Chapter 1: The Country is Doing Just Fine
Chapter 1: The Empire is in Great Hands
"Unhand the Saintess, Your Highness."
A man I'd never seen before grabbed my wrist—or more accurately, was trying to pry my hand off the wrist of the woman I was holding onto.
What the hell is this?
My hand was gripping a stranger's wrist.
No wonder the guy was making a scene.
Startled, I quickly let go—no, more like flung her hand away.
"I was merely steadying Ophélie before she fell."
A voice I'd never heard before came from my mouth.
"It was nothing more than a small courtesy. To react so excessively is rather amusing."
My hand moved as I willed it, but my mouth didn't.
I wasn't speaking. My lips were reciting predetermined lines on their own.
"Do you truly have no ulterior motives for maintaining unnecessary contact in front of the public?"
The man with the sword retorted coldly.
Beside him, a giant of a man in a fur-lined cloak was pulling the woman toward himself. A silver-haired man with long hair glared at all three of us with clear displeasure.
"Step aside. I need to assess her condition first."
A single woman stood between us as the men bristled at each other. Every one of them was unfairly handsome.
"Enough."
Finally, the woman spoke.
"His Highness was only keeping me from falling. There's no need to argue further."
She looked at each of them in turn and smiled awkwardly.
For someone supposedly troubled, her smile was annoyingly radiant.
Who smiles like that in the middle of this mess?
Is she juggling them all?
"You all came all this way to help me, didn't you? So, please, just a little more cooperation."
Then, she glanced past them at the long line stretching down the alley.
Only then did the people outside my immediate field of vision come into focus.
A crowd of ragged, exhausted people stood in line all the way to the end of the alley. Their hollow eyes watched the commotion unfold without a word.
I felt dizzy.
This body didn't feel like mine. Every time I tried to make sense of the situation, my thoughts slipped away.
What the hell is going on?
Just moments ago, I'd been on the subway.
My sister had been spamming me with messages, and my irritation had been at its peak.
[Hey, Do-yun. Just read three chapters. The last three.]
[It gets really good from Chapter 103.]
[If you read my message, reply, damn it.]
Who does she think she is, trying to turn me into one of her novel addicts?
Ignoring her was the best strategy.
And yet.
Why am I here now?
In the middle of a filthy, unfamiliar alleyway.
Starving people crowded between ramshackle shacks.
Under a white tent at the center, a blonde woman placed her hands over a child's wound. A faint glow spread, and the torn knee mended.
"Thank you, Lady Ophélie."
The child's mother choked up, and the woman smiled tiredly.
"If the fever returns, bring them to the relief center immediately."
Ophélie.
The name clicked something in my head.
The three men from before still hovered around her.
The one in the fur cloak had his knights blocking the alley entrance. The silver-haired bastard had erected a barrier under the guise of protecting the Saintess, keeping the patients at bay. The swordsman held a water bottle in one hand and a folding chair in the other, staring only at Ophélie.
Grand Duke Dietrich of the North.
Ulrich, Master of the Magic Tower.
And the Sword Saint.
With Ophélie at the center.
Names I'd heard from the trashy romance fantasy my sister had been writing for years.
I wanted to deny it, but the combination was too perfect.
Then who am I?
Ophélie's earlier words came back to me.
"His Highness was only keeping me from falling."
His Highness.
Me?
Gold embroidery gleamed on my black uniform. A sword bearing the imperial crest hung at my waist.
Crown Prince Ludwig.
A hollow laugh escaped me.
Of all things, I get transmigrated into my sister's reverse harem novel. And as one of the male leads fawning over the heroine.
Nice to meet you all.
Do-yun Lee, modern man now playing the role of Crown Prince Ludwig. Fantastic.
"The Fake Saintess Loved by All Saves the World."
Just as the title suggested, every important man in this world was obsessed with Ophélie.
Love? Fine, whatever.
The real problem was the state of the empire.
At this point in the original story, the Demon King's army was already marching toward the capital. The logical thing would be to hold strategy meetings, secure supplies, and fortify defenses—running ourselves ragged to prepare.
And yet, the very people who should be leading those efforts were gathered here.
A relief site in the slums.
Not that relief work was a bad thing.
The problem was that they were neglecting their actual duties just to hover around the heroine.
The Grand Duke of the North abandoned his territory.
The Tower Master couldn't be bothered to maintain the defensive barriers or teleportation network.
The Sword Saint, who should be leading his knights at the front lines, was holding a damn water bottle.
And the Crown Prince, who was supposed to coordinate all these forces for the war—
Ugh, seriously.
What kind of empire is this?
And so—ta-da!—the empire fell.
Going by the title, maybe Ophélie saved the world later. But I'd dropped the novel when the Demon King's army was trampling the capital. I had no idea how she pulled it off.
One thing was certain, though.
If the empire falls, the Crown Prince won't survive unscathed.
I pressed a hand to my forehead.
I have to fight the Demon King's army with these idiots?
"Your Highness."
The Sword Saint stepped closer.
Don't call me.
"The Saintess appears fatigued. It would be best to conclude today's activities here."
The Grand Duke immediately cut in.
"I'll have my carriage prepared."
Ulrich flicked his fingers.
"Carriages are slow. We'll return by teleportation."
The Sword Saint's eyebrow twitched.
"You'd subject an exhausted person to spatial magic?"
The three men exchanged glances. Sparks flew between them.
Meanwhile, shouts rose from the food distribution area—either because they'd run out of bread or because the panicked crowd had spooked the horses.
My head throbbed.
These men couldn't even handle the chaos right in front of them, let alone save the world.
Well, it's a romance fantasy, so they're probably each the best in their respective fields.
But with attitudes like this, can they even be useful?
"All of you—stop."
Three pairs of eyes snapped toward me.
Yeah, thanks for the attention, assholes.
I had no idea how the Crown Prince usually spoke to them, no grasp of imperial etiquette or dignified phrasing.
But I knew exactly what needed to be said.
"Grand Duke, withdraw your knights from the alley entrance."
Dietrich's expression visibly stiffened. Not my problem.
"Your Highness, for the Saintess's safety—"
"How are relief supplies supposed to get through if even a cart can't enter?"
The Grand Duke glanced toward the alley entrance and finally shut his mouth.
His knights had blocked the path so thoroughly that the food cart couldn't move an inch. Meanwhile, a spooked horse reared up nearby.
Even with ten mouths, you'd have nothing to say.
"...Clear the way."
Though clearly displeased, Dietrich finally gave the order.
That's it?
You call that a command? Five words?
Either he's incompetent or just hates following my orders.
Fine, let me show you what a real order looks like.
"Half of you assist with unloading supplies. The other half, organize the distribution line. Stop blocking the people."
Next up—the mage. Ulrich, was it?
"You, mage. Shrink that barrier."
"Ophélie could be in danger."
This bastard really has the nerve to talk back to the Crown Prince. The empire's in great hands.
"If you're only protecting the Saintess while keeping patients outside, what's the point of this event?"
Beyond the barrier, patients knocked against the invisible wall.
The mage twisted his lips and glared at me. But after a long pause, he seemed to find no rebuttal.
With a flick of his fingers, the wide barrier shrank to encircle only the tent.
There. Now things are finally moving.
"Keep the barrier around the tent only. Use the leftover mana to purify the drinking water first."
I added a few more instructions. The mage scowled, as if annoyed.
Yeah, it's nagging. Deal with it.
What are you gonna do about it?
Finally—the Sword Saint.
Ugh. This bastard's still holding that water bottle and chair like some glorified attendant.
"As for you, Sword Saint—"
I paused, then gave up.
"Put those down. The bottle and the chair."
He looked at me like I'd lost my mind.
I jerked my chin toward the commotion near the food distribution. A group of burly men were shoving elders aside, snatching sacks of bread.
"Handle that first. No swords."
The Sword Saint hesitated, glancing between me and the chaos.
But seeing an old man knocked to the ground over a loaf of bread must've shamed him into action. With obvious reluctance, he handed the chair and bottle to an attendant.
With just a few simple words, the situation began to stabilize.
Even these three empire-shaking figures, who'd been lost in their love-struck madness, couldn't argue this time.
Why?
Because I was right.
As the men dispersed, the clogged alley began to move again.
People who'd been pushed aside returned to the distribution line.
Should've done this from the start.
Meanwhile, Ophélie finished her work and stood.
The child she'd healed thanked her, their cheeks flushed with returning vitality.
In contrast, Ophélie's face was deathly pale.
I recalled the novel's setting.
Even as a fake Saintess, she does have healing abilities.
But her limits were obvious.
If a little relief work leaves her this drained, how is she supposed to handle a battlefield?
We'll see.
She slowly surveyed the now-organized site.
"Thanks to Your Highness, everything's running much smoother now."
Her voice carried genuine surprise.
Yeah, well, in her eyes, the Crown Prince was probably just another lovesick fool trailing after her. The empire's in great hands.
Yet even after speaking, she didn't step away.
Her eyes lingered on me with quiet expectation.
Ah.
The old Ludwig wouldn't have stopped here, would he?
He'd have smiled, asked if she was alright, fretted over her exhaustion, and insisted on escorting her back to her carriage.
But I just raised a hand in casual acknowledgment.
"Good work."
Then, something squirmed inside my coat.
I quickly turned away, catching a glimpse of Ophélie's puzzled expression.
Reaching inside, my fingers brushed against something soft and worn.
Pulling it out, I found a palm-sized stuffed dog doll. One ear was half-torn, and a faded pink ribbon hung around its neck.
Why is this—
Mung-i.
The stuffed toy my family's dog used to sleep with as a puppy.
A glow rose from the doll, and blue letters materialized in the air.
[Major character 'Crown Prince Ludwig' has deviated from the original plot.]
[Current World Destruction Rate: 91%]
I stared at the number for a long moment before slowly speaking.
You've got to be kidding me.