Princess's Struggle for Survival

"Your Grace, new news has arrived."

"... Capital?"

"Reporting to Your Grace, the letter came from the direction of Liya Tower Fortress, delivered by a messenger who insisted it be handed directly to you."

Hearing the servant, Grant, standing on the battlements and staring toward the southeast, turned, took the letter from him, ordered the troops to maintain their watch, and left the fortress perimeter.

The Kingdom of Velys had fallen into civil unrest; a man like Grant, well informed, had of course heard. At this point he no longer expected the royal family, preoccupied with quelling internal rebellions, to be able to spare troops for the border. All he hoped for was to hold onto his little patch of land through the coming turmoil, and maybe profit a bit.

The new Empress of the Valeria Empire didn’t seem like someone who’d simply swallow losses. The raid last year had cost her dearly, money and men, and there was no reason she wouldn’t demand compensation from the kingdom.

Strictly speaking, the war between the two states hadn’t formally ended; it had only paused because of a storm. If Amalia wanted war, she wouldn’t need reasons, she’d simply march her armies to the border.

And it was obvious she was preparing. Grant had noticed troop concentrations around Liya Tower Fortress days ago; the scent of blood hangs in the air so strongly he could smell it from miles away.

As a high noble whose lands directly boarded the empire, Grant’s territory would naturally be the first target.

Back in his office, he opened the envelope the servant handed him. A single line of aloof, elegant handwriting meets his eyes.

To the Duke Grant.

The letter wasn’t from anyone else but the silver‑haired regent who had led the Valeria Empire’s military reform, Astrid Calliste.

The more Grant read, the tighter his brow became; his fingers slammed on the desk with an aggravating clack.

The regent stated her next move: either destroy or absorb every military force in Grant’s domain, neutralize the troops under his command, and thereby take complete control of the lands bordering the empire.

It would secure Valeria’s supply and logistics routes while providing a base for advancing toward the Holy City. Even if the campaign were unsuccessful, they could retreat and gradually weaken the kingdom by taking control of the towns that had once been under his rule.

It was the exact overall strategic purpose the Velys crown had once tried to achieve with Losterling.

"How arrogant... to think she can take every holding in half a month..." Grant sneered, disdain curling his lips, but his gaze still crawled down the page.

He wasn’t stupid. If the Valeria Empire truly mobilized all its might as Astrid wrote, what could a border noble with no manpower reserves and no external supplies do against iron cavalry outfitted with mana devices?

Without an Arcanist mage intervening, resisting a fortnight of assaults might be possible, but without reinforcements his defeat would be inevitable.

From what he can see, the Velys royal court probably couldn’t sort out the rebellion within half a year; by the time they regained control, he might already be a pile of bones.

Astrid’s letter was impossible written merely to flaunt power and intimidation.

The tighter his brow grew the further he read; by the time he reached the final line his expression turned nearly feral.

"What a joke..." he asserted, and the hand that had been tapping the desk balled into a fist and slammed down.

"Want me to hand over control of all my troops... has Astrid gone mad..."

If he surrendered command, the only thing he could rely on would be his own strength, the power of an early Arcanist mage, and he didn’t believe Astrid’s motives were truly about rooting out villains. Strip away old grievances and look at cold interests: if she took his land and troops, and then killed the king, did she plan to give them back?

Swallowing the urge to tear the letter apart, he sat and forced his breathing to slow, his eyes filled with restrained rage.

He paused, then used an arcane factor to send a whisper to the servant outside, calling him in for a reply.

"What did the Church of Light say? Any news?"

"Reporting, Your Grace, aside from a reply two days ago, there’s nothing."

On the first day he detected changes at the border, Grant had reported to the Church of Light, claiming that heretics were preparing to counterattack and asking that the Church dispatch its knightly order to repel them.

The Church had replied only that they would send healers; with plague and upheaval in the capital they needed to keep their forces at home to stabilize things and could not spare knights.

So they were content to sacrifice him, make him the stone to slow the enemy.

Cursing the Church priests for their pious words and cowardly actions, Grant sat in silence long after dismissing the servant, his temple throbbing. Astrid hadn’t given him much time; if he fails to send a reply by tonight, negotiations will be considered void.

.................

"Astrid, do you think he’ll accept those terms?"

At Liya Tower Fortress, Lyra stood in the snow and watched the military stronghold to the northwest. She asked the woman beside her softly.

They hadn’t even reached Grant’s lands last time; now that the tables were turned, it was the Velys nobles who had to fear ruin.

Astrid was silent for a few seconds, then shook her head.

"Ninety‑nine percent he won’t."

"If I had to face those terms I wouldn’t negotiate either."

Handing over one’s army was like handing over a sword and shield; life or death would no longer be in your hands.

"Then why did you write him at all?"

If he wouldn’t negotiate, what was the point of the letter?

Astrid breathed out; a faint white mist blended into the howling wind and disappeared.

"To see whether Duke Grant has any sense. If he doesn’t, we’ll reduce certain siege losses. It’s just a letter, it doesn’t take me long."

"And to show the other nobles I’m not without room for negotiation."

"Taking Grant is only because he stands in our way. I have a legitimate reason to take his lands rather than it being some vendetta."

Noble acts were always grounded in interests. Just as the Kingdom of Velys’ war against the Valeria Empire had little to do with the banners they raised, talk of giving fertile land to the people, actual spoils and territory ended up in noble pockets.

Likewise, the Velys nobles would assume Amalia’ reconquest was for profit, land and wealth, not for consoling dead soldiers or punishing war criminals.

If Astrid, the regent, claimed she wanted only people and not gold, would the nobles and Amalia’ own court accept that?

When the war broke out, someone’s slice of the cake had to be redistributed. Soldiers lost their lives; nobles lost feasts.

Hearing this, Lyra nodded, grasping Astrid’s intention.

"I think I understand."

Same strategy as before, divide the kingdom, strike decision points, and gradually eat it away.

Astrid’s lips are curved; she adjusted Lyra’s scarf and spoke softly.

"Although the Church of Light’s forces here are limited, out of caution we’ll attack on nights when light‑element particles are thin and dark‑element particles abundant."

"If you want to fight, Lyra, keep your power restrained to peak tier Magnus level. Don’t cross the line and scare the other nobles."

They didn’t care about dividing up Grant’s territory; if Lyra used an Arcanist mage’s power and threatened those nobles’ lives, things wouldn’t be so easily smoothed over.

"I understand."

Astrid reached into a storage space of her silk gloves and took out two bottles of dark‑green potion.

"For insurance, drink one of these."

Lyra blinked, took the crystal vial without suspicion, removed the stopper, and downed it.

"Ugh... it’s bitter..."

"Not even asking what it is before you drink?"

"If Astrid gives it, it’s for me." Lyra answered.

Astrid was perhaps a little harsher with her in intimate moments, but otherwise was indulgent to excess. Lyra trusted her completely.

Seeing Lyra’s bright, trusting eyes made Astrid’s own pulse quicken, this clumsy knight could be disarmingly sincere.

"It’s a transfiguration potion. It conceals your original appearance."

"So you won’t be exposed."

The only problem was some soldiers might have seen Lyra before; the glamor could conform to a concrete image rather than a vague concept.

That was why when Amalia had drunk a potion and saw Astrid as Anno, the root logic lay in Amalia’ longing for blood ties and for an "older sister" figure, wanting to be treated gently by such an existence.

Still, it wasn’t a big issue. Lyra will cast an extra arcane barrier to block scrying during battle; the potion was only the final guarantee. Astrid would drink alone.

"An improved version of the transfiguration potion you used before?" Lyra asked.

As a maid, she’d once seen Astrid use such a potion, Astrid had treated her like a test subject, poking and sniffing, even peeking under the maid skirt, leaving only two inner slips and thigh‑high white stockings at the end of the so‑called experiment.

Thinking of that, Lyra’s awkward memory washed over her. Back then she had regarded Astrid as a wicked imperial noble and felt conflicted; her body had not resisted Astrid’s touch when pressed to the bed, the first sensation had been embarrassed, not disgusted.

Wait, had she already liked Astrid then?

Astrid didn’t deny it. She took the other bottle and drank.

"Didn’t you notice the taste is similar?"

"It was so bad I wanted to vomit."

"I only drank it once; I’d almost forgotten the taste," Lyra murmured.

Unlike Astrid, who had drunk such potions nightly just to appear at her best for the waif trapped in the old castle.

When Astrid finished speaking, Lyra felt no other change. She pursed her lips and asked quietly.

"Astrid... what do I look like now?"

If she’d become some other woman’s shape, she might make a fuss once the war was over.

Astrid blinked and really seemed to study her for a moment. Then, gentle as a whisper:

"You haven’t changed, only the outfit."

"Huh?"

Lyra froze. The memories she’d been suppressing bubbled up again. The last time Astrid had used a transfiguration potion, the image had been of her in armor.

"Like wearing the Holy Knight’s armor?" Lyra asked.

Astrid shook her head. "No."

"Black and white dress. White skirt trim, black skirt body. White silk wristbands at the wrists, white thigh‑high stockings with lace edging, and black maid shoes at the bottom."

After a moment’s silence Lyra asserted.

"...Isn’t that just the regent’s bedchamber maid uniform?"

Having worn it for so long, she knew it well.

Then she noticed the blind spot in her thought and looked up at Astrid.

"That’s not right... When I was your personal maid you saw me in armor. Now I look a bit like a knight, and you want to see me as a maid."

"Astrid is greedy," Lyra said with a blush.

And somehow it felt as if Astrid had laid eyes on every inch of her body.

Seeing the faint shyness in Lyra’s blue eyes, Astrid smiled, tugged her cheek, and took her hand, leading her down from the high parapet.

"Lyra... you’re starting to look like a pig."

"Where am I a pig...?"

"The regent’s maid outfit, do you really don’t know if the skirt is short enough for me to see the lace at the top of your stockings?"

Smiling, Astrid pinched Lyra’s cheek and led her away. She hoped the little knight would use her head and think this through.