1

Page was turned and Ostaria turned to Hectaria on the calendar, while the City of Lords continued to bask in the shine of the winter sun. Many felt the weather at this time of the year was most ideal for human life, being neither too hot nor uncomfortably cold. Refreshingly humid and easy to work in. On the surface, all of the land seemed to be at peace, and the citizens carried about their business in outwards visible contentment.

Yet, an indescribable tension smoldered behind the scenes. It was as if people and nature alike were quietly bracing themselves for a fierce trial, the nature of which they could not name. That prickly tension was buried under the many layers of everyday life, present time distractions hogging conscious attention, but it could never be quite forgotten. In this sense, the Imperial Palace was no different from the fish markets or pawn shops or millers or blacksmiths. The same ambiguous foreboding lurked also in its tall rooms and hallway shadows.

However, over the past few days, the palace workers had gained an additional cause for restlessness, which no one else in the city could know about. The normally dignified bastion of rule had turned into the equivalent of a gunpowder storage, where the slightest, careless spark of friction could turn into much noise and flame.

Yuliana found herself constantly on the edge, even when engaged in harmless paperwork in the silence of her favorite east wing office. Her pen stopped at the faintest sound perceived from the hallway outside, and she couldn’t keep going until ascertaining its source.

Yes, there was noise—again—and it appeared to be coming closer.

She hoped it would pass her room, but her hope was, as expected, useless.

Soon enough the tall wood door swung wide open and a trio of agitated people barged in unannounced. Two of them were Yuliana’s personal maids, and the third one certain Lady Millanueve De Guillon, the latest addition to the palace workforce.

The maiden’s face was bright red, her wheaty brow contorted in clear discontentment.

“Your majesty!” Millanueve cried as she stopped in front of Yuliana’s desk and waved at the servants. “Please do something about these twisted maids! This cannot go on any longer!”

“What is it this time…?” Yuliana asked, her effort at a smile distorted by a simultaneous grimace.

“A lot of noise over nothing, that’s what it is,” one of the maids, Tilfa, reported. “I don’t see what is so ‘twisted’ about pointing out simple facts. And the fact is, I have never in my life seen a person so utterly incompetent at making a bed; one of the rudimentary skills anyone calling themselves a civilized woman should master in early childhood. It beggars belief.”

“Indeed,” the second of the maids, Hila, concurred. “Lady Millanueve appeared such a stranger to the use of bedclothes, I had to wonder if she hadn’t made it through life, night to night, only borrowing the beds of strangers. I believe it is a justified line of inquiry.”

“Why, I’ve never—!” Millanueve flared at the maids. “Oh, you’re just being mean for no reason! I’m not used to your weird ways of folding the sheets, that’s all! Beds this, beds that—why must it be so overly complicated, anyway? So what if it’s not completely even and spotless? Nothing in life is perfect! And everyone has things they don’t know! I bet neither of you could pitch a tent in the wild to save your lives!”

“No kidding?” Tilfa responded, little impressed. “Why would a servant of actual competence and prestige, such as myself, ever set up a tent in the wild? Neither do I dress in skins, or eat raw meat, or whatever it is that Lady Millanueve’s people habitually do. I am only proud to say such skills are not part of my arsenal.”

“Certainly,” Hila said, “I am a natural born woman and have nothing between my legs I could pitch tents with. Doesn’t that go without saying? What is this person talking about? Is she alright?”

“—AAAAAA NOT ANOTHER WORD!” Millanueve cried, covering her flushed face in her hands. “I just remembered something from the past I never want to recall again! Why must you be so evil!? I was only trying to help!”

“The fundamental point of ‘helping’ is to make work easier for everyone and not only create more work,” Tilfa told her.

“True enough,” Hila concurred, “watching those absurd milk jugs shake at close range has made my work day ten times more difficult than it ought to be. I only have eyes for her majesty, of course, but having my dedication constantly tested like this adds an unnecessary dimension of stress in my life.”

“Where are you looking, you deranged maid!?” Millanueve retreated with a furious blush and covered her chest with her arms. “There’s nothing I can do about the way my body is! If you don’t like it, then don’t look!”

“Is that your tactic for skipping work? Tch, so success really is tied to cup size?”

“Enough! You won’t need to see me ever again, because I’m done with this job! I quit! I want nothing to do with you two anymore!”

“Eh?” Hila stood visibly shocked by the declaration. “It was that easy all along?”

Meanwhile, it was getting harder and harder for Yuliana to keep her smile as she followed the conversation from the side.

“I do think you should be a bit nicer to each other,” she said, “but Millanueve...This is already the twenty-third job you’ve quit this week.”

“Uwuwuwu….” Millanueve looked down in shame, her large eyes watering up.

“Ah, not that I’m faulting you!” Yuliana hurried to add. “Oh no! I told you before that you didn’t need to push yourself to work, if you weren’t up to it. You could just as well play and enjoy the city…”

“—No, that won’t do!” Millanueve quickly replied. “I must repay the favor! I will find something I’m good at, your majesty! Sooner or later. Something I can do just as well as anyone else, if not better! Something of actual value and importance! I just need a little more time to find it…”

“With all due respect,” Tilfa interjected, “I’d appreciate it if Lady Millanueve did her soul-searching elsewhere—at a safe distance from the palace.”

“Likewise,” Hila added, “I’m sure there are places elsewhere, closer to her caliber, where gray cells are not a requirement.”

Yuliana silenced the maids with a narrow-eyed look of disapproval.

Of course, she could tell well enough they acted the way they did not only out of professional pride, or aimless malice, but because they were jealous of the preferential treatment she was giving Millanueve. As such, life at the palace was unlikely to get any easier on the girl.

Had Yuliana made a mistake in her kindness, after all? Good intentions were worthless if they caused more problems than they solved.

Still, the sad truth was that finding a job suitable for Millanueve was easier said than done. Despite her self-proclaimed skill with horses, she had found the steeds at the palace stables less than cooperative, being of a different breed and larger build than she was used to.

There was something of a difference in mentality too.

“—Why won’t you listen to what I tell you!?” She had been seen ranting at the disobedient stallions, unable to get them to move in any direction.

“They’re horses,” the stablemaster had reminded her. “They can’t understand what you say.”

“All the horses we had back home could understand me!” she insisted.

“That’s impossible…”

In the palace kitchen, Millanueve had managed to boil down a soup stock due to her absent-mindedness, and nearly ruined the menu for an important diplomatic conference, right before service. And was thus banned from the kitchens for life.

“I have never seen a more absurd person in my life!” the aggrieved head cook had said in his complaints to Yuliana, trying to put the matter as civilly as he could.

Filling in for the internal mail courier, Millanueve had delivered an important letter to the wrong person. The recipient had corrected the mistake, but had the same happened under the old regime, he could’ve been imprisoned, or even executed, for being exposed to information not meant for him.

“These long-winded foreign names are too difficult for me to read!” Millanueve had pleaded her case. “The cursive is all wrong too!”

Serving as a Court Wizard’s assistant had proved no more fruitful, despite the glamorous job description. Being a stranger to magecraft, Millanueve shouldn’t have been able to cause widespread destruction, yet only sweeping floors nearly had fateful consequences.

“Hey. Where did you put all the notes I left on the floor?” Margitte had enquired the new assistant in confusion, coming back to her spotless clean chamber after her palace shift.

“Those used-up papers?” Millanueve had innocently replied. “I took them out with the burnable garbage, of course.”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY—!?”

By the end of the week, the list of complaints addressed to Yuliana for recommending such a calamity of a person had grown quite long.

“I’m sorry,” Millanueve apologized, hanging her head. “Because of my incompetence, I’ve caused trouble for your majesty…”

“Oh, you mustn’t let a few setbacks get to you!” Yuliana told the girl. “As you said yourself, we all have our own strong points and weaknesses alike. But, rather than trying to do just about anything asked of you, I feel you should think more about what you personally want to do. What really calls you.”

“What I want to do…?” Millanueve thoughtfully repeated. “Come to think of it, this reminds me of a children’s book my father gave me as a birthday present, when I was still little. He would often read it to me before bed, so it’s still clear in my mind.”

“Really? What kind of a book was it?” Yuliana asked.

“It was a story with pictures, about five little piglets searching their place in the world. ‘Follow your heart’, is what their mother told them, before sending them away from home to find their fortune. One piggie became a painter. One became a farmer. One became a banker. The fourth one became a cook, I think. And so they all found their role and lived happy for the rest of their lives.”

“I see. And the fifth one?”

“The last piglet was eaten by a wolf,” Millanueve answered. “On the last page of the book was a picture of the wolf licking its lips, the piglet in its tummy, saying ‘there’s a place for everyone!’”

“Ehhh…”

By this point, Yuliana could no longer even fake a smile. But the morbid humor of the tale appeared lost on Millanueve herself. She had been raised from the child up to think this was not a comical exaggeration, or a loose parable, but the very essence of life itself.

“’Don’t become that piglet, Milla,’ my father would always tell me. ‘You must find your place in the world before the wolf eats you too’. But try as I might, it doesn’t mean there really is a role for everyone out there. There are so many people—just how many, I never realized until I saw this city. Maybe some of us were born only to be eaten by wolves?”

“…Certainly, this story explains a great deal about Lady Millanueve’s character,” Tilfa remarked.

“What is that supposed to mean!?” Millanueve snapped in response.

“Nothing in particular.”

“You were thinking about something mean again!”

“Why fear wolves?” Hila asked her. “I dare say you’ve had more than a few pigs and their mom, to end up like that.”

“YOU—!”

“—Easy now!” Yuliana interrupted them. “You mustn’t be provoked! At any rate, there are no wolves in here and our society is definitely not going to run out of work only by people doing it. Take your time and think calmly about your strengths and interests, and you will have your answer. I’m sure.”

“I’ve been thinking and thinking,” Millanueve replied and looked up to the ceiling. “But what I want is just to be of service to others. It wouldn’t count as repayment for the good things I’ve been given, if I only did what makes me personally happy. I ought to do what is most needed by the people at the palace, yes? But I wouldn’t know what I really can do here, unless I try a bit of everything first.”

“If I may,” Hila said, “I could think up plenty of fitting occupations for someone like Lady Millanueve. Starting with a wet nurse.”

“Why you, always—!” Millanueve spun to the maid with an enraged look.

“I am her majesty’s servant, violence is forbidden!” Hila hurriedly took cover behind her colleague.

“You call yourself a servant when all you do is bully others without a moment’s rest! Someone ought to teach you proper manners!”

“Where wit ends, brute force begins!” the maid replied.

“Some people are beyond words!”

“Yes, I reckon it wasn’t your words they wanted, the owners of those beds you borrowed!”

“Aaa, hold still, you devil of a maid!”

“Haha! You’re so slow, the wolf will catch you!”

Losing her temper completely, Millanueve went chasing after Hila in a circle around Tilfa. Tilfa had nowhere to escape, and could only stand still and pray she could remain uninvolved in this maelstrom.

“—That’s enough, all of you!” Yuliana exclaimed all of a sudden. She slammed her palms on the desk and stood. “This is no place for horsing around! If you have nothing better to do, then get out!”

“——!”

The three girls froze stiff before the desk, wearing horrified faces.

None of them had seen her majesty lose her cool like that before, but the look in Yuliana’s eyes made it clear she wasn’t joking in the slightest. Realizing the gravity of their blunder, the three troublemakers swiftly formed a line, bowed, and took their exit without another word.

Once they were gone, Yuliana fell back down on her chair with a heavy sigh, rubbed her tired eyes, and already regretted her outburst.

“Even though the world could end…”

2

The three servants—though one of them was technically not—slouched crestfallen down the dimly lit hallway. It took quite some time before any of them could muster the will for words, shocked and penitent as they were. Then, as the one perhaps most professional among them, Tilfa regained her usual diplomatic air.

“Well then, shall we resume the rehearsals?” she asked the assistant. “There are still plenty of rooms for you to clean.”

Millanueve stopped and answered the maid with a sullen look,

“I told you, I want nothing to do with you lot anymore! Her majesty got angry at me because of your childish nonsense! I’m going to look for more respectable work somewhere else, with more respectable people.”

“As a wet nurse?” Hila asked.

“NOW—!”

“—Lady Millanueve,” Tilfa interrupted the two before the earlier quarrel could resume in earnest. “Perhaps sooner than blaming others, you should see the problem in yourself. I can tell you now, you’re not going to be of use to anyone in this city with an attitude like that! Do you actually wish to work for others’ sake? Or only your own consolation? Not work for work’s sake, but just to have the illusion of being needed? This isn’t your home barony anymore, where everyone kisses your butt day in and out. You are nobody here! I suggest you act like it! Fix your own, pampered self first, before you expect others to bend to your whims.”

“What!?” Millanueve recoiled, stunned. “That is not true at all! I expect nothing of the sort, and I’m doing the best I can, all of the time! But I can’t just stand there and take it when me or my people are slandered! I have pride and honor too! And I refuse to suffer injustice in my sight, if there’s anything I can do about it!”

“Well, some of us must!” Tilfa retorted, raising her voice. Seeing the spark of anger in her eyes, Millanueve fell quiet.

“Nothing about life is fair or just!” the maid told her. “Not all of us have friends in high places and convenient connections. So yes, we stand there and suffer it! No matter how we’re beaten and slandered! There is our pride and honor. That is the role of a servant, a world of which you evidently know nothing about. Keep up as you are, and you’ll only face a mountain of trouble after another, and nothing but. Your idea of justice is nothing but the selfishness of a sheltered child. Then, have a nice day.”

The maids departed along the hallway, while Millanueve was left to stand behind. As they went, Hila looked back over her shoulder and stuck out her tongue, before hurrying on.

“Bleeeh!”

“Khhh….!” Millanueve shook fist at the misbehaving maid, but soon drifted back into apathy. She looked down at her small palm and sighed. “What am I doing…? Didn’t I come here to change myself? To get just a little bit stronger. Strong—like her…”

The girl drew a deep breath and turned the other way, towards the palace entrance.

——“Oh, what has the wind brought in?”

At that moment, she saw a young man step along the carpet towards her and stopped. A slim, tanned minstrel in casual clothes, carrying an old lute on his back. It took Millanueve a moment to accept the sight before her eyes as real, and not only another comforting daydream.

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“Sir Waramoti…!” she called the youth’s name in surprise.

“Yo.” The bard stopped and greeted the girl with a charming smirk and a wave of his hand. “How have you been? On the outside, at least, I see the past summer has done little to diminish your shine. Certainly, you look every bit as lovely as memory assures, if not even more so. But, you’ve cut your hair? The new style does suit you, I give you that, but…why? Those locks of yours were the stuff of legend.”

“Your appearance, on the other hand, still takes some getting used to,” Millanueve replied with a wry smile, evading the question and the empty flattery.

“No joke? It took Izumi closer to three weeks to stop jumping every time she’d see me. Am I really so different now?”

“’Different’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. Even now, I can’t believe you are the same person.”

“Well, all the better for me,” Waramoti replied with a carefree shrug. “I don’t want to go back to being a brute, nor be mistaken as one, that is a given. The baggage of a troubled past is better shed off at once, like amputating a rotten limb!”

To speak of the past...Millanueve looked away.

“...Aren’t you surprised at all?” she asked the bard with a bitter smile. “That I’d show up in such a place? After everything that happened. Aren’t you going to tell me I shouldn’t be here?”

“Not at all,” Waramoti answered, against her expectations. “If anything, I always considered this outcome as nothing short of inevitable. If your heart was genuine, that is.”

“My heart?”

“Indeed! It’s all about heart, friend. That being said, I admit I am awed that you’ve made as far as you have. Alas, yet farther still you must go, if you are to reach that which you seek. Farther and farther, and beyond. Do you think you’re up to it?”

Millanueve soon gave up trying to make sense of his mysterious speech.

“As always, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said. “I might have preferred your old frankness to so much waxing lyrical. As much as you’ve changed, perhaps you should work to change yourself a little more? Or you might end up hated.”

“Ow.” The bard grimaced. “Have you maybe grown thornier since the last we met? Not that I’m criticizing! No, every rose must have its pointy sides, I’m sure.”

“I’m not a flower,” she scolded him. “I’m a person.”

“Begging your pardon!” Waramoti laughed. “But, on a different note, I couldn’t help but overhear bits and pieces of your conversation with the servants back there. Are you having some sort of trouble, mayhap?”

“Well, I’m not sure if you can call it real ‘trouble’…” Millanueve answered and her expression grew clouded when she recalled the original topic. “As busy as she is, the Empress was kind enough to arrange me a room in the palace, and money to spend, and new clothes, and company, yet I’ve done precious little to thank her for that. All I do is bother her more, whatever I do.”

“I see.” The bard nodded in understanding and wiped his chin. “So there’s the rub.”

“You know what I could do, don’t you?” She turned to him, her face brightened up by hope again. “You know me well, and you always have a ready answer for everything! So tell me, Sir Waramoti, what could I do to best help her majesty, as I am? I’ll do whatever I have to!” Shortly, with less confidence, she added, “...Except, I won’t be a wet nurse. Or do stable work. Or deliveries. And I’m banned from the kitchens. Also, Margitte told me to never show my face near her quarters again, so nothing in that direction. And…”

“—Alright, alright, I get the picture,” Waramoti interrupted Millanueve with a troubled laugh. “Something an enterprising but less than educated young lady may do to benefit the Sovereign of the Western Continent, eh…?”

“I can’t be so useless there’s nothing at all…!” she bemoaned, clutching her head in despair.

Unexpectedly, Waramoti didn’t take very long to think it over. He soon turned his gaze back at the girl with a bit of an apologetic smile.

“Even at the risk of sounding too obvious, you were a knight in Ludegwert, yes? Then why would you ever try to force yourself to be a maid, or a cook, or whatnot? Anyone would find such plans absurd! No. Who has once danced with wolves is a lamb no more! If I happened to be in your boots, I’d march to the army command before anything else.”

“Eeh…? The army?” Millanueve furrowed her brow at the suggestion. “But I don’t want to go to war!”

“There are no wars currently on-going, to my knowledge,” he patiently explained. “As you should know, being a knight isn’t only about killing, yes? The palace is ever in need of watchful eyes. The Imperial Guard seems to me a perfect fit for one with a steady blade hand and a rigid sense of justice. A reputable job, by which to directly repay her majesty’s kindness, all the while remaining at the forefront of destiny; that’s two plumb birds down with a singular stone. Not a bad idea, is it?”

“You think so…?” she pondered, still far from convinced. “But the Barony’s force is just a poor jest compared to Tratovia’s legions. I’ve heard only the best of the best make it to the Imperial Guard; their standards must be much too high for me! Would they even hear a girl like me? No one took me seriously back home either. It’s hopeless, isn’t it?”

“Well, you won’t know until you try,” the bard replied. “Worth a gamble, I should think. Unless you have better plans at the moment?”

Frustrating as it was to admit, Millanueve had none. She thought for a moment and began to see the upsides in the suggestion.

Did it actually matter, even if she humiliated herself once again? What did she have left to lose? The Empress’s gifts and favor? But receiving such things was never the reason why she had journeyed to this land, and depending on them to get by would’ve made her no less wretched than the maids suggested.

“It’s like we’re still in that swamp,” she mumbled, “the destination is nowhere to be seen. There are perils everywhere. No guarantee of success. Yet, that person wouldn’t even think about turning back. It’s only with courage that you can reach your dreams. Isn’t that right?”

“I should say we humans each create our own swamp,” Waramoti replied. He resumed his journey, stepping leisurely past the girl. “Personally, I am more than content with not working and only playing! Safety, food, and shelter—to no cost at all! It was worth going through all those harrowing adventures, if this is the reward.”

“You know no shame, do you…?”

“None, whatsoever! But I can pen you a letter of recommendation, if you wish? I happen to still know a few big names from my wilder days. It could help you out.”

“I won’t need it,” Millanueve replied and departed the other way. “I’ll convince them by my own merits, or not at all! Otherwise, there’s no meaning.”

“That’s the spirit.” He smirked. “Like peas in a pod, eh…?”

“Huh?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He waved his hand and walked on. “Good luck! Let’s meet up for dinner later, aye? I’ll tell you all you’ve missed.”

3

The usual, regal silence was restored to the palace. Clouds drifted unhindered on the high sky beyond the window, as the sun crawled on along its path towards the eastern horizon. Little by little, the lack of sounds was beginning to get on Yuliana’s nerves for real.

“I went too far, didn’t I…?” she paused her pen and lamented for the dozenth time within the hour. “Maybe I should go and apologize…? She must’ve got the wrong impression…”

Then someone knocked on the door. With a spontaneous smile of relief and gladness, her majesty looked up to welcome the guest, but against her expectations, only the robust figure of General Monterey entered.

Yuliana quickly forced her face formally neutral again.

“Your majesty,” the General greeted her with a nod of his head, carrying a thick folder of documents under his arm. “Here’s our first draft for the travel plan, fresh from the HQ. Some of the personnel choices are still pending, but the main outline is ready for your review.”

“Thank you for your work,” she cordially replied. “I’ll have a look right away.”

The General brought over the materials. Yuliana set aside her other business, cleared some space, and began to leaf through the stack of pages.

“Our strategists prioritized mobility over firepower in their plan, as you wished,” Monterey explained. “A small force, chiefly cavalry, utterly lacking in comforts and luxuries. But even with minimum personnel and equipment, it will still take at least six weeks to reach the Kingdom, provided the weather remains favorable along the way.”

“Six weeks…” Yuliana repeated, biting her lip. “That leaves us barely two months until New Year, not even counting the return trip.”

“Regarding that, we’ve already made arrangements with the Principality’s side,” the General continued. “Efastopol has kindly agreed to lend their harbor, and will have a ship outfitted for you, for when you are ready to cross the sea. The trip there will be much shorter, and leaves us still ample time to reach the site of the Ritual. Or, at least make a solid attempt. We are to rendezvous with a team of our cirelo allies on the east coast, coordinated by Master Carmelia, and proceed from there by their means. It will be a tight race, but her eminence assures us it is possible. Of course, this is assuming our stay in the Kingdom will be fruitful, and will not cost us more than two weeks at most.”

“Changing the King’s mind overnight will likely be too much asked,” Yuliana said. “But we’re just going to have to do our best, and be as quick as we reasonably can. I still have connections among the chiefs of staff. They can’t be too happy with where my father has been taking the country. If I can convince them of our peaceful intentions, we may be able to force his majesty to concede the throne in favor of my mother. If nothing else works. It will not be pretty or pleasant, but it should stop an all-out war. At the very least, it’ll buy us time. If only we can keep them from making their move until the end of the age, then we can make it.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” the General casually commented.

Yuliana glanced at the man. There was no way the operation could actually be that simple. Surely he had more to say about it. Criticism, complaints, doubts, personal grievances...But Monterey retained a respectful silence. No matter how unreasonable the orders, he would follow through to the best of his ability—she felt more than fortunate to have found such a dependable ally. But also a tad guilty.

“I’m sorry,” she told him, “for forcing such absurd demands on you all the time…”

“Not at all,” the man answered. “Protecting our allies in Luctretz is our duty. It is also my personal opinion that you have the best chance out of all of us to prevent the war. That being said, if I may be frank, I believe it is mainly yourself you impose absurd demands to, trying to be in two places at the same time. As far as I see, there should be no reason for you to personally go to Amarno. As your majesty is doubtless aware, seeking the Heaven’s Pillar is likely to be a one-way trip, even setting aside the plausibility of this fabled ‘Ritual’. We have other people to send. Specialists trained for desperate situations, less essential to our governing. Would it not be fine to leave it to them?”

“If I told you it was destiny, would you believe me?” Yuliana tried.

“With all due respect,” Monterey replied with a faint smirk, “I don’t buy that crap.”

She could only smile bitterly in kind.

“It may seem far-fetched to you, General,” Yuliana said, leaning back on her chair, “but if this wild gamble pays off, it will fulfill more than one person’s dream. Everything is going to change. And then, when all is said and done, you’ll have a better, more qualified ruler for your proud land, General. And so too will Langoria…”

“I beg to disagree,” General Monterey replied.

“Hm?”

“There could be no one better.”

Yuliana looked at the General, surprised. He stood behind his words, looking nonchalant, as if merely stating an elementary fact. She had to exert conscious will not to let her smile turn into tears.

“Thank you,” she whispered and lowered her gaze.

“I shall leave you to review the documents in peace,” he said with a bow. But right as he was about to depart, the General suddenly halted and began to search his coat pocket. “Ah, yes, I almost forgot already. There came a message from the Intelligence Bureau earlier this morning. The Marshal told me to pass it to you.”

“Me?” Yuliana frowned.

He said no more but handed over the black, unmarked envelope.

“’For your eyes only’. Then, with your leave.”

Yuliana was soon alone again, turning the mysterious letter around in her hands. It was an intelligence report, yes? Why had the Marshal addressed it to her without even opening it? Did she already know what it said?

Ultimately, her curiosity got the better of her and Yuliana reached for the silvery paper knife on the corner of the desk.

4

The main force of the Imperial Guard had their quarters within Selenoreion, but despite his role as the Guard’s commander, Monterey’s personal office was in the main army headquarters a few miles east of the capitol district.

His was more a management job, after all. Attending meetings, shaping general policies and guidelines, planning exercises, passing reports to the Board and the Marshal, and more and more. The Guard had shift commanders, platoon commanders, patrol leaders, staff overseers, and others to manage the practical side of things, so the chief himself was mostly unneeded. The irony of army hierarchy.

Rather than standard military barracks, the army headquarters resembled a temple, and that is what the complex had likely been in the distant centuries. Today, the only thing worshiped in those pillar-framed marble mansions that reliefs of Divines decorated, was war. Or, had been, up until a very short while ago.

That cluster of stone buildings, which a tall wall surrounded, was divided between Central Command, Special Forces Command, Analytics Department, and Cadet School. There was a wide, stone-plated plaza between the buildings, which had been a ceremonial forum in the ancient times, or perhaps a market, but had since been made a parade ground.

Beyond rehearsing march patterns, cadets occasionally trained weapon forms on the airy plaza, but such classes had become rare these days. The troops would typically march out to Bureilion on their field days, where they didn’t need to worry about dirtying antique marble. Only smaller groups of cadets would sporadically review their training in the corner of the forum in their free time, but even this practice had dwindled in popularity. They were going to graduate as commanding officers and had a low chance of seeing personal combat, so why try any harder than needed?

Yet, it seemed the new course had a few unusual enthusiasts among them.

The noise of wood striking wood caught General Monterey’s attention as soon as he entered the gates and began his trek across the plaza. Sensing a rather heated tension in those sounds, he departed from his path without thinking, and went to have a closer look.

A very bizarre scene played out in the southeastern corner of the forum, shaded by apricot trees planted by the wall. There were some half a dozen cadets in their casual wear sprawled over the ground, red on the faces, covered in sweat and panting. A few stood further back spectating, wearing conflicted faces, as if unable to decide whether to laugh or cry.

In the middle of the haphazard circle stood a girl in civilian clothes, leaning on a wooden practice sword.

“Well, who’s next?” Millanueve looked around with a discontent scowl. “What? What is it? We only just got started, it’s still too soon for a break! Come at me like you mean it!”

“Give me a break!” a cadet on the ground lamented.

“’Only just started’!” another one added. “It’s been two hours already! How long are you going to keep this up!?”

More sour notes sounded from around.

“This isn’t real!? Get her out of here already!?”

“Who the Hel is she, anyway!?”

“This is ridiculous!”

“—What is going on here?” Monterey asked the nearest troop.

“General,” the young man struggled up to his tired feet and saluted. “I don’t know, sir! This girl came in and said she wanted to enlist. Then she said she wanted to test her strength before signing up, and challenged every one of us here to a sparring match. But no matter how we try, we can’t disarm her, and she refuses to let us go until we do! This is insane, sir! Could you please do something? I’m going to miss my afternoon classes!”

The General looked at the mixed group again, dumbstruck. These men and women may have been only cadets in training and not professional officers yet, but they were promising warriors all the same, hand-picked from the legions, and here on recommendation. It should have been out of the question that a civilian could win over any of them in terms of endurance or skill, even if they weren’t strictly fighting to kill.

Monterey then turned to Millanueve. “You are…?”

“What?” the girl turned to him with a dubious look. “You want to spar too? I don’t mind—but you might want to get a change of clothes first. That uniform doesn’t look easy to move in.”

Who would say such things to a general? The cadets covered their faces and groaned, anticipating terrible consequences for everyone involved. General Monterey took a step closer to the girl. He was almost three feet taller than she was, and weighed probably five times as much.

“You were that Baron’s heiress from Ludegwert, yes?” he said to her. “I saw you the other day in the palace. What are you doing here? This place is off-limits to civilians. Were you truly looking to enlist, or was that your idea of humor? No matter how you are her majesty’s confidant, there are jokes you can’t laugh at.”

“It’s no joke!” Millanueve insisted with an offended pout. “I’m looking for a job to help her majesty! I was a knight at home, so I thought I might be of some use here— but none of these people will face me in earnest! How am I supposed to prove my worth, if they won’t even give me a fair chance?”

“A fair...chance?” the General slowly repeated, furrowing his brow.

“That’s right!” She nodded. “Bodies this soft and slow, exhausted in only two hours—are you saying that’s the best the famed legionnaires I’ve heard so much about can do! Unbelievable! They’re only acting lazy so I would give up and go away, aren’t they? But I’ve been training night and day all summer, so that I wouldn’t lose to the elves, and I sure didn’t come here to be ridiculed like this! So I’m not going to let anyone go until they take me more seriously!”

For a moment, the General could only stare blankly at the girl. Then, eventually recovering from his stupefaction, he broke into a booming guffaw that sounded easily across the level forum.

“——BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!”

As warm as the General’s laughter was, it only served to dishearten the young maiden further. She hung her shoulders and breathed a weary sigh.

“So you’re only going to ridicule me too?”

4

The following day, Her Imperial Majesty could again be found seated on the Onyx Throne, ready to receive the guests of the day. She was in rather good spirits today. Not only was the weather fair again, she’d also received some long-waited good news. Moreover, she had managed to make up with Millanueve. Loftier future concerns aside, there seemed to be not a worry in the world that afternoon.

“You were able to find a job in the end then?” Yuliana asked the girl standing next to the throne. “Your very own place in the world?”

“Well, I suppose…” Millanueve evasively mumbled and shifted.

“I should be glad for you—Yet, you don’t seem that glad about it yourself?”

“How could I be?” the girl replied with a troubled pout. “They only told me to bring my sword and stand here, right next to you. But this isn’t work! It’s just play, isn’t it?”