With the supplies laid out before me, I braced myself to power through this before I could crawl into bed. Writing letters wasn’t exactly my idea of a thrilling evening, but it had to be done.

First up: creating the personal guard position. Officially.

In the palace, guards were chosen by some overly complex special nominee system that only a sadist could have designed.

It involved layers of bureaucracy so tangled you’d need a map, a translator, and probably a therapist to navigate. But here? No red tape. No pointless committee debates. Just me, my pen, and my complete lack of experience doing this the right way.

I kept it simple: “I empower Alma as my Captain of the Guard.”

And with a neat flick of the quill, yes a quill, I signed the letter, pressing my seal onto the parchment for that extra layer of officialness.

[Position of Guard Captain filled.]

I blinked at the notification. Wait… this system actually tracks that? My lips twitched upward in a faint smirk. This version of the system was practically spoon-feeding me like a baby bird. No complicated rituals or endless approvals—just “Bam, you’re Captain now.” Kind of refreshing, actually.

Curious, I tried experimenting. Uhm… employees? List? Guard? I mentally called out for some kind of roster to pop up, but nothing happened. Not even a spark. Well, worth a shot. Guess this isn’t THAT user-friendly, and it’s buggy.

“Pretender to be pretender…” prince murmured in my mind.

“What was that?” I whispered.

“I need to sleep… Don’t wake me up…” he sounded exhausted. Have I used his powers too much?

Satisfied with the letter, I hoped Alma would get the respect she deserved. Not from me, obviously. I wouldn’t respect myself either, not with how slapdash this process felt. But maybe the soldiers around here were more disciplined than I’d ever been.

Good luck, Alma.

Next up: another letter for Alma. This one was to the quartermaster, instructing them to issue her proper armor. Something better than the standard-issue clunk she was wearing now. The last thing I needed was my brand-new Captain being mistaken for a random soldier.

Or worse, losing a fight because her gear was a joke.

I pressed my seal onto that one too. “Done,” I muttered, stacking it neatly. Hopefully, the quartermaster doesn’t throw a tantrum.

The third letter was for Imperial Doan-Commander Mila. I owed him one—well, owed him an apology, at least. I’d dumped the entire defense of the fort on his shoulders while I wasn’t around, and he was probably two steps away from mutiny.

Can’t blame him, really.

I kept it professional, inviting him to meet me in the strategy room in an hour to discuss ‘defense planning.’ Translation: I’ll let him scream at me for a while, and then we’ll strategize.

Seal pressed. Letter done. I handed it to one of the couriers standing awkwardly nearby. “Do you know Mila?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

“Of course, Lady!” he yelled, grabbing the letter like it was a prized artifact. He spun around to dash off—only to immediately trip over the doorframe. With a yelp and a spectacular flail of limbs, he disappeared into the hallway, leaving behind only the faint echo of his clattering footsteps.

I stared at the open door, blinking in disbelief. What the hell just happened?

From her post outside, Alma turned to look at me, her face mirroring my confusion. Our eyes met, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. Then, as if deciding she’d rather not know, Alma slowly reached out and closed the door.

Good call.

I exhaled a long breath and slumped back in my chair, rubbing my temples. “This fort’s going to be the death of me,” I muttered. But despite the chaos, a small smile crept onto my lips. Things were messy, sure—but I was finding my rhythm.

Sort of.

The imperial attaché—the nameless idiot of polished clothing and inflated ego—needed to be part of the defense's discussion.

As much as I hated the idea of including someone who practically oozed smug superiority, his input might actually matter. If nothing else, having him in the room would keep him from complaining later that I’d ignored his oh-so-important perspective.

I hate politics.

I sighed, my pen hovering over the parchment. What was his name? Did he even tell me?

Probably not.

He had the same air of self-importance as those snobs back in the palace, the ones who loved titles more than they loved breathing. My fingers tapped idly against the desk as I debated how to address him. Eventually, I settled for the vague-but-polite approach: “To the Imperial Attaché.”

The letter itself was short and to the point: an invitation to join the meeting with Commander Mila in one hour and a half. Half an hour felt fair—enough time for Mila to yell at me uninterrupted before the attaché sauntered in with whatever grand ideas he had.

With the letter signed and sealed, I glanced up at another courier lingering near the table.

She looked young—probably not much older than the others—and she stood at stiff attention like a recruit waiting for a drill sergeant’s wrath. Her wide eyes flicked nervously between me and the letter in my hand.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Could you deliver this to the imperial attaché?” I asked, holding out the letter. She nodded so quickly it was almost comical, her enthusiasm shining off her in waves.

“This isn’t time-sensitive,” I added, watching her closely. “If you can get it to him within half an hour, that’s fine.”

Her face split into a wide grin, and she nodded again, so fast I half expected her head to pop off. Without a single word, she darted forward, snatched the letter from my hand, and bolted for the door like a clean priestess fleeing a mud wolf.

I blinked, stunned by the sudden burst of energy. “Uh… okay?” I muttered, watching her disappear down the hall at a dead sprint.

The door swung slightly in her wake, creaking on its hinges as it settled back into place. Why are they all running like their lives depend on it?

Did someone spread a rumor about me being terrifying?

Outside, Alma peeked into the room, her expression a mix of concern and bemusement. Our eyes met, and I gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “Is this normal?” I asked, pointing in the direction the courier had fled.

Alma tilted her head, considering the question. Then, with the same deliberate slowness as before, she reached out and closed the door.

Guess that’s a yes.

I glanced at the last courier, who looked like he was about to faint from sheer nerves. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his hands were trembling, and he had the unmistakable air of someone about to face the firing squad.

“Why are they running so fast?” I asked, keeping my tone casual but firm enough to draw a straight answer.

His eyes widened in pure panic. “Please don’t throw me in the dungeon!” he blurted, his words tumbling out like a dam breaking. “I’m new here! I’m not that good at fighting, and I swear I’ll do better!”

I blinked, momentarily stunned by the outburst. Then, with a groan, I pinched the bridge of my nose and massaged my face.

“Soldier,” I said, forcing myself to adopt a more composed tone as I looked him in the eye. “Why would I throw you in a dungeon? It’s not a punishment—it’s for fighting monsters and improving skills. Not… whatever you think this is.”

He hesitated, still breathing heavily like he’d just sprinted a marathon. “But Sir Lucas said…” He trailed off, gulping audibly before rushing to explain. “He said if we don’t fulfill our roles, you’d get furious and punish us!”

I froze for a moment, staring at him in disbelief. Lucas, you son of a—

Deep breath. Stay calm. It worked, didn’t it? The fort, the wall… all of it was done. But seriously? Using me as a boogeyman?

I let out a slow exhale, forcing a small smile to my lips. “Soldier, there’s no punishment today,” I said evenly, waving a hand toward the door. “You may go. I don’t have any more letters for you.”

His relief was almost comical. “Thank you, Lady!” he gasped, backing out of the room so quickly he nearly tripped over his own feet. The sound of his hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, accompanied by the faint wheezing of someone desperately trying to catch their breath.

Before Alma could close the door—again—I called out, “Alma, come in.”

“Yes, Lady?” she asked hesitantly, stepping inside with the caution usually reserved for bomb disposal.

I studied her for a moment, leaning back in my chair. “You may be able to help yourself, but first, I need some answers. Is my reputation scary?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “What was that idiot Lucas telling people about me?”

Her gaze shifted to the window, avoiding mine, and she seemed to choose her words carefully. “He… said you have a short temper,” she admitted slowly, dragging the words out like they might explode if handled too quickly. “And that you… punish people for doing a poor job.”

I groaned, slumping forward onto the desk.

“Figures,” I muttered, letting my forehead rest against the cool wood for a moment before sitting up straight again. “And everyone just believed him?”

Alma hesitated, then nodded. “Well… you weren’t here, and he was, so…”

“So, I’m the scary absent overlord with a reputation for doom.” I sighed, leaning back and running a hand through my hair. “Great. Fantastic. Just what I needed.”

Alma looked uncertain, like she wasn’t sure if she should agree or disagree, so she just stayed silent, standing stiffly by the door.

“Alma,” I said, folding my arms and giving her a pointed look. “Do I look like someone who’d throw people into a dungeon for being bad at their jobs?”

She blinked, caught off guard, and fidgeted with the edge of her gauntlet. “Uh… no, Lady. Not exactly.”

“Then why does everyone think I’m some rage-fueled overlord punishing people left and right?” I spread my hands wide in exasperation. “Details, please.”

Alma hesitated, glancing out the window again as though the answer might be written in the sky. “He told the soldiers… that you’re quick to anger,” she began, her words careful and drawn out. “And that you have very high standards. He said anyone who doesn’t meet them gets… well…” she trailed off, her eyes darting nervously to my expression.

I arched an eyebrow. “Gets what?”

“Thrown into the dungeon,” she finished in a rush, wincing like she expected me to lash out. “Or forced to do extra drills until they collapse.”

I stared at her, then buried my face in my hands with a groan. “Fantastic,” I muttered, my voice muffled.

Alma shuffled awkwardly, clearly unsure whether she should respond or wait for me to finish venting.

I peeked at her between my fingers and sighed. “Alright, let’s set the record straight. One: I’m not throwing anyone into the dungeon unless they’re, like, actively sabotaging the fort. And even then, it’s a last resort. Two: I’m not here to terrify people into working. Lucas might’ve thought that was a great motivational tool, but I’m not about to rule by fear.” I leaned back, giving her a smile. “Tell me, Alma—does that sound fair?”

She blinked, then gave a hesitant nod. “Yes, Lady. Very fair.”

“Good. Spread the word.” I waved a hand toward the door. “Tell the other guards. The dungeon’s for monsters, not humans. And if anyone has a problem or suggestion, they can bring it to me directly. I’m not as scary as Lucas wants people to think.”

“Yes, Lady,” Alma said quickly, bowing her head. She hesitated for a moment before adding, “But… if I may, Lady… his methods got results.”

“Of course they did,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes. “Fear works great—until it doesn’t. Then everyone hates you, and you end up alone in your castle, wondering why nobody wants to come to your birthday party.”

Alma blinked, clearly unsure how to respond to that, so she just nodded again and turned to leave.

“And Alma,” I called after her. She paused at the door, looking back expectantly. “Thanks for telling me. I appreciate the honesty.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips. “You’re welcome, Lady.”

She turned to leave, but something clicked in my brain. Wait a second... I forgot something. “Wait!” I called out, louder than I intended. Stupid Lucas, derailing me again with his dungeon nonsense.

Alma froze mid-step, glancing back at me with clear hesitation. “Yes, Lady?”

I grabbed Alma's papers from the stack on my desk and slid them across the table toward her. The weird sound of this weird parchment against wood filled the room. “This,” I said, tapping the paper with my finger, “is what you show anyone who questions your authority. You have it now. And with that authority, you’ll recruit ten soldiers.” I leaned forward slightly, fixing her with a pointed look. “I don’t care who you pick—I trust you’ll choose wisely. These will be our personal guard.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she just stared at me like I’d handed her a crown instead of paperwork. Her surprise was almost cute, but I wasn’t about to let her stand there gawking.

“Don’t just stand there—pick up the letters,” I said, shaking my head with an amused grin. “Oh, and before you start recruiting, make sure you get the best armor you can from the quartermaster. That’s another letter,” I added, gesturing toward the pile of parchment. “Sound good?”

Alma blinked a few times, her mouth opening as if to say something, but instead, she dropped to one knee with a sharp thud and bowed deeply. “It’s an honor, my Lady!”

The sincerity in her voice caught me off guard for a moment.

My grin softened into more genuine, and I waved a hand to dismiss the formalities. “Alright, alright, enough bowing. Get to work, Captain Alma. We’ve got a lot to do, and I’m running on fumes here.”

She rose quickly, clutching the letters to her chest as if they were about to disappear, and gave me a nod that was equal parts determination and nervous excitement. Without another word, she turned and left the room, her steps purposeful.

As the door clicked shut behind her, I leaned back in my chair with a sigh. I wanna go to a dungeon.