Princess's Struggle for Survival

After listening to Astrid’s explanation, Lyra more or less understood her plan. She also knew that when it came to political governance, her own abilities were far inferior to those of the Empire’s two imperial princesses. So she nodded and replied softly.

"I understand, Astrid."

Alliances, internal affairs, logistics, those will be leaving to Astrid. Lyra only needed to fulfill her duty properly as battlefield commander.

"I’ll stay in constant contact with Grand Duke Charles, so he can support us from the flank. If necessary, we’ll merge our forces and face the enemy together."

"Mhm. I said it before, everything on the strategic side will be left entirely to Lyra."

Speaking gently, telling Lyra to trust her own judgment and keep her confidence, Astrid suddenly recalled the scene from earlier, Lyra standing at the choir platform, leading the Church Knights in a choral hymn.

"Come to think of it, Lyra..."

"You don’t seem to hate those Church Knights as much anymore?"

Winning the adoration and pursuit of the Church Knight order was a necessary condition for becoming a religious idol, and it was also a task Lyra believed she had to accomplish. Yet from Astrid’s perspective, judging by Lyra’s approachable behavior these past few days, and based on Astrid’s understanding of her, Lyra’s every move clearly didn’t show any particular repulsion toward those young knights.

It was true that Lyra needed to win the Church Knights’ support. But conversely, those Church Knights, who had once invaded the Valeria Empire, also needed Lyra’s favor.

"..."

Lyra fell silent for a moment, then answered quietly.

"The ones who truly committed the unforgivable sins were the upper ranks of the Church of Light. These knights were merely brainwashed accomplices, helping without knowing what was true. Objectively speaking, they undoubtedly are sinners. Subjectively, though, there’s still some room left, things should be judged case by case. I shouldn’t have hated them that much in the first place..."

Before, it had mostly been her emotions acting up. With several major wars under her belt and frequent hostility with the Church of Light, various factors had caused Lyra to be naturally predisposed against Church Knights.

Fortunately, she understood clearly where the root of the problem lay. And she was nowhere almost as severe as some war victims with post-traumatic stress, those who would instinctively feel fear and avoidant the moment they saw light magic.

Astrid blinked a few times, speaking in a soft, delicate voice.

"But I can tell you had a little mood before, Lyra."

The pink-haired girl in front of her wasn’t particularly good at hiding what was on her mind, especially not from Astrid, who spent every day with her: eating at the same table, sleeping in the same bed. As her intimate lover, there was even less to conceal.

Hearing Astrid say that, Lyra parted her pink lips and hesitated. Two or three seconds later, she replied.

"Probably because I’d never communicated with them before. I’d never tried to put myself in their place and experience their lives. On the battlefield, they were simply enemies, we fought with blades drawn, killing and dying."

"Now that I’ve met them, understood what they think, and sang hymns of praise to the Lord together with them... it really did dilute some of my personal dissatisfaction."

Perhaps all of these changes could be credited to one thing: finally having a sense of reality.

Lyra’s temperament leans toward sainthood. But she wasn’t truly a saint. She still has her small tempers at this stage of her life, her own unhappiness.

Theories derived from rational thought were, in the end, only words on paper. They didn’t fit reality closely enough. Only by truly going deep into the groundswells, understanding what those people thought, and seeing the lives they lived, could she fully accept her rational judgment on an emotional level, merging the two modes of thought into one.

"So you don’t really hate them anymore, right?"

"Mm... Astrid can understand it that way..."

Having studied the Church of Light in depth, and knowing that it had once provided free healing for the lower classes squeezed between the exploitation of kings and nobles, promoting cultural education, and taught mental force control, Lyra no longer held any prejudice.

Faith in the Lord was never wrong. What was wrong was the wanton distortion of doctrine that shamed that faith, the current Pope, and the one standing behind him, the true mastermind: Brennild.

Astrid listened, then nodded slightly, reaching out to stroke Lyra’s face.

"It’s not a bad thing that you can think like this. At least for the allied army right now, it’s all benefit and no harm."

Only a commander who didn’t excessively favor one side would avoid damaging the alliance’s unity.

"I’ll write to Iris now and have her prepare for a coup at any time. If she wants to stand firm in the coming tide of the era, then at the very least she has to show the royal family, the Empire, some kind of value."

This information alone was far from enough. Iris needed to do more to match the identity of a future king. Otherwise, Astrid would never elevate a weak princess with no authority, one who might even be kicked out by the old royal family itself.

"Mm. I’ll go arrange the army and prepare the next advance."

"Go."

With those cool words, the two parted ways, each making early plans for the coming battles.

Meanwhile, in Capital City, within the Regent’s royal bedchamber, upon hearing that Headmaster Anthony of the Academy had already left the imperial capital and headed to the frontline Coldwind City, Amalia, the current Empress, let out a small breath of relief.

With such a formidable combatant joining her side, her sister’s safety would be ensured as much as possible. Even if she were to face the Pope directly, it would be a battle between two peak-tier Arcanist mages, and apart from the advantage of fighting on familiar ground, neither side would be at a significant disadvantage.

Not to mention her sister had already turned many insiders within the Church of Light. With the most loyal light believers among the middle and lower ranks gone, and only a few confidant bishops still stubbornly clinging to delusion, the Pope was no different from a commander with no troops.

The only thing that truly pressured Amalia at the moment was logistics and supplies.

They had to transport grain and weapons. On top of that, Astrid had initiated commercial trade cooperation with the nobles of the Kingdom of Velys, meaning they also had to ship large quantities of daily-use mana-powered devices into the kingdom’s borders.

Long-term transportation was never easy, high loss, high cost. Now they also had to support a whole additional group of Church Knights. Inevitably, the imperial treasury was stretched thin.

The economic policies her sister left behind could relieve urgent needs, but an army that didn’t loot or seize, though it could win enemy civilians’ hearts to some extent, could not generate enough revenue in the short term to cover military expenses from a ruler’s standpoint. The imperial capital needed to keep transfusing resources nationally for this hard war to continue.

It could be said that all of Astrid’s decisions, the plan to divide the nobility, the welfare policy toward prisoners, the large-scale land development in the Empire’s north, even the advantageous situation of joining with the Church Knight order to besiege the Church of Light and Seville City, were inseparable from the powerful support of the Empress behind her.

Because the one on the throne at present was the Fourth Imperial Princess, who trusted and supported Astrid without reservation. If it had been any other emperor with even a bit more incompetence, seeing Astrid holding heavy troops and frequently demanding money, they would have long grown suspicious, secretly producing millions of rifts, and would be thinking of a suitable excuse to reclaim military authority.

Sitting in the study where Astrid often used to read, the white-dressed blonde girl with blue eyes gently stroked the orange cat in her arms. She hugged her knees to her chest; her pale stockings and lotus feet, white with a hint of pink, rested on the soft cushion. Under the sunlight streaming through the window, they appeared even smoother, glowing with an alluring color like creamy ice cream.

For days on end, Amalia had been staying up late. She had to handle the dissatisfaction of domestic nobles, extracting funds from them through gentle means, while also guarding against hostile forces within the imperial clan, giving them no opening to exploit.

After giving Auri a few more pieces of dried fish, Amalia cleaned her hands with water-element magic before bringing her ten-minute midday break to an end.

Just a little more effort. Her sister was already at a critical moment. Nothing could go wrong on her end.

Her pale blue pupils fixed on the memorials on the desk, Amalia reviewed them seriously, occasionally pausing to think and rub her aching temples.

These documents, aside from reporting a tight treasury and a severe deficit, weren’t entirely devoid of good news. For instance, the frontline war was proceeding smoothly, and many imperial nobles who originally had no intention of sending troops were now considering a slice of the pie.

That was how these people were: when there was no profit, they chose to ignore and play dead, pretending not to see even an enemy at the nation’s gates, until the Church Knights were truly about to strike them.

But once they saw profit, the nobles became sharks smelling blood, rushing in all at once, disenchanted they might not get a share.

For Amalia, this was also manpower that could be exploited. By advancing a portion of the postwar reparations in advance, drawing a grand promise to satisfy noble demands, it wasn’t necessarily bad for the current situation.

After all, more people means more strength. Those one or two Arcanist mages joining could absolutely provide a decisive, final blow.

After long consideration, Amalia decided that tomorrow afternoon she would meet Grand Duke Velmont, that old fox of Velmont Family.

Although his son, Tristian, had done certain things that left Amalia with no favorable impression, on matters of major principle, the Empire’s Empress would set aside unnecessary personal grievances and cooperate wholeheartedly.

Time passed second by second. When she had finished reviewing this batch of documents, Amalia signed the final proposal, deploying the fleet of mana-powered airships to participate in the war, agreeing to provide a reserve supply of crystal stones.

In front, Professor Charlotte had improved the internal spell arrays of mana crystal stones, greatly raising efficiency. Behind, the blue dragon named Theresa filled the Empire’s crystal shortages, meeting everyday needs.

Everything fits, just right. No one could be missing.

After signing, Amalia rose from her seat, bent down to tug at the top of her white stocking around her calf, then picked up the imperial scepter leaning beside the desk and left the room.

"Tell Grand Duke Velmont that tomorrow afternoon, I will be waiting in the Council Hall for his visit."

Since he was so eager to share the cake, she would grant his wish, binding House Velmont to the war chariot.

For both sides, it was a mutually beneficial deal.