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chapter 1
“All you had to do was just say ‘I’m sorry,’ yet you made it into some kind of serious confession, creating this dramatic atmosphere.”
“This is absurd. So, in your empire, if someone gets beaten up, you just say, ‘Oh, my bad,’ and move on?”
“The ridiculous part is on your side. Do you think our people are some kind of back-alley thugs?”
“Who said that?”
The faint fragrance of flowers, the soft candlelight that stirred a strange excitement, and the bed draped with red curtains all suggested a bridal chamber. Yet the couple, dressed in clothes thin enough to barely cover their skin, had just been wed a few hours earlier and were busy quarreling with veins bulging in their necks.
A woman with jet-black hair roughly swept back frowned, her delicate white face set in anger.
“If I get hit once, I return two blows. That’s how we apologize, Your Majesty.”
A man, appearing as gentle as a big dog, widened his eyes and slammed his hand on the table.
“What kind of apology is that! In which country is that considered an apology?”
“In ours.”
The woman snorted. The man, staring at her in disbelief, let out a soft laugh and turned his face away. Like stubborn children, they avoided each other, yet coincidentally shared the same thought: What is even happening here?
“This cannot be allowed!”
The earsplitting, booming voice belonged to Commander Merton. His large face flushed with anger, and the thick sandy-colored sideburns growing along his ears stood out more than usual.
“How can you treat Her Highness the Princess this way! Not only are you breaking the wishes of the late Emperor, but now this…!”
“Silence, Merton.”
A low, commanding voice echoed from behind a hanging curtain, obscuring the speaker’s upper body but unmistakably female. Though not particularly tall, her natural authority froze the expressions of the other commanders sitting beside her.
As the curtain and clothing shifted slightly, the figure of Princess Erdene was revealed.
Her hands, clasped as if in prayer, were strong rather than delicate, covered in calluses and scars. A long scar ran along her jawline, though it was not easily noticeable at a glance. The contrast of her fierce, stubborn-looking beauty against her rough hands was striking.
Her adjutant, Telma, who commanded the Eril Knights—an elite force of the empire—spoke with barely restrained anger.
“Merton’s argument isn’t without merit. Your Highness endured so much to lead the war against Biotin to victory. After returning triumphant, isn’t it only right that the Princess wear the empire’s crown? And yet…”
“Silence. It has already been decided.”
Erdene ground her teeth in warning, and even the usually outspoken Telma pressed her lips together. A tense silence followed.
But the silence offered no comfort to Erdene’s despair. How could it? Her eyes, swollen red with unspeakable rage and bitter hatred, trembled faintly. Telma could not restrain herself and spoke again.
“Your Highness, this is truly… unreasonable.”
“And what will you do about it?”
Erdene glared at Telma. Without raising her voice, the room grew icy.
“I asked what you will do, Telma. The imperial edict has been issued, and by tomorrow dawn, I must leave this place. Will you, in that time, fetch the new Emperor’s head? Do you have the nerve?”
Telma’s mouth dropped open. While all commanders and officers were loyal to Erdene, her words amounted to a death sentence. Worse, it became clear that Erdene actually expected this.
She snorted at Telma.
“Then speak no more, or I might cut off your head.”
A heavy silence fell again. The veteran commanders, hardened by years of warfare, looked more sorrowful than any defeated soldier.
Just as Erdene thought, Soon someone will break down crying, a sob indeed came from somewhere.
Only Commander Aiman, teased for his large head and potato-like features, was shedding tears, lips and nose contorted as his armor clinked faintly with his trembling.
Oddly, his sobbing gave Erdene a slight sense of relief. She looked over her bowed subordinates and scolded Aiman.
“Don’t wail like a bear, you ugly brute. You’re not going to die.”
Her attempt at humor fell flat; her troops remained silent and grim. And she understood why—they were heading into death, in a sense. At least part of her already felt dead.
The Hirschsten Empire, dominating the vast northern regions of the Singuls Continent, was famous for its citizens’ aggressive and warlike nature.
Its territory was larger than any inland nation but barren, with jagged mountains and scarce farmland. The long winters and scorching summers demanded strength; only the strong survived.
“To have even secured the gold mines! All thanks to Your Highness’s bold strategy!”
Erdene sat unwavering atop a massive warhorse, leading thousands of soldiers. When Aiman, in the rear, laughed heartily, Telma, opposite him, shook her clenched fist.
“Of course! Those Biotin rodents held on for over a year, but who do you think we are? Picking the wrong target was their fatal mistake.”
The Hirschsten Empire always eyed the fertile kingdoms beyond its rocky, marshy borders. From Biotin, they gained plains, swamplands, and mines. Soldiers’ morale soared as they returned victorious.
Yet Erdene had not smiled since the war ended. Despite a year-long campaign, the journey back brought no joy.
Telma, noticing, asked cautiously,
“Your Highness, why so serious?”
Erdene furrowed her brow, gripping the reins. Something felt wrong… like a heavy, damp lump lodged under her armor, prickling and annoying her. Worst of all, she didn’t know why.
“Your Highness, you’re not ill, are you?”
Even Commander Merton, usually unconcerned, spoke in worry. Erdene scowled.
“Do I look sick? No. It’s like… I can’t tell if I cleaned myself after relieving myself. That’s why I’m irritated.”
Aiman exhaled through his lips.
“And if you didn’t? After swinging a sword for three days straight in armor, it’ll…”
“Quiet, you filthy fool. That’s not what I mean.”
Telma intervened.
“Then what’s the cause? Your complexion is grim.”
Erdene only glanced at Telma, silence stretching.
“Telma, how long has it been since we began the war with Biotin?”
“One year and one month, Your Highness.”
Erdene nodded.
“Yes. How much back-and-forth did we endure over that time? Against those puny fools? We expected three months but it took far longer. Didn’t you hear about the Emperor’s passing only belatedly?”
The commanders went silent, solemn. Aiman, however, ground his teeth in frustration.
“This seat was meant for Your Highness.”
Erdene chuckled.
“And what of it? The Hirschsten Golden Castle and the Emperor’s crown are already in my brother’s hands.”
Her expression showed displeasure. During the year-long campaign, her father, Selem, Emperor of Hirschsten and Erdene’s father, had passed away. At departure, he had been strong and healthy; the news was absurd.
Worse, her twin brother Tenek had ascended as the new emperor.
[In Hirschsten, martial skill is paramount. Erdene, my brave daughter, the next emperor’s seat is yours. Though you are only fifteen, even my elite guards falter before you.]
Selem had long intended Erdene as his heir. She trained in martial arts and learned all the skills a ruler needed. All of it, gone.
Erdene continued,
“After six months, we almost wiped Biotin from the map. Yet they endured, escaped—so strangely skillful.”
Merton nodded.
“Indeed, we found it odd. Escapes from your elite troops in the Hirschsten army were unprecedented. Only three, and all died, but still.”
“Exactly, Merton. Biotin even thwarted our plans once or twice. Surely a spy was among them. We searched thoroughly, but never found who. And yet…”
Erdene’s blue eyes flashed with something strange.
“To have our victory end so empty… can you understand it?”
Telma responded,
“Some soldiers feel uneasy as well. Though Your Highness’s flanking cavalry struck decisively, why resist so stubbornly when surrender was so easy?”
Erdene’s gaze drifted toward the distant, swaying horizon. Lost in thought, all commanders except Telma quietly stepped back.
A war that ended too easily…
In retrospect, it seemed the events had already been foretold.
