
Bardess bellowed in her thick, slightly androgynous voice, her enormous tone shaking even the dust off the top of the tent.
The news that Her Majesty had urgently summoned Daphne in the dead of night had, within Mason's guard system that ran with the precision of clockwork, been amplified countless times in a single instant.
The moment the core members heard that Daphne had gone tearing off with her medicine box, the first reaction in all of them had been one and the same — Her Majesty's been hurt!
Sophia sat in the soft chair beside the bed, watching this group of subordinates who had come charging in like a house on fire, a flicker of helpless coolness passing through her pale-golden pupils.
"Quiet."
Sophia spoke only that single word.
Bardess, who only moments ago had been radiating murderous intent, instantly went like a duck whose throat had been seized, forcibly swallowing back the rest of her shout.
Delilah, meanwhile, swept her eyes rapidly around the tent, and only when she had confirmed that there were no signs of a struggle within the royal tent, and that Sophia was sitting there entirely unharmed, did the taut tension in her muscles abruptly relax.
"Your Majesty, it's the middle of the night — what on earth happened to make Daphne come running like that?"
Irene asked between gasping breaths as she pulled the runaway shoe back on.
"It's not me."
Sophia turned slightly to one side, drawing her gaze away.
"It's Victoria.
It seems overwork brought on a high fever. Daphne has already performed Holy Light channelling on her, and she's currently in enforced deep sleep."
Everyone followed Sophia's gaze and only then noticed that on that broad soft couch, the Third Princess Victoria — who was always so polished, radiant, elegant and composed — was now sunk into the bedding with a pale, deathly face, her very breathing barely audible.
"Phew—"
Without knowing who had set it off, a wave of extremely audible, collective sighs of relief swept through the entire royal tent.
Bardess even wiped a hand across the cold sweat on her brow:
"Scared the life out of me. I really thought it was Her Majesty who'd taken ill.
So it's Her Highness the Third Princess who's sick…
So long as Her Majesty's all right, that's the main thing — wait, that's not what I meant, ha… I'm very sorry too that the Third Princess has fallen ill."
Willow, off to the side, pushed the hairband on her head into place with a slightly helpless air.
Bardess had always been rather sharp before — what was with the dip in her emotional intelligence of late?
Even if she'd just realised it wasn't Her Majesty, and she wasn't quite so worried anymore, she still shouldn't be putting it like that.
It was probably all this fighting recently — no one had much mental space left over for that kind of consideration.
"Then this subordinate shall step out and reinforce the outer perimeter guard.
Her Highness the Third Princess has indeed been working hard with her lectures these past few days — she ought to get a good rest."
Delilah's tone snapped back at once to its usual cool, steady register, as if the person who had been frantic enough to draw her sword and start killing only moments earlier had not been her at all.
Just as everyone was preparing to slip out quietly so as not to disturb the patient's rest —
Delilah's gaze inadvertently swept across the sleeping Victoria.
Out of the instincts of a top-tier bodyguard, she habitually observed the surface symptoms of the patient.
"Strange…"
Delilah furrowed her brows slightly and muttered under her breath.
"If it really is a high fever brought on by overwork, then a pale complexion would be normal.
But why are Her Highness the Third Princess's lips so red and rosy?
Even… they look a little swollen?
Is this some new kind of fever symptom?"
In Delilah's purely linear logic, a sick person's lips ought to be cracked and pale.
The way Victoria was right now — though her complexion was bad, her lips were as red as if she'd just been tasting the most vividly-coloured snow-frosted berries — clearly didn't conform to common sense.
"Hm?"
Irene, who had been just about to slip away, heard Delilah's muttering and curiously edged closer too.
Those sapphire-like eyes of hers made a circuit around Victoria's slightly swollen red lips, then she lifted her head and looked at Sophia, who was sitting by the bed with an unchanging face yet — it seemed — the faintest of ripples hidden in her gaze.
Wrong! This is definitely wrong!
"Gulp."
Irene swallowed.
As someone who, back in her original world, had constantly devoured romance novels and TV dramas, a hundred possibilities flashed through Irene's mind in an instant.
Wait wait wait wait!
High fever, weakness…
A maiden and a maiden alone together in one room!
And now those lips, abnormally red — clearly looking like they had been rubbed or pressed by something!
Holy Spirit above!
Surely it couldn't be…
Surely it couldn't be that Her Majesty, seeing how pitiful the Third Princess was in her fevered delirium, had bestowed upon her the highest level of comfort by means of physical contact?!
Aaaaaaah!
Oh my goodness!
Her Majesty actually kissed the Third Princess?!
Can it really be?!
No wonder Her Majesty was holding her so tightly when we came charging in just now!
What do you call this? You call this the domineering Queen's forceful tenderness!
Damn it all!
If I'd known being sick could earn that level of treatment, I should have deliberately taken a couple of lungfuls of toxic fumes last time I was developing the mosquito coils!
Actually beaten to it by the Third Princess — so jealous!
But maybe it's a misunderstanding?
Irene's collagen-rich face was flushed bright red from the effort of holding it all in, and the look she sent towards Sophia was filled with investigation, shock and a sliver of barely suppressible excitement.
Deep in the night, the lamplight and shadow within the royal tent swayed gently in the breeze.
Under Daphne's continuous Holy Light healing, the boiling-hot crimson on Victoria's face at last gradually receded, and her ragged breathing also turned into a steady, drawn-out rhythm.
She lay quietly sunk into Sophia's Black Rose cloak, the pain between her brows long since replaced by a deep, heavy slumber.
She just lay there, as though she had never run a fever at all — looking for all the world as though everyone had merely barged in while she was sleeping.
Daphne packed away her medicine box and softly bowed to Sophia:
"Your Majesty, Her Highness the Third Princess's bodily circuits have been unblocked, and the high fever has receded. For the next few hours, all she needs is quiet rest.
The cause is indeed overwork — there are no signs of having taken a chill or of heatstroke."
Sophia gave a slight nod, her pale-golden pupils lingering for a second on Victoria's face, which was gradually regaining its colour, and then with a wave of her hand she gestured for Daphne to go and rest.
"All of you go and rest. It's getting late."
The royal tent fell back into stillness, with only the coil of Black Rose Mosquito Repellent Coil in the corner sending up extremely faint rings of smoke.
Just as Sophia was preparing to deal with the last few post-battle reports, an extremely measured set of footsteps sounded at the curtain.
"Your Majesty."
Delilah had, at some point, turned back.
She had already changed out of that heavy armour from before, and was now wearing a sleek set of black combat gear, her long hair tied behind her head, looking sharply martial — only those pale-red eyes were now flickering with a faint glint of food-guarding possessiveness.
She had calculated the timing well in advance, which was why she'd only now come over.
She first cast a glance at Victoria, lying on Sophia's bed, then opened her mouth in an extremely level tone:
"Since the Saint has already completed her healing, and Her Highness the Third Princess's condition has stabilised, this subject believes — should Her Highness perhaps be moved back to her own tent?
After all, the bed in this Temporary Palace of Whitestone City is hardly as spacious as the one in Mason Palace."
Delilah stood by the bedside, her bearing as respectful as ever, yet her whole figure was like an invisible barrier separating Sophia from the Victoria on the bed.
In Delilah's view, a private space like a bed should have an extremely precise carrying capacity.
She could not allow this kind of low-efficiency occupation.
The width of this bed was only two metres. If the Third Princess kept lying there, then when Her Majesty came to rest afterwards, the freedom of bodily extension would drop considerably.
Furthermore, Her Majesty had always favoured a cool, clear environment, while the Third Princess at this moment was giving off the residual warmth left by her high fever — that would interfere with Her Majesty's thermal comfort.
And the most important point of all…
Since the illness has been cured, everyone should return to where they belong.
She shouldn't be encroaching on Her Majesty's private domain in the dead of night.
Yes, all of this was purely out of consideration for Her Majesty's sleep.
There wasn't a single selfish motive!
Delilah felt at this moment that she was simply an utterly impartial Grand General personally appointed by Her Majesty.
Sophia listened, set down the quill in her hand, looked at the bed — which truly wasn't all that big — and then looked at the still-deeply-sleeping Victoria.
"Indeed."
Sophia spoke coolly.
"Originally I was thinking that if she didn't wake up, I'd just make do for the night on the soft couch over there.
Since her temperature has come down now, and moving her won't cause secondary harm, then send her back."
On hearing these words, that thread of tense emotion deep in Delilah's eyes vanished without a trace in an instant.
"This subject will see to it at once."
Delilah moved with extreme efficiency, even with a touch of impatient eagerness.
She stepped up and, with the kind of grip more suited to hauling iron armour, scooped Victoria out of the bedding with rock-steady poise.
Watching Victoria's beautiful blonde hair tumble down somewhat dishevelled under Delilah's handling, Sophia couldn't shake the feeling that Delilah had just used the seizure grip reserved for handling prisoners of war.
"A little gentler, Delilah."
Sophia reminded her in a calm, level tone.
"She is currently a wounded patient."
"As you command, Your Majesty."
Delilah responded with no expression on her face whatsoever, then carrying the woman in her arms, walked straight out of the royal tent without so much as turning her head.
Utterly satisfied!
As Victoria was moved away, the royal tent became instantly desolate and spacious.
Sophia stretched her slightly stiff shoulders, those pale-golden pupils filled with rational calm.
Sophia rose to her feet, originally planning to head behind the folding screen to freshen up — but as she passed the half-burnt mosquito coil, her steps came to a slight halt.
It seemed there was some kind of strange sound.
The wind?
Sophia turned her head sharply, and very quickly noticed something off.
Within her senses — which were as precise as clockwork — Sophia detected at the edge of the curtain a corner where there had appeared an extremely tiny gap, so minute that even Delilah moments earlier hadn't noticed it.
A small, slim figure, wrapped in a black hooded cloak, was — in a manner positively thieflike — sneaking along the shadows with extremely furtive yet smooth movements, slipping into Sophia's room.
That figure, having entered the room, first cast a sneaky look around the bed.
Upon discovering that Victoria had vanished, and that although the bedding on the bed was somewhat dishevelled it now bore only a faint, lingering cool fragrance, the dark figure quite audibly let out a relieved "heh heh" sound.
"Irene."
Sophia's voice — cold enough to carry not a single trace of warmth — sounded ghostly from behind the dark figure.
"Wahh!"
Irene nearly leapt from where she stood up to the rafters, those sapphire-like eyes filled with terror.
She turned around awkwardly, looking at the Sophia who was standing there with her arms folded, watching her with a face devoid of expression.
"Heh… heh heh,
Your Majesty, what a coincidence — you're still up?"
Irene hurriedly pulled off the hood that had been covering most of her face, revealing that small, collagen-rich face of hers — now flushed red with guilty conscience.
Scared me to death! Her Majesty's perception stat must be maxed out!
She'd come over this stealthily — even Delilah shouldn't have noticed — yet Her Majesty had actually picked it up?
Sophia looked at Irene's eyes, which were darting around the room, even attempting to sneak peeks at her lips, and a flicker of speechless indulgence passed through her gaze.
"Are you done with your blueprints?"
"Uh… well, halfway done. I just thought Your Majesty must be exhausted, so I've brought you a late-night snack!"
Irene, with extremely awkward movements, pulled out from inside her cloak a small box still emitting a chilly mist, but her gaze still couldn't help drifting up to Sophia's cool, clear face.
"Your Majesty, when the Third Princess left just now… how was she looking?
Were her lips still swollen?"
The corner of Sophia's eye gave a twitch.
It seemed that the little inventor's brain circuits had been thoroughly invaded by some kind of gossip virus.
"Irene, if you have so much free time, tomorrow I'll have Bardess take you along on a ten-kilometre conditioning run."
"No no no! I'll go right now! I'll go right now!"
Irene caved instantly, setting down the box.
Her Majesty's such a stingy little miser.
Fine, if you don't want to say, you don't want to say.
She'd already hunched her neck down, preparing to slink out of the tent, her dejected slump making her look for all the world like a little quail that had just blown up a flask in a laboratory.
But just as her fingertips touched the heavy curtain of the tent door, the peculiar logic of one who, as Her Majesty's number-one favoured subject, was unwilling to settle for the status quo, completed yet another round of overclocked operation in her mind in an instant.
Hold on! Am I just going to leave like this?
The Third Princess just lay here for so long, and Delilah just openly staked her territory at Her Majesty's side a moment ago.
And I, Irene — as the very first one to have developed the Black Rose Reformed Model black musket, and even thoughtfully solved Her Majesty's mosquito troubles, the number-one contributor — how can I possibly just walk out with nothing?!
Even though I didn't catch hard proof of Her Majesty kissing that fake-smiling princess, since the scene is empty of people now, isn't this exactly the perfect moment for me, Irene, to counterattack?
If I don't charge in now, when?!
And so, deep in Irene's heart, a plan quietly took shape, and she prepared to carry it out at once.
Sophia had just been about to bend down and pick up the ivory fan that Victoria had dropped, when, within her clockwork-precise perception, she sensed that the dark figure who had only just vanished into the shadows had, with an acceleration utterly inconsistent with any logic of retreat, come hurtling back once more.
"Irene…"
Sophia turned around, her tone still cool and clear, originally prepared to give this naughty little creature another verbal warning.
However, the development that followed left this Queen of Mason, for the first time in her life, with one full second of blankness inside her brain.
Irene, like a nimble forest kitten, suddenly darted right up in front of Sophia.
Before Sophia even had time to react, in those sapphire-like eyes of Irene's there flashed some sort of fanatical, death-defying fervour, and she suddenly went up on tiptoe.
Owing to that tiny difference in height, Irene had to strain to lift her face upward.
The next second, a warm sensation, carrying the faintest sweet fragrance of berries, lingered for the briefest, lightest moment upon Sophia's cheek — pale and cool as cold jade.
"Mwah!"
That tiny, gentle, warm touch, in the silence of the royal tent, gave off a sound so crystal-clear it set the heart pounding.
"This… this is Your Majesty's special late-night snack reward!
I'm off to draw my blueprints! Goodnight, Your Majesty!"
Irene let out a strange cry that sounded simultaneously like a scream of agony and a whoop of joy.
She didn't even dare raise her head to see Sophia's expression. She simply yanked the hood of the cloak back over her head and, like a startled bolt of black lightning, shot out through the curtain with a whoosh.
Her speed was such that the guards stationed by the entrance felt only a gust of wind pass by — they didn't even catch a glimpse of that streak of pink hair.
Kissed her! Kissed her, kissed her!
Holy Spirit above!
Her Majesty's cheek really was so soft, and there really was that lovely, first-snow-like cool fragrance!
Even though it was only the cheek, this surely counts as having secured the entry ticket to the position of first-priority favoured subject, right?
Let Victoria run her fevers, let Delilah go stand in the cold wind outside!
I, Irene, am the one who has truly touched the centre of Mason's Order!
Run! Hurry and run!
If I don't run, Bardess really is going to drag me off for a conditioning march!
But even if I run my legs off today, I, Irene, am the happiest inventor in the entire Northern border!
"This bunch…"
Sophia slowly lowered her hand, that ever-cool voice of hers now tinged with a thick layer of helplessness and exasperation.
The Vala mineral extraction inventory list she'd originally been planning to keep reviewing now, in her eyes, somehow seemed rather bland and uninteresting.
"Forget it. Eat something and go to bed early."
Sophia shook her head and casually plucked a piece of jelly from the small box Irene had brought her.
The jelly was ice-cold and sweetly clear; as it slid down her throat, it seemed to carry away with it some of that sudden, unexpected flush of heat from before.
Outside the royal tent, the night watch guards exchanged glances with one another.
"Hey, did you see the look on Miss Irene's face when she ran out just now?"
"I saw it… smiling like an idiot who'd just won the jackpot, and half her face was red as if she'd smeared red ink all over it."
"Shhh. You'd dare call our Chief Inventor an idiot? You tired of living?"
The next morning.
The air in the Vala stronghold still carried the faint smoky tang of black musket fire, but under Willow's OCD-style management, the broken walls and rubble within the city had already been mostly cleared away, and that bleakness left in the wake of battle had, in the space of a single night, been replaced by a taut sense of order.
Inside the Council Hall, sunlight slanted through the high windows onto the enormous tactical map.
Sophia sat upright at the head of the table, in her hand a cup of morning herbal tea blended by Daphne, her pale-golden pupils sweeping across the Olan border line marked on the map.
"Vala's mineral resources have already begun to be reshuffled, and the logic for the resettlement of the Vanguard's families has also been confirmed in a reply sent back from the Royal City."
Sophia took a sip of tea, her tone cool and steady, as if the person who had crashed for one whole second last night because of various unexpected events hadn't been her at all.
"Next, what we need to investigate are the two vassal duchies surrounding Vala…"
The words had not yet fallen.
"Report — !"
A Mason guard hurried in, dropped to one knee, and with both hands held up an arrow tipped with a white feather, around the shaft of which was rolled a piece of parchment exuding an expensive fragrance.
"A short while ago at the city gate, someone shot this arrow into the City wall. The letter is addressed specifically to be delivered personally to Your Majesty."
Willow stepped forward and accepted it. Her slender fingertips slid along the shaft, and only once she had confirmed that there was no poison or anything else suspect did she slowly unfurl it before Sophia.
Sophia scanned it with a faint glance, those cold-jade-like eyes utterly without ripple.
"An invitation?"
Irene, beside her, craned her neck to sneak a look, and the moment she saw the writing on it, was so shocked that she slapped her thigh resoundingly:
"Hoh! Queen Tina of Olan?
She's inviting Your Majesty to dine with her at Sunset Glow Canyon on the border?
And to discuss a new Order for trade in the Northern border?"
Inside Irene's head, countless TV-drama plot devices from her previous life whirled past in an instant, and she yelled out at the top of her voice:
"Your Majesty! This is absolutely a Hongmen Banquet!
That wicked woman has definitely either poisoned the dishes on the platter, or hidden five hundred assassins behind the folding screen, waiting for the cup to be thrown as the signal!
I know this script — as soon as the cup smashes, tens of thousands of soldiers will come charging in from all sides and surround you!"
Victoria's fever had now broken. Although her complexion was still somewhat sickly and pale, that keen intuition unique to the Third Princess had already returned.
Wrapped in the Black Rose cloak Sophia had laid over her last night, she frowned deeply:
"Tina-Kris isn't the type who would talk cooperation.
Or rather — Your Majesty can only ever be on the listening end of her terms. If you don't agree to her terms, no negotiation will go through, and she'll flip the table immediately.
Sending a letter like this after Vala's catastrophic defeat is clearly an attempt to stall through diplomatic means, or to take out the entire core leadership of Mason right there at the dining table.
Your Majesty, the risks of this trip are very high. There's no need to entertain such a crude trap."
Sophia set down her teacup, the quill spinning once between her fingertips.
"Negotiation?"
There was a kind of bored, disinterested coldness in Sophia's tone.
"Under the current conditions of asymmetrical information, no verbal agreement is anywhere near as efficient as live ammunition."
Sophia had no intention of going either.
Just as Sophia was preparing to say that she wasn't going and to continue the discussion with the others, hurried footsteps once more sounded outside the door.
"Report! A second letter has arrived!"
Still the same arrow, still the same piece of parchment.
But this time, the moment Willow unfurled the letter, her expression instantly darkened.
"Your Majesty…"
Willow handed the letter to Sophia, a hint of anger in her voice.
Sophia took it. On it, in handwriting that was almost arrogantly flaunting, was written:
"Sophia Mason, if you don't even have the courage to attend a banquet, then I can only assume that your so-called new Order is no more than a children's game of make-believe.
Since you don't want to talk at the dining table, then at three o'clock this afternoon, fifty thousand heavy cavalry of Olan will arrive on schedule to trample every inch of Vala's soil flat.
I have wine prepared at Sunset Glow Canyon. I do hope to see your shadow there — and not the sight of your back as you flee in defeat."
"Hah!"
Bardess, listening from the side, flew into a rage, slapping a palm down on the table so hard that the teacups buzzed.
"Fifty thousand? I'd say she's having a daydream in broad daylight!
I'll go right now and muster the troops — let's see whose cavalry is harder, or whose axe in my hand is faster!"
Delilah's hand pressed against her sword-hilt also went white at the knuckles from sheer fury.
In her world, any existence that posed a threat to Her Majesty should be sliced to pieces.
The atmosphere throughout the entire Council Hall instantly turned tense and feverish.
Only Sophia still sat there, her pale-golden pupils staring at the words "fifty thousand heavy troops" on the letter.
Fifty thousand heavy dragoon cavalry.
If she remembered correctly, the total number of Olan's troops at the very start had been no more than twenty thousand.
Just now she had still been assuming that Mason's troop numbers had almost caught up with Olan's — and as it turned out, Olan had already expanded to fifty thousand.
Sophia raised her head and looked at Victoria, whose face was flushed red with anger, and then at Irene off to one side, who was watching all this with a look of pure expectant glee.
"Your Majesty, are we going?"
Delilah asked in a low voice, her gaze carrying the unwavering resolve of one who would face death without flinching.
The corner of Sophia's mouth lifted in an extremely faint arc, even carrying with it a trace of mockery.
Inside the inner chamber of the Vala Palace.
Sophia stood with an expressionless face before an enormous full-length mirror, while Willow half-knelt on the floor, carefully arranging the layered folds of her gothic-style black gown.
This kind of gown was elaborate, heavy, and exuded a sense of extreme, suppressed gorgeousness — yet against Sophia's almost icy complexion, it looked like a poison rose blooming in the dark of night.
"Your Majesty, Miss Irene has specially sewn the very latest soft armour into the inner lining of this gown."
Willow's slender fingertips ran along the pleats of the skirt, ensuring every inch was aligned with seamless precision.
"It's a bit heavy, yes, but at this distance, even if Olan's crossbowmen launch a sneak attack, they won't be able to pierce this layer of logical defence."
Sophia raised her hand and let Willow fasten the exquisite Black Rose brooch at her collar.
Sophia wasn't wearing this outfit purely because it looked good. Rather, this gown — though it appeared somewhat elaborate — was actually light and suited for large movements; if it came to a fight, it wouldn't make her look too undignified.
And most importantly, she thought wearing this would make her look a little taller, so that on the negotiation table, she wouldn't be visually overpowered by that woman.
Sophia silently grumbled to herself inside, but outwardly only gave a faint acknowledgment:
"Thank you for the trouble."
Outside the tent, four magnificent black horses had been fitted out and stood ready.
Since the other side had thrown out the threat of fifty thousand heavy troops, Sophia had no intention of taking a large force along for a meaningless standoff.
In her calculations, if the other side really had ambushed her with fifty thousand soldiers, taking four thousand or taking four would make no fundamental difference in the outcome — except that with four, they could run faster.
So, she only brought four people with her.
Delilah — her body now seventy or eighty percent recovered, but the killing intent of her sword even sharper than before. She was Mason's hardest shield.
The detail-minded Willow — responsible for all the negotiation specifics and observations. She was Mason's sharpest eye.
Daphne — ready at any moment to replenish Holy Light, prepared to deal with possible poisons. She was Mason's steadiest medicine.
Irene — clutching to her chest a heap of new toys that could level the entirety of Sunset Glow Canyon, like a magical bag of tricks.
Irene had by now changed into a set of lightweight work clothes, with all kinds of strange bottles and jars hanging from her waist, those sapphire-like eyes filled with the excitement of being about to stir up trouble.
"Your Majesty, let's go!
I can't wait to see the look on that old woman's face!"
Irene actually wasn't all that afraid — her little backpack was crammed with all sorts of things capable of breaking through any encirclement.
No matter what happened, she could carry Her Majesty out of there.
Bardess stood at some distance, her body in that heavy plate armour looking somewhat forlorn in the morning light.
She gripped the haft of the battle axe at her waist hard, her knuckles slightly pale from the force.
As the Commander of the Vanguard, she more than anyone wanted to charge into battle alongside Her Majesty.
But she knew perfectly well — Vala had only just changed hands. Although the six thousand prisoners of war had been temporarily brainwashed, if the main army were left leaderless at this moment, those rats hidden in the shadows would surely poke their heads out again.
"Your Majesty, this subject… this subject swears to hold Vala for you!"
Bardess growled in a low voice, her tone somewhat muffled.
"If anyone dares so much as twitch while you're away, this subject will crush every single one of their bones, inch by inch, aligned in perfect order!"
Sophia swung onto her horse, the wide hem of the black gown spreading out across the horse's back.
"Vala is entrusted to you, Bardess."
Sophia turned her head slightly, her pale-golden pupils lingering for half a second on Victoria.
"And — keep an eye on Victoria.
I don't want to come back and find her running a fever again."
Standing beside Bardess, Victoria's figure stiffened slightly.
She was bundled up in that thick Black Rose cloak, her complexion still somewhat pale, but her eyes were clearer and brighter than they had ever been.
Is she… worried about me?
She knows just how great a humiliation my existence is to Queen Tina — if she took me with her, Tina would surely kill me first at any cost.
Whereas leaving me here at the side of that obsessive-compulsive woman Bardess is actually the safest option.
Just watch — since you dare cast your life away in that canyon, then I, in this Vala city, will help you turn these six thousand prisoners of war into utterly devoted die-hards for Mason.
When you come back, I'll be presenting you with — a Vala absolutely free of a single impurity.
"Ya!"
Five riders kicked up dust as they galloped off, the hoofbeats striking out a swift rhythm on Vala's smooth flagstone road, before vanishing beyond the distant horizon.
Bardess stood on the watchtower, seeing off that streak of silver brilliance until it was gone, then looked back at the slightly dazed Victoria.
"Alright, stop looking."
Bardess slapped the City wall a little grumpily.
"Her Majesty told us to get to work — but not to wear ourselves out either."
Victoria drew her gaze back, gracefully unfolded the ivory fan in her hand, and used it to hide the bitter smile at the corners of her lips.
"Commander Bardess, perhaps we should start by tallying up the remaining assets those Olan spies left behind."
And meanwhile, on the mountain road leading to Sunset Glow Canyon, Sophia stared straight ahead with an expressionless face.
Another Hongmen Banquet.
At present, with their ten-thousand-plus soldiers plus the six thousand recently brainwashed prisoners of war, in the most generous count they could be considered roughly twenty thousand troops.
But these twenty thousand soldiers were still distinct from Olan's fifty thousand, and besides, Sophia always had the feeling that Olan was holding something back.
It was very likely that Olan didn't just have fifty thousand.
As for why it was a Hongmen Banquet rather than just attacking outright —
The reason was simple: everyone wanted to get what they wanted at the smallest possible cost.
If Olan came at Mason in a head-on collision, then even if Mason really did lose, Olan would still suffer heavy losses.
By that point her grand plan of unifying the realm would once more be dashed — and that one back in the Imperial Capital might well have a fine, hearty laugh at her expense.
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